Smiling, I replied, “That’s why you only have to open it a little. You’ll be surprised what you’ll learn with just the tiniest smidgen of curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat though, didn’t it, Miss Anderson?” Larry went on unhelpfully. Sometimes I wondered if he just liked the sound of his own voice.

“Are you just going to keep throwing sayings at me today, Larry, or are you going to get on with your assignment?” I questioned firmly.

“I was only saying,” he huffed, lifting his pen and turning back to his work.

Sensing someone’s attention, I glanced to the side to find Stu studying me. I held his stare, wondering what he was thinking. A shiver trickled over my skin, the same awareness he always seemed to provoke. I wore a sleeveless shirt and his eyes traced the bare skin on my arms, the hollow of my throat. Feeling too exposed, I shrugged on my cardigan and excused myself to the bathroom.

The man frazzled me, even when he didn’t say a word. How I was going to survive the next five months?

***

“Herodotus is by far my favourite classical author. Sure, he might’ve been a tad creative with the truth, but you have to be if you want to entertain people. I mean, everything else seems flat and lifeless in comparison to his Histories,” said Jamie. I was helping him open cardboard boxes full of books in preparation for the author reading and signing he was hosting today.

“Hmm, I quite like Aristotle, and I was always very interested by the teachings of Hippocrates,” I replied, and he screwed up his face in disgust.

“Oh God. When suffering from insomnia at university I’d read The Nicomachean Ethics and it’d send me right to sleep. And Hippocrates? Aren’t you at all offended by his theory of the wandering womb?”

I laughed, pulling out a stack of books and placing them on the table. “You mean how he thought the female monthly cycle and accompanying mood swings were caused by the womb becoming displaced and knocking around inside the abdominal cavity?”

“No, the other wandering womb theory,” Jamie deadpanned. “Of course that one.”

I shrugged. “Not really. All through history people came up with lots of wacky ideas. We have to make mistakes in order to get to the truth, after all.”

“Well, I can’t argue with you there,” said Jamie, pausing to glance over my shoulder. “Where’s your cousin gotten to by the way? He told me he’d be here to help.”

“He’s running late because he was up half the night working on a new painting.”

“Another one? I thought he just finished a large piece.”

“He did. It seems the muse has been upon him lately.”

“Well, he’s the finest artist I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. I suppose it’s best to just leave him to his process,” said Jamie.

I nodded my agreement and then there was a knock on the shop door. Peeking through the window, the author and his assistant had arrived. Jamie went to let them in while I continued unpacking the books.

A few minutes later Alfie showed up, and I watched as he and Jamie spoke earnestly about a story that had been on the news that morning. If I was honest, I secretly held out hope there might be something romantic between my cousin and his best friend. Unfortunately, from what I’d observed of Jamie, he didn’t date often. And although he was always very straightforward and open about things, I suspected something was holding him back. Perhaps he thought he’d scare Alfie away if he expressed his true feelings.

My cousin had had a few boyfriends over the years, but none in the last fifteen months at least. I couldn’t tell if it was because he liked Jamie and was holding out for him, or if he was simply too preoccupied with his art.

About an hour later the shop was all set-up and people were starting to arrive for the reading. I was busy manning the service counter while Jamie schmoozed with the author and Alfie sat in a corner sketching something on a piece of torn paper. I’d always found it fascinating how he could be struck by inspiration anytime, anywhere, and he’d have no choice but to use whatever materials were at his disposal.

My attention drew away from my cousin when somebody approached the counter. Glancing up, I caught my breath because Stu Cross stared back at me.

“H-hello. What are you doing here?” I greeted, a frog in my throat.

“I came for the reading,” Stu answered casually, a sexy smile gracing his lips. “After I heard you getting all jazzed up about it in class yesterday, I thought I’d come see what the fuss is about.”

His explanation sounded genuine, and I perked up at the idea that he might actually be interested in classical history. Usually my passionate speeches fell on deaf ears, so there was a certain triumph in knowing I’d gotten through to someone. Mostly though, I was happy because it meant he was interested in reading—or least trying to read—a book. After our conversation yesterday, it seemed like a bizarre turnaround, but I was willing not to question it so long his interest wasn’t fake. I mean, what would be the payoff? Perhaps he simply realised how unreasonable he was and decided to make up for it by coming to the reading.

“Really?” I grinned. “That’s great. Would you like to buy a copy of the book?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Sure.”

“Okay, wonderful,” I grabbed a hardback and rang up the purchase while Stu scanned the room. I noticed his attention fix on Alfie for a long moment, but he was probably just curious as to why he had paint all over his clothes.

“Here you go. That’ll be £12.99,” I said, and Stu handed over the money before nodding to Alfie.

“Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s my cousin, Alfie. He’s an artist, forever stuck in some creative endeavour,” I explained with a smile.

Stu’s eyebrows jumped. “Your cousin? Care to introduce me?”

I frowned, remembering how freaked Alfie had been when Stu dropped me off at the flat the other day.

Biting my lip, I answered, “Um, he’s not the most social animal. It’s probably for the best if I don’t.”

Stu took a step closer, and once again, the intoxicating scent of his cologne made me a little weak-kneed. Why did he always have to smell so good?

“You ashamed of me, Andrea?” he asked low.

My heart pounded, both at his closeness and his question. “You’re my student. What’s there to be ashamed about?”