Now Annie was forced to look at her. And she didn’t want to be rude to the woman who had saved her shop from the greedy grips of Pages. When she looked at Kristin talking to Jane like that, Annie felt nothing but remorse for even the flimsiest, most innocent thought she had entertained about Kristin.

“Caitlin and Josephine’s book will be out in a few months. We could have the launch party here. Have Josephine sing a few tunes. That should fill the place right up.”

“That’s a great idea,” Jane said.

They both looked at Annie. It was her turn to say something. She nodded. “Wonderful,” she said.

“Meanwhile, I’m sure Caitlin won’t mind reading from one of her previous books. Sheryl wasn’t lying when she said Caitlin loves that kind of attention.”

“I could probably sell one percent more books if I were that kind of person as well,” Jane said. “But I’m not, so I’ll stick to a book signing once in a while.”

“We’re all different,” Kristin said and gave Jane one of her more brazen smiles.

Annie could kick herself for feeling jealous of her own wife because that smile was solely aimed at her. She really needed to get a grip soon. Hadn’t Beth’s unwelcome visit been enough of a reminder?

“Come here.” Annie tugged Jane toward her. She wanted to kiss her, really kiss her, and reacquaint herself with her wife and how she felt when she melted in her arms. And further forget about Kristin. Although Annie had no choice but to ask herself whether she was feeling so frisky because—despite Beth turning up—she and Jane had had such a great night, or because she’d spent a few hours in Kristin’s company. This forgetting-about-Kristin business was going to be harder than she thought.

Jane stepped into her embrace and put her head against Annie’s shoulder.

Annie kissed her on the top of her head and applied some pressure with her arms, hoping Jane would intuit where she was going with this. Annie could do with letting off some steam, no matter the reason for her late-night friskiness.

Jane’s head just kept lying there, not a muscle in her body moving—or implying she was catching Annie’s drift.

Annie pecked her on the first patch of bare skin she found near Jane’s temple. She accompanied her kiss with a little groan that could not be misinterpreted—not unless Jane deliberately wanted to do so.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Jane said. “I’m knackered. And I have to write tomorrow morning.”