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320 pages, Hardcover
First published January 14, 2014
“You seriously don’t know why I stick around?” he asked, almost incredulous. “Are you being serious right now?”
I nodded. I hated being vulnerable in front of him, asking him the questions whose answers scared me more than Dominic or any of his cohorts. “
Okay,” Jesse said, settling back next to me and putting his arm around my shoulders. “Let’s start with the A’s!”
“You aren’t seriously going to—”
“Ambitious!” he said. “Beautiful. Caring. Determined. Eager to learn.”
“That’s cheating,” I said, but I couldn’t hide my smile.
“Shh, I’m trying to romance you on a rooftop in Paris. Be quiet. Where was I? Oh, yes. Fearless. Generous. Happy.”
“I’m not happy all the time!”
“You have a happy spirit. Work with me, Mags, okay? This isn’t easy. Ignominious!”
“I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
“Did you just compare me to Santa Claus?”
“He’s beloved by millions. You should be so lucky.”
Are you okay?”
“I think so,” I said. “Just needed to have a psychotic breakdown, that’s all.”
“I highly recommend them.” She grinned at me. “Next time, though, definitely break something. Otherwise you just look like an amateur.”
“Noted,”I said. “Maybe smash a plate?”
“A plate, maybe a few glasses if someone else will clean up the mess.” Roux’s eyes gleamed wickedly in the dark room. “I’ll show you a few things when we get back to New York.”
“Your local horologist, at your service,” Ames said, bowing a little.
“Your local what?” Roux said.
“What did you just say?”
“H, not wh, darlin’,” Ames said, but there was a twinkle in his eye.
“And it’s a fancy word for clock maker. I fix gears, get things going again.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Roux, and she burst out laughing
“That’s what they call clock repair people?”
She giggled. “That’s the worst name ever! That sounds like the scientific name for a pimp!”
“Cherubs are so creepy, don’t you think? Like, why are naked babies shooting poisonous arrows at innocent people a symbol of love? Why aren’t they a symbol of toddler anarchy instead?”
“Roux,” I started to say, but then I paused, thinking about her comment. “That is an excellent point,” I admitted.
“I blame Hallmark,” she said. “Damn them and their anarchist baby uprising.”