"You have a lot of books," Heather comments, watching Rob unpack the last of his boxes.
He smiles and leans against the doorway, facing her. "I was a bit of a loner at school. Spent most of my free time in the library. Old habits and all..."
"So what's your favourite book?" she asks flirtatiously.
"Honestly?" He picks up a battered hardback and hands it to her.
"The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe? Seriously?"
He shrugs. "I always wanted to find that magic wardrobe."
Heather is part of the reason he chose to move in here, rather than somewhere more spacious. She's gorgeous and obviously fancied him at their first meeting, where she'd cooed over his accent and occupation. "An English detective. You're practically Sherlock Holmes," she said, fluttering her eyelashes. He hadn't corrected her that he's from Dublin, or that his job usually involves interrogating crackheads at three in the morning.
He'd had the normal flicker of worry that she might recognise his full name when he produced his documentation, but she either didn't know or remember the Knocknaree story or, like most people, failed to make the connection. "When can you move in?"
The bed in Heather's spare room isn't the most comfortable bed he's ever slept in, but it's not bad. He dreams of wardrobes and woods and wolves and wakes up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason, his shoulder aching slightly.