Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Griff: "I do not see the need to marry. I am quite capable of taking care of both my mother and myself. A man would just be another mouth to feed, frankly."

Ben, after a mouthful of freshly baked bread: "A valid point."

(B & G conversation on the topic of marriage 7 years prior)

Two days later Oliver found himself in the dusty, cramped interior of Mr Coppinger's bookstore and somehow tricked into gluing pernickety pieces of parchment onto tiny jars and bottles.

Just how the devil Amy had convinced him to partake in this mundane activity he scarcely knew. The woman had a way about her- one moment he had simply been conversing merrily with her about the prospect of having Henivieve for dinner and then the next he was seated on a stool behind the counter and a tub of sticky liquid and a pile of papers had materialised before him.

"Should I be concerned that these say Haventry's Finest Love Potion on them?" he mumbled, squinting at one of the small vials he had held up and pressed almost to his nose.

"Oh, for-" Before he knew what she was about, she had slipped her hand inside his coat and fumbled with the pockets that lingered therein. He stiffened at the intrusion and almost dropped the little glass bottle.

"I've been violated and manhandled," he protested and she procured his spectacles and dumped them on his nose.

"There is nobody about," Amy said. "Just wear the damn things so you can at least see what you are doing. If you break one more bottle I'll be charging you for it."

He looked at the vial again that he had freshly labelled, his fingers almost sticking to it since he had managed to cover them prolifically with the substance. "Haventry's Finest Love Tonic," he read aloud, this time correctly. "I must say, I do prefer potion over tonic. This sounds like you are trying to cure an illness."

"Perhaps I am." Amy stretched languidly from where she had been buckled over the countertop, studiously writing out label after label for the 'tonics' she had been brewing for the festival in less than two weeks. It was naught else but flavoured, spiced and mulled cider and wine, though the notion was sure to compel all sorts to buy a sweetheart a bottle. Her arms raised above her head and she sighed, a delightfully husky sound of release, and the movement drew his gaze unconsciously to the rise of her breasts. Amy may be his best friend but he was well aware of how simply attractive she was. Besides, he could appreciate her for the pretty woman she had become and know that neither of them held out any intention to act on any sensation of attraction that may emerge, especially after the last laughable encounter when they had.

"Love is hardly a sickness," Oliver mumbled, dragging his eyes away as she lowered her arms once more and leaned her forearms back on the counter.

"Prove me wrong," Amy countered, tucking a stubborn dark curl behind her ear as she continued her task. His eyes were now drawn to the endearing view of her profile and the golden scattering of freckles that spanned over her high cheeks. Her curls were neat but bountiful and clearly fought insistently against the blue ribbon that held them at bay at the nape of her neck. In the position she held currently, her back sloped in a gentle curve as she leaned over her task, the generous roundness of her hips and backside-

Damn it.

He ran his hand through his hair, effectively smearing the glue stuck to his fingers now in his hair.

"Not that I have any experience on the topic," Amy continued, blithely and thankfully unaware of the disaster he was as he began to shake out his locks, "but it seems to me that once someone falls in love, they are hardly able to think of anything else. They become afflicted, in a sense."