I look up, gasp, and throw my book over my shoulder, somewhere into the abyss of my storage room. There is a man standing in my shop with a roguish smile and a sleeve of tattoos. “Hi,” says Will Griffin looking far too amused. “Am I interrupting something?” “No.” I answer too quickly. He smiles curiously. “But you did just throw a book behind you, right?” “No.” Again, too quick. I swallow and tell my skin to stop boiling. “But if I did—hypothetically speaking—it would be because I don’t want you to know what book I’m reading. So please don’t ask any more questions.”
