Chapter 21
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
PENELOPE
The rich, smooth scent of coffee hit me before I even opened my eyes. I blinked at my bedroom ceiling, bleary and confused.
Earl Grey was my normal morning ritual…my soul-soothing, structure-bringing preferred morning beverage.
Except on a day like today.
Heading into the library bright and early following a closing shift always left me feeling ragged. So it was the one day of the week I drank coffee, because I very much needed the pick-me-up.
But I sure as hell hadn’t brewed it in my sleep. Which meant someone else made it.
Brows furrowed, I padded into the kitchen, cardigan sliding off one shoulder, my favorite fuzzy socks scuffing across the floor. And then I froze at the sight that greeted me.
The coffee was fresh. As in still-brewing fresh.
I snapped my gaze down the hallway to Declan’s closed bedroom door. He usually left it open when he was gone, and I didn’t hear any grumbling or unnecessary profanity. That meant he was still asleep.
Had he… Had he programmed the coffee machine to brew me a pot exactly when I’d need it?
Had Declan Steele, the walking middle finger to order and reason, anticipated my morning caffeine needs and actually acted on them? Unprompted?
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head as I stared at Darcy in confusion. “Absolutely not.”
My cat glanced back at me, not offering any answers. Well, that made two of us because, this? This didn’t compute.
The man didn’t do planning. He didn’t do thoughtful. He did late-night noise and thermostat warfare and maddening smirks that made me want to throw things at his head.
And yet—there it was. A perfect, freshly brewed pot. For me.
I wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, so I grabbed my fox mug and poured myself a cup. After doctoring it up with cream and sugar, I sipped slowly, bracing myself for the poison to hit.
Which, frankly, wouldn’t be out of the question, considering our one-sided sticky-note war, the evidence of which still littered the apartment.
On the bathroom mirror:
Your beard trimmings do not qualify as decor.
On the toilet:
Close. The. Lid. Or I’m going to dump water over your head the next time my ass takes a dip.
Next to the sink:
The Dish Fairy is dead. You’re supposed to be cleaning your shit!
I cradled my mug in both hands, letting the heat soak into my palms. What the hell was going on here? And why the hell was my stomach flip-flopping over itself in the wake of it?
This wasn’t flirting. This wasn’t even a truce. This felt like something different…
Or…maybe I was just reading more into it than I should’ve been. It was probably the leftover endorphins from the orgasm he’d given me the other night. That was the only logical explanation for this flutter in my chest. It wasn’t that I was beginning to…like him. That was ridiculous.
And I absolutely wasn’t feeling seen. Or understood. Or cared for in a way I’d never had the privilege of experiencing before.
No. I was definitely just riding the high from my release. Nothing else.
I glanced at the clock on the stove and jerked like I’d been shocked. I’d spent twenty minutes I did not have to spare contemplating what this silly little act on Declan’s part meant.
And now, if I didn’t get my ass in gear, I was going to be late.
The library was quiet and peaceful, my very favorite kind of Zen. Sunlight filtered through the windows and skylights, sweeping the space in a beautiful golden haze.
I’d rearranged the kids’ corner, shelved all our returned books from the morning, and created a new display of witchy reads for the spooky season.
Everything was right in my world.
At least until my stomach growled, sounding like it was auditioning for the part of dinosaur in this afternoon’s story time. I cringed and glanced at my watch. I’d been so caught up in the new display, I’d almost missed lunch. I’d just grab it from my bag and—
Realization sank in, and I froze. I didn’t have anything to grab. Declan Steele had flustered me so much this morning, I’d forgotten to pack sustenance.
I had a piece of gum and a single cough drop in my pencil drawer.
I might be able to unearth a granola bar from the depths of my bag.
I didn’t have an opportunity to run across the street to grab something at the café—not if story time was going to start on time.
And I absolutely wasn’t going to allow anything other than maintaining the schedule.
Well, that would teach me to get all discombobulated by Declan Steele. The man was a menace, and I couldn’t allow him to continue derailing me.
I’d scrounge up what I could to eat and get back to work. I stood and made my way around the circulation desk to head to the break room. On the way, I straightened the materials on the desk, making sure each stack was where it was supposed to be.
