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

Status Quo

Three months later...

Anya parked the Rover in her usual spot and dropped her head back, closing her eyes. She'd had a splitting headache all day, and the noise and the heat of the kitchen surely hadn't made it any easier. She wistfully thought of a hot shower and almost whined imagining scorching water jets drumming on her skull.

She slowly climbed out of the car, then cursed, and stuck her upper half inside to grab the tote she'd forgotten on the passenger seat.

"Hiya!" a jolly voice behind her made her flounder and wiggle, her torso across the driver's spot. "Hey, I'd help you to get out," the man continued, "but it would be sexual harassment considering the only part of you that's in my reach."

"Afternoon, James," Anya grumbled and finally managed to get out of the Rover.

The bloke stood nearby, his boilersuit roguishly unzipped mid-way, showing only a thin white tee underneath. Anya's motherly instinct almost made her send him for a jacket, it was still proper nippy outside.

"Actually I didn't even stare at–" He drew a circle in the air with his hand. "Whatever was sticking out."

"Would you like a medal for that, James?" Anya retorted, distracted by the headache and the cold puddle water rushing into her shoe.

She immediately felt like apologising, of course - but then she stopped herself. After all, she reminded herself, basic decency and respect weren't an achievement. He gave out a warm rumbly laugh.

"Touché." He craned his neck and greedily peered at her bag. "What have you got there?"

"Yolanda's order," Anya answered pointedly.

"I bet she wouldn't mind sharing," he said with a grin.

"I bet she would," Yola said, stepping out of the shop. "Mira, güey, why don't you get back inside to tend to your tools?"

"You're working us to the bone!" he whinged, but readily turned to leave.

"¡No mames! And here I thought I was actually paying you for it!" Yolanda's hands flew up in her usual colourful gesture. "My bad! Please, feel free to loiter around and bother my friends."

"Anya's my friend too!" Whitlaw jumped at the opportunity to continue the banter. "Right, love?"

"I've never seen him in my life," Anya said, widening her eyes in fake earnesty.

Yola snorted. "¡Órale!" She pulled Anya in a tight hug. "My little pollita, all grown up and badarse now. Whatever they're doing to you in the Hall is properly working."

Anya leaned into the embrace, enjoying the rare pleasure of physical contact. She lifted her eyes and saw that the cheeky smile was gone from Whitlaw's face. It was to be expected since the Bjornssons had just been mentioned. Anya was facing the same hostility by proxy every day at work, from one of the bakers who'd been childhood friends with the late Caria Assefa.

"Your pollita should get out of there," James gritted through his teeth..

Yola let Anya go and glanced at him over her shoulder.

"C'mon, pendejo, whatever your aggro with the ginger is, don't drag Anita chida into it. Scram! My shelves won't build themselves!"

Tension left Whitlaw's features, and he smiled at Anya apologetically.

"Sorry, love. Nothing personal. You know my opinion of the tosser," he said, gave her a wave, and disappeared inside the book shop.

"Don't mind the idiot," Yola dismissed and rubbed Anya's upper arm. "Who cares about anyone's opinion on your papi chulo? What matters is that your man makes you happy, period."