"No, and I thank my lucky stars every day for that fact," he said drolly, before he had looked up from his book. Wyatt had lots of admirers, and ordinary friends, so this exchange was not that uncommon.
But something in the girl's voice made him pause in his reading and he looked up. And froze. Then he honest-to-goodness pinched himself. "Shit," he murmured, rising to his feet. He was tall, his shoulders broad, but the effect was rather underwhelmed by the bulky, hand-knit cardigan he was wearing. The movement jostled the sleeping inari in his pocket and it chirped a faint protest before remembering that it was supposed to be a secret.
"What are you doing here?" He'd meant to say something slightly more tactful, but no, no he hadn't. Tact hadn't even occurred to him.