Chapter Five
Despite everything, I seriously consider stealing a sip of his coffee while his eyes are closed and what is wrong with me?
I take a bite of brownie instead, to distract myself. It’s satisfying and sweet, and gives me a very real burst of elation. So much so that I might actually moan a little.
Declan’s eyes snap open. He swallows and I see the muscles in his neck tighten. The moment stretches for way too long, and the chocolate goes dry in my mouth.
I have got to get out of here.
‘You have one minute to simplify it for me,’ I manage to get out.
Declan’s expression is shuttered. He rubs his forehead, then looks somewhere over my shoulder and clears his throat.
‘My publicist has been hassling me for months about who the bookseller in the dedication is,’ he says, his voice low.
‘That’s unfortunate for you,’ I say, because, damn it, he makes me unbalanced. I have to get away from this man and his intense green eyes.
‘You have thirty seconds now,’ I tell him.
‘Isn’t that a little childish?’ says Declan, his eyes returning to mine.
‘Twenty,’ I say, and the annoyance in his eyes is perversely satisfying.
‘Have you read the book?’ he asks suddenly.
‘No,’ I say. I don’t tell him that I tried. That after what I’d said to him, I was determined to read it without judging it. ‘I didn’t get past the dedication. Probably I was too busy stumbling around in the dark.’
Even I can hear that the words are bitter, and they freeze in the air between us.
An unreadable expression flickers across Declan’s face, and he opens his mouth as though to say something, but then closes it again and leans back in his chair. His shirt tightens over his arm muscles.
‘It involves trees,’ he says.
‘I might’ve guessed,’ I say, annoyed at him, annoyed at myself. ‘From, you know, the title.’
‘More specifically, it’s about a man’s search for himself through the wilderness,’ says Declan.
‘Of course it is.’
‘Given the content, my publisher decided that it would be a good idea to do a series of book events in remote locations,’ he says, ignoring me.
‘Excellent. I hope you have fun with that,’ I tell him, trying to push down the part of me that is curious.
It may be petty and small-minded, but I don’t want him to know I’m interested.
I wrap the rest of the brownie in a napkin.
Me and my brownie are leaving. ‘That’s a minute,’ I tell him. ‘Your time is up.’
‘They want you to come.’
Declan doesn’t yell, but the words are still too big for the space.
And, like an idiot, I hesitate.
‘I’m sorry, what?’
‘They want you to come,’ Declan repeats.
‘On the tour. My publisher wants you to come. The bookseller who they’d lined up had to pull out.
My publicist thinks that having the bookseller from the dedication will give the book a boost. A “personal interest” angle.
’ He says the last part like it’s choking him.
I laugh, and he watches me until it catches at the back of my throat and we’re left staring at each other in silence.
He’s not joking.
I shake my head. ‘No.’ Then, because I’d hate to add impoliteness to his list of grievances about me on top of everything else, I add, ‘Thank you.’
Declan studies me. ‘Why not?’
‘Are you kidding me? Why the hell would I come?’
‘They want you to sell books,’ he says quietly. ‘Hopefully, a lot of books. I’d have thought you’d jump at the chance. Isn’t this why you leaked the dedication?’
His hand is still resting against the side of the coffee cup and he’s looking up at me and I should leave, but I haven’t. I should correct him, but I don’t.
Instead, I stand there like a fool holding a brownie.
‘I told my publisher I wanted to support independent booksellers where possible,’ says Declan.
‘Most of the places we’re visiting don’t have local bookshops, so I asked Fully Booked if they’d supply and sell the books.
’ He names my favourite bookshop in the city, and it makes me irrationally angry that he likes them too.
He smiles, but there’s no humour in it, no lightning.
‘They had to pull out due to a family emergency, which just happened to be when you told the media that you were the bookseller in the dedication, and apparently managed to kill all my birds with one stone.’
I feel a fresh wave of fury in my gut.
‘I didn’t kill any birds,’ I tell him, because I don’t think he needs to know about the pigeon that flew into my windscreen six months ago.
‘I assure you, you definitely killed some birds,’ he says.
‘What do you want, Declan?’ I don’t mean to say his name, and for a second he stills.
‘I’m not sure how much clearer I can make it,’ he says finally, looking away.
‘My publisher will email you as well, but they want you to be the bookseller on tour. You bring the books, you sell the books. My publicist has a field day, and your bookshop makes some money. Everyone wins,’ he adds, but in a way that leaves an unspoken ‘except me’ at the end of his sentence.
Even though me being there sells more books for him too.
I pause.
‘So you’re saying that you need me?’
Something flares in Declan’s eyes. ‘You can frame it however helps you sleep at night,’ he says. Our eyes meet again, and there’s a hint of mockery on his face. He pauses, then adds carefully, ‘I should warn you that some of the tour would involve camping. I’ll understand if that’s not your thing.’
In this moment, I would rather drink a whole cup of tea than admit that I don’t love camping. Which is just the sort of thinking that got me stuck with a cup of tea in the first place.
‘Maybe the wilderness is where I go to find myself too,’ I say, which is another straight-up lie.
‘Is that a yes, then?’ Declan asks. And there is such a stupid, inscrutable, superior look on his face that all my logic and reasoning and care goes out of the window.
I blame him entirely for everything that happens next.
Including the madness that overtakes me and makes me reach across the table and pluck his still too-full coffee cup from in front of him.
The smell steadies me for a heartbeat before I drain the rest. It’s warm and rich and I wish the moment could last for at least thirty seconds longer.
Then I meet Declan’s eyes and put the cup back on his saucer. Despite the buzz of sound in the deli, the clink it makes is sharp. I pull some cash from my pocket to cover the bill.
‘It’s a hell no,’ I tell him, slapping it down on the table.
It’s maybe my best exit ever, and I’m feeling prouder of myself than I’d like to admit, consequences be damned. I spin on my heel and I swear my hair flicks over my shoulder. And then I run into the chair behind me. Crap.
‘Sorry,’ I murmur to the woman very much sitting in it. She frowns, tucks her handbag in closer to her chest, then shuffles her chair towards her table.
I can sense Declan’s eyes on my back, and then he stands. I feel the air shift, compressing and tightening in the space between us.
‘No problem,’ he says, and there’s just a hint of smugness in his voice, like maybe provoking me into saying no was actually exactly what he wanted.
‘I’ll let my publicist know, but if you could just confirm that via email when they contact you that would be great.
Nice to see you again, Clarence,’ he says.
He slides too much money onto the table on top of mine, tugging his cap on his head as he walks past.
Then he’s weaving his way back through the tables, and now there’s no way I can leave without it looking like I’m following him.
‘Your cap is silly,’ I say loudly. The woman at the table shifts a little further away from me, and damn Declan Archer for stealing my exit.