The library door opened, and Tansy strode in, blue curls bouncing, one earbud in, and a paper bag from the café in their hand. I’d seen them working there a hundred times, but I’d never seen them delivering something. I didn’t even know the café offered that.
Tansy walked right up to the circulation desk and dropped the bag on top. “Guy with tattoos said to drop this off for the hot librarian in glasses who’s probably straightening the already-straight stack of bookmarks.”
I froze mid-bookmark. “That…could be anyone here,” I said weakly, shoving my hands behind my back.
They just grinned, blew a bubble before popping their gum, and pointed to a note stuck to the side of the bag. Then they turned around and strode out the way they’d come.
I glanced back to the bag and the bright pink Post-it stuck to the front, the words penned in Declan’s unmistakable scrawl.
You’re not the only one who knows how to use sticky notes.
I plucked the note off the bag, stared at it for several long moments, and tucked it into the front pocket of my cardigan. Just for safekeeping. I wasn’t going to, like, analyze the ever-loving hell out of it later or anything.
Wary and suspicious, I unfolded the top of the bag and peeked inside. Tuna melt, salt and vinegar kettle chips, and a lemon cookie.
My actual order. Delivered straight to me. Courtesy of Declan freaking Steele.
I muttered a curse under my breath.
“Trouble with the lunch gods?”
I startled, glancing up to find Holly standing a few feet away, a stack of books tucked under her arm. She was watching me with a soft grin on her face, which I knew from experience meant she was either secretly thrilled, smug, or a full chapter ahead of me. Possibly all three.
“Oh, no.” I shook my head. “Not trouble. Just…unexpected.”
Her brows lifted. “You didn’t order that?”
“No.”
She hummed, the soft sound loudly declaring that she found that detail quite interesting. “Well. Looks like someone has a not-so-secret admirer… Was that my son’s handwriting on that note you tucked into your pocket?”
Busted.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere around mortified.
“Mmm.” Holly placed a book on the return cart, her tone far too casual and her eyes positively dancing. “You’re usually better at lying. Must be the cookie throwing you off.”
I adjusted the sleeves of my cardigan and focused very hard on straightening the stack of flyers for the upcoming book fair. “Fine, he…might’ve sent lunch.”
Her brow twitched. “That was awfully sweet of him. Especially since I didn’t see your usual brown paper bag in the fridge today.”
I glanced down at the sandwich, still warm in its wrapper. “It doesn’t mean anything.”
“You don’t think so?”
I didn’t know what the hell I thought. Not anymore.
“This isn’t a thing,” I said weakly. “We’re just roommates.” Who have entered into a sex-lessons contract…
“And he had your lunch delivered.”
“I forgot mine today. He probably sent it so I wouldn’t get hangry and stab him over our thermostat war.”
She smiled, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “Or he knows your shift starts early, ends late, and he didn’t want you skipping a meal.”
I blinked at her assessment of the situation—at assuming something so…so…considerate of Declan. “I thought he was a pain in your ass?”
“Oh, he is a pain in my ass.”
“Then why the defense of him?”
She gave me a long, knowing look. One that made me shift on my feet. Finally, she said, “Because I’ve only seen him make this much effort with the few people who matter to him. And that list is incredibly short.”
“Are you saying I’m on it?” I asked, brows raised and stomach swooping uncomfortably.
Her lips curved up at the corners, her eyes sparkling. “I’m saying you’re at least hovering near the edge.”
My body couldn’t decide if it wanted to melt into a puddle or bolt for the nearest emergency exit.
“I’ll be in the archives if you need me,” she said. “But take a break soon, would you? That sandwich isn’t going to eat itself.”
And with that, she disappeared around the corner, leaving me alone with the note, the lunch, and the slow, impossible warmth unfurling in my chest.
Before I could second-guess what I was doing, I pulled out my phone and sent him a text.
Penelope:
Thank you for the coffee. And the lunch. Did you do it just to get into my pants?
Declan:
I don’t need to. You explicitly asked me to get into your pants.
Penelope:
I asked you to help me check things off a list.
Declan:
Speaking of…pick something from the Fucket List. I’ll be home at 10.
Penelope:
Oral. With ice. See you then.