Page 20 of Us in Ruins

“You’re here,” Van said, a simmering heat radiating off him. “Dandy.”

The chef glanced between them, his hat wobbling with the movement. “A table for two?”

Margot looped her arm around Van’s, bringing her hand up to rest in the crook of his elbow. She leaned her head in sweetly like she’d done it hundreds of times before. Van’s bicep tensed beneath her cheek. His whole body was tense, actually. She squeezed her fingers tighter in return.

“I think we just got a little lost,” Margot said. She dialed her southern drawl up to a hundred and batted her lashes for good measure. “We’re awfully sorry for any trouble, aren’t we, sweetheart?”

When Van didn’t say anything, Margot jabbed his kidney with an elbow. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Yes. Awfully.”

“My boyfriend here, he’s so bad with directions. Terrible, really.” Margot nodded toward the kitchen door where sauces bubbled, filling the air with oregano and rosemary. “We wouldn’t want to keep you from the lunch rush.”

“Grazie,” he said. Then, eyeing Van, he added, “Maybe keep your boyfriend on a leash.”

As soon as the chef vanished behind the swinging door, Van whirled in front of Margot, extracting himself from her grip. He leaned close. Close enough for her to notice the speckles in his eyes—flecks of gold through the green, amber as a fossil. He seethed, “Boyfriend?”

Margot smiled. “Worked like a charm.”

“How did you find me here?” His eyes drifted to her hand, wrapped around a very familiar leather-bound notebook. “You stole my journal?” he asked, cutting like a butcher knife.

Margot paced backward. Both hands clutched his journal. “I didn’t steal anything. I borrowed it. From a library.”

His mouth flattened, eyes creasing. “And you’re here, which means you read it.”

Paling, Margot stuttered, “Well, listen. I mean, yeah, but it’s really... well-written?”

“Give it to me.”

“It’s not like I knew it was your diary. It’s a historical text, okay!”

Van’s expression somehow grew even more annoyed. “It’s not a diary. It’s a journal. My journal.”

He held his hand out, expectant.

“No. No!” Margot shucked off her backpack and flung the journal to the very bottom before zipping it tight. No way was he taking it away from her. “You can’t have it back. If the librarian finds out I took it and I don’t return it, I’m toast.”

“So, you did steal it?”

“Not the point.”

“Give it back to me.”

Margot took another step, but she rammed into the fruit crates. “I can’t do that.”

Van placed a hand on the box behind her head, cornering her. Every move he made was stiff, like he’d slept on the hard ground. “Because you think you’re going to use it to find the Vase of Venus Aurelia.”

Margot tipped her chin upward so she could look him dead in the eye and asked, “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yes,” he said, like it was obvious. “You don’t stand a chance. This isn’t amateur hour.”

“I’m not an amateur—”

Van’s eyebrows threaded together. “Really? Because you’re acting like one.”

Margot tugged her arms against her chest. “Am not.”

“Are, too.”

“Am not—okay now who’s acting like an amateur?”