Chapter Four
Sawyer
I thought a night with a hot stranger would ensure I slept like a baby.
Turned out, two and a half martinis, a day and a half of no sleep, an unexpected crying fit, and the overwhelming reality of moving to a new country was all I needed. Even relegated to the couch with a towel serving as my makeshift blanket, I crashed hard and slept until my alarm clock sounded at seven-thirty.
For one blip of a moment upon waking, I remembered how I’d kissed the scowling ginger at the pub next door. I thought about the way he’d tilted his head before he tasted my lips, and the nonchalant manner in which he’d pulled away.
But just as fast as he’d entered my mind, he was gone again—replaced by the memory of a photograph.
I glanced toward the desk and the framed image of the family of four I’d seen yesterday.
My family.
The family I would meet in less than two hours.
I didn’t have room in my head to think about a handsome, brooding stranger. I had someplace to be, and I needed to get moving.
Still not nearly settled in, there was a lot of rummaging through suitcases in an effort to make myself presentable that morning, but I managed. Wishing to be my most put-together self, I even donned a bit of makeup. A touch of concealer, a kiss of blush, some eyeshadow, a generous amount of mascara, my favorite ChapStick, and I was all set.
On a normal morning, coffee would have been a necessity—but this was not a normal morning. I was not dragging in the slightest. My nerves had my stomach twisted in knots. Even thinking about the acidic nature of my favorite morning beverage made me a little nauseous. Certain I’d rather risk a growling belly than a churning one when I met my siblings for the first time, I bundled up, grabbed my purse, and prepared to make my way to Mr. Johnson’s office.
My phone assured me it was only a twenty-minute walk, and I was grateful for the chance to be out in the crisp, early morning air. I left thirty minutes before our scheduled meeting time, just in case, and tried my best not to get worked up along the way.
I’d been thinking about this moment for weeks. Now, I was minutes away from one of the most significant introductions of my life.
There was no real way to prepare oneself for days like this. There were too many variables. Too much that was out of my control. Really, all I could do was show up, be myself, and hope for the best.
When I arrived at my destination a few minutes early, rather than go inside, I strode right past the front entrance and walked a little way down the street. I then paced back and forth, wishing it wasn’t nearly one in the morning in Palo Alto. A pep-talk from Diane would have been outstanding.
I felt a single rain drop and peered up into the gray sky. In spite of the cold, my walk coupled with my nervous anxiety were enough to have me sweating—but I couldn’t stand outside forever. With a sigh, I accepted the fact that I was going to have to be my own cheerleader.
I planted my feet, pulled in a deep breath, closed my eyes, and reminded myself who I was.
I was a highly educated, independent, hardworking woman. I strove to be kind, thoughtful, and considerate. I liked to think I was fun, adventurous, and a bit daring. I was, in fact, a lot of things, but a loser wasn’t one of them.
My existence may have come as a surprise to the remaining Blackstones, but they weren’t the only ones. Whether they liked me or not—though, I hoped they would—I had every intention of taking great care of the gift bequeathed to me. They didn’t need to worry about that.
I felt another rain drop. Then another. And another.
I opened my eyes and knew I needed to make my way inside before a few drops turned into a downpour. My coat had a hood, but I didn’t have an umbrella. It was on my growing must-have shopping list. A list I couldn’t bother to think about just then.
Without further delay, I hurried back toward my destination and slipped inside.
Mr. Johnson’s firm was located on the fifth floor. I took the elevator, my hands starting to tremble as I ascended. I looked down at them and clinched my fingers into fists. I didn’t usually get like this. I was a woman full of gumption. I kissed complete strangers at the pub, for crying out loud.
The elevator chimed, announcing my arrival, and I willed myself to get it together. I rolled my shoulders back, double checked my appearance in the blurred reflection of me cast on the stainless-steel doors, then continued on my way. As I entered the office, I was greeted by a cheery receptionist who was happy to show me to the conference room where Mr. Johnson and the Blackstones were waiting. I double checked the clock on my phone, saw I was exactly on time, and tried to convince myself it didn’t mean anything that I was the last to arrive.
“Ahh. Here she is. Miss Nielsen, glad you found the place,” greeted the lawyer.
He was seated at the head of the table meant for six and stood upon my entrance. I offered him a smile and a nod, not capable of much else, too distracted by the other three faces in the room.
The woman who was, technically, my stepmother sat at the opposite end of the table. She was a slim woman, made up of narrow features. Her nose was delicate and pointed, her lips were thin and pursed, and draped around her long, slender neck was a string of pearls.
She wore her hair back in some sort of elegant up-do, and there was no doubt in my mind the blouse she wore was designer. She appeared as formidable as she was classy. She’d aged a bit in the years since the photo I’d seen, but she wore it well—the streaks of gray in her hair more of a statement than surrender.
Seated beside her was my half-sister. The resemblance between the two women was obvious. They had the same hazel-brown eyes. The same shade of dark brunette hair. Even, it seemed, the same taste in jewelry—my sister’s ears adorned with pearl earrings.
Rather than an up-do, the younger woman wore her hair down and parted in the middle. I knew she was twenty-eight years old, but she carried herself in such a way that if I didn’t know otherwise, I would have guessed she was older than me.
My half-brother wasn’t sitting but stood behind his sister with his arms folded across his chest. He was above average height, if not lanky, and very well dressed. Yet, somehow, he managed to look a bit disheveled. It was the hair. His overgrown, brunette mane was a mix of wavy and curly, and the stubble he wore on his face could have been on purpose or the result of running out of time to shave. It was hard to tell.
Each and every one of them were staring at me as I was at them. Outnumbered though I was, I managed a smile, intent on expressing I wasