CHAPTER 23 – ANTONIO
An hour before my shift, I’m already tucked into my favorite corner booth. Textbooks and notes are scattered across the table alongside candy wrappers and a coffee mug. I shouldn’t occupy a booth this close to the lunch rush, but I couldn’t go to the library. The library has been compromised.
I will go back—just not today.
Instead, I have built an academic fortress and surrounded it with sugar.
The bell above the door jingles, and my jaw drops.
For one confused moment, I’m convinced an actual Viking has wandered into Cove Bay. Bulky, broad, bearded, the man blocks the doorway like a colossal stray dog unsure if it’s allowed on the rug.
Maria walks past, balancing three plates and telling me that Sam, one of our part-timers, had to leave early.
I hop up.
I might as well start my shift early.
“This way, please.”
The giant follows me toward our single empty booth, but before we reach it, the bell jingles again.
A lean, dark-haired man steps inside.
The Viking swallows visibly, his Adam’s apple bobbing.
“Hey. Henry. Hi.”
The other man nods, a faint smile on his lips. “This is a nice coincidence.”
I gesture toward the booth. “Gentlemen, would you mind sharing a table?”
The Viking’s ears turn pink and he drops his gaze.
“If you want to? Or if you’d rather sit alone, that’s fine too. I can stand. I don’t need a chair. Chairs are optional for me.”
“Sit, J?rgen.”
Oh wow.
Henry’s voice is posh and British and impossibly firm.
I’ve never seen anyone sit down as fast as J?rgen.
When I pour them water, he nearly knocks over his glass, his hands looking twice the size of the delicate carafe.
“Don’t be nervous,” Henry says quietly.
“Uh—”
“This is not a date.”
“What? Obviously I know that. Ha! Why would this be a date? That’s—ha ha. Funniest thing. A cheeky mucker, you are—or whatever you Brits say.”
Henry snorts.
“We certainly don’t say that.”
He puts a hand over J?rgen’s, and the man settles instantly. “Calm down. How’s work?”
I’ve retreated to the sugar station, pretending to reorganize packets so I can keep listening.
“Great. I’ve been busy with my wood. Mornings are brutal.”
Henry lifts one immaculate brow.
J?rgen’s cheeks flush bright crimson.
“Carpentry,” he blurts. “I meant actual wood.”
“I assumed,” Henry says dryly. He takes a sip of water.
“I’ve been busy too. Caspian keeps sending people my way.”
I blink. Why is Caspian sending people Henry’s way?
That makes him sound like a good person.
But he isn’t.
“Same,” J?rgen says, nodding. “I got a big order last week, thanks to him.”
“He’s a great man,” Henry says. “Always willing to help.”
“One of the best.”
I consider marching up to them.
I consider saying that sure, Caspian might send people their way—and yes, he’s charming and handsome and earnest and makes my heart beat erratically—but he’s still friends with Ryan Rutherford.
In the end, I decide against it.
Maria starts clearing the table after they leave, collecting plates almost aggressively.
“I hate Dr. Stone.”
“Why?”
“She’s a walking red flag. That’s why. Sophia thinks she’s focused and competent, but I think she’s cold-hearted and ruthless.” She takes a deep breath, visibly trying to calm down. “At least your Stone seems different.”
My stomach flips.
“Stop that. He’s not mine in any way.”
“He’d definitely like to be.” Maria smirks, and I swat her with a napkin.
My sister is a menace, just like my brain. My brain has developed a problem.
It refuses to leave me alone when I’m trying to fall asleep.
It drags Caspian into places he has no right to be.
Presents him in a soft light, without the polo shirt.
I’ve had fantasies where we kiss, and fantasies where we more than kiss.
They all begin with the miraculous revelation that he’s not, in fact, Ryan’s friend. And they all end with… I groan.
I can’t think about that now.
I refuse to acknowledge where those fantasies go.
Or what I do during them.
But my pillows certainly know more about Caspian Stone than they should.