Every Bookshop Needs a Cat (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 2)

Good Place, Good Car, Good Night

In the Hall, she went straight up to her bedroom. She knew that Klaus would be in the gymnasium with his physio nurse. She took a quick unsatisfying shower and was changing into a pair of clean jeans and a jumper, when a knock came to her door. She jerked the hem of the top down and opened the door.

Somehow he managed to take her breath away every time she saw him. The fact that he was wearing a soft tee clinging to his torso, and that his hair was damp after a shower, was not helping Anya's resolution to keep her thoughts and behaviour chaste and platonic.

"Evening," he greeted her warmly, and then he glimpsed over her outfit. "You look lovely. Going somewhere?"

She didn't look lovely. These were the same old clothes she'd been wearing since the day they'd met. Anya only had two pairs of trousers and two jumpers. The only clobber she'd been prepared to spend money on were the bottoms, the chef jacket, and the tabard that she'd bought for the bakery when Eddie had hired her.

"Um..." Anya couldn't understand why it was suddenly hard to answer him. He wouldn't care either way. "I'm going to dinner with Snezha–" Once again she had to properly push herself to finish this sentence. "–and James Whitlaw, and Snezha's cousin who's just moved to Fleckney."

Nothing changed in his face - but somehow the pause felt pregnant.

"Oh I see," he said levelly. "That's good. I hope you have a great evening."

Anya diligently ignored her anxious desire to explain herself. He evidently didn't see anything wrong with what she was doing - and why would he? It wouldn't have had anything to do with him, even if their relationship had been... different.

"When will you–" he started, and then cut himself short. "Sorry. Nevermind that. Varya's with Yolanda tonight, right?"

Anya nodded silently.

"I see," he said. "Makes sense."

The realisation of what it could look like - that she'd arranged Yola to mind Varya so Anya could sneak away to a bender with James Whitlaw and his mate - was sudden and poignant. Anya jolted and opened her mouth to tell him that it decisively was not what was happening here.

"Have a good night," he said, took a step back, and quickly left.

Anya realised she hadn't asked what he'd come for. She fidgeted with the bottom of her sleeve, then picked up her handbag, and headed out.

***

Goran, Snezha's cousin, was a man in his late thirties, dark-haired, slightly above average in height, wide, heavy, and bow-legged. Just as James had mentioned, the Serb was hardly chatty; but neither was he surly or aloof. He had somewhat clumsy, courteous manners, a low pleasant voice - and the most unexpected smile, open and sincere, that lit up his face, making him suddenly rather attractive. Laughing crinkles near his eyes and his firm jawline weren't so bad either.

They ordered their food and sat down in a booth waiting to be called to the bar.

"How's Varya feeling?" Snezha asked, taking a small sip of her lager.

"She's fine, thank you," Anya answered, grateful for the nurse's initiative. "Varya is my daughter," Anya explained to Goran. "She broke her arm three months ago, and there have been complications, but it's all good now."

"How old is she?"

He had an accent even thicker than Anya's, but unlike her harsh sounds, his consonants were all rounded and melodic, and there was a pleasant lilt to his intonations.

"Eleven. Do you have children?" she asked, just to ask something.

"No, I'm not married," he said.

"I'm not married either, and yet–" Anya joked, and he chuckled.