Chapter 3
three
JONAH
Signs - Bloc Party
Istared at the door as it swung shut, one of the only reminders that she’d actually walked into my life. That and the expensive perfume that lingered – peaches, sweet and heady.
I’d had to stop myself from leaning closer, from stealing another second in her proximity.
Never in my thirty-three years had I met anyone like her.
Everything about Kit was magnetic, from her smile and the sound of her laugh to that giant fur coat she wore, absurdly out of place but somehow suiting her perfectly.
“Where’d your new friend go?” Archie slid along the bar toward me, pint in hand. He’d been a solid friend since I’d arrived, him being a PE teacher at the school. Our friendship had started on the local court before he and his wife invited me over for dinner. The rest was easy.
Another local leaned in from his stool, clearly eager to join the gossip. “Are the tourists multiplying?”
Archie frowned. “Surely not this time of year?”
“She just walked in,” I muttered, still trying to make sense of it myself. I wished for a beer, hoping the alcohol could help me decipher the last twenty minutes. Alas, I had to drive home.
The second she’d walked in, my self-control crumbled. I’d practically hopped, skipped, and jumped across the room to be at her side, and then I’d practically blacked out when I’d done that stupid accent for her.
Damn the Scots and their ‘banter’.
“And then she walked right out again,” the older man said, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah…” I mumbled, still caught in the moment, her presence clinging to the air like her fruity perfume. Where was she even going? And what had I done to send her away? “That was…strange.”
“She’s English.” Archie shrugged, as if that explained everything.
“Bah,” the older man scoffed, waving his pint and sloshing beer onto the bar. “Better to let that ol’ fish back off the hook.”
I frowned. “I don’t think she was on any hook.
” In fact, I didn’t think I had a single chance in hell with a woman like that.
And yet, I kept glancing back at the door, half expecting her to walk in again.
How was she even planning on getting to the cottage?
This time of year, the way was near inaccessible without a car.
My mind made up, I drained the rest of my drink and set the glass down. “I’m heading out.”
Archie raised a knowing eyebrow. “Off to save the pretty tourist from the snow, then?”
“I’ve got pages to finish,” I said, the lie rolling too easily off the tongue.
“You’re writing again?” he asked, leaning casually against the bar.
“Yeah,” I said, the word tasting bitter in my mouth. I’d been here for months and barely had ten good pages to show for it.
When I’d sold the idea, it sounded easy: a handbook on mental toughness for players like me.
How to pull yourself out of a losing streak, how to rebuild your confidence after setbacks.
I’d been so excited. Now, on my second deadline extension, I was staring down a conversation with my publisher in the new year that I’d rather not have.
“That’s great,” Archie said, his smile warm and genuine, which only made me feel worse. “Go write your bestseller.”
I muttered my goodbyes and braced myself for the cold.
The moment I stepped outside, I almost regretted leaving.
Even my thick jacket couldn’t keep the chill from biting at my skin.
I trudged towards my car, shoulders slumping at the sight of the windshield buried under an inch of fresh snow.
Resigning myself, I got to work clearing it, my fingers freezing by the time I was done.
There was no sign of her outside the pub, but I wasn’t sure what I’d been expecting – maybe her stranded in the middle of the road, looking like an overgrown possum in that coat.
Instead, there was only snow and empty streets.
I climbed into the car and drove slowly through town, looking out for her. She wouldn’t be hard to spot. Fur coats and stiletto boots weren’t exactly the fashion around here. However, after cruising through the main streets and peering down a few cul-de-sacs, I began to worry.
Where was she?
Had she been a figment of my imagination? Maybe that would explain why I felt so unsteady.
I pulled over at the corner of the street, engine idling as I tried to figure out what to do. Normally, I wouldn’t think twice about leaving a tourist to their own devices. In this weather, however, it felt hard to let go.
Movement caught my eye; the door to the corner shop swung open, light spilling out. Like an angel, there she was.
She grumbled, staring down at her feet and wrestling with the suitcase, a handbag, and two carrier bags filled to bursting.
Without thinking, I rolled down the window and leaned out. “You looking for a ride?”
She froze mid-step, her face falling faster than the temperature outside.
Well, that isn’t a good sign.