“Fine,” she muttered, and made a mental note to research what the bloody hell weighted blankets were for. “You know, you should really have a trolley for all this stuff.”

“I do have a trolley. I just can’t push it at the minute, because, arm.”

“I could push it for you.”

He whisper-shouted a laugh. “You think I’m going to let you run around my B&B with a bloody trolley? You think I’m going to facilitate your reign of terror like that?”

“Oh my goodness. You run a man over once—”

“You will have to earn the trolley, Ms. Brown,” he said dryly, shoving his box of biscuits at her. Then he turned and reached up to the highest shelf for what looked like the world’s hugest spray bottle of glass cleaner. Good God, she hadn’t even thought about glass. He would be beyond anal about glass.

Haha. Anal.

“What are you smirking at?” he demanded, shooting a suspicious sideways look at her. He was still reaching, his left hand fumbling about on a shelf too high for him to actually see. But Eve, standing feet away, could see it fine, and he was nowhere near the bottle. She decided not to tell him just yet.

“I was thinking about you being anal,” she whispered instead. “It’s funny, because, you know. You’re anal, er, anal-re . . .”

“Retentive,” he supplied. “Wait—no I’m not. I’m thorough, thank you very much. I am thorough and committed and—”

“Jacob.”

He scowled. “Fine. I’m anal-retentive. Please, continue to thrill me with your bonkers train of thought.”

“Gladly,” she beamed, leaning back against a shelf. At the same time, a door slammed somewhere, and she jumped.

Jacob smirked.

The prick.

“You’re anal-retentive,” she continued, “and you’re an arsehole. So. It’s like a pun. Or a double ingenue. Or something.”

“Do me a favor,” he snorted, “and shut up before I am overwhelmed by the urge to sack you.”

“But it’s so much fun watching you restrain yourself.”

He opened his mouth, but whatever he might have said was cut off when a voice floated through the grate, faint but clear. “You were a dick at breakfast.”

A pause. Then a low, baffled response. “Huh?”

“You. Were a dick. At. Breakfast.”

Eve widened her eyes at Jacob. “OMG. Drama.”

“Shush!” he hissed. Then he fumbled about for the window cleaner with renewed vigor, grabbed it, and was clearly readying to leave when the voices grew louder.

“What the fuck, Soph? What’s your problem lately?”

“What’s my problem? Do you know why I booked this holiday, Brian? I thought it was the pressure of work making you such a fucking bastard all the time—”

“Oh, don’t go there, Sophie.”

“But it’s just you—”

“You think this is a holiday? Coming to the fucking Lake District and staying at some shitty B&B?”

Jacob, who had been in the process of quietly shooing Eve toward the door, froze. Then he turned his head slowly, slowly, slowly, and glared daggers at the vent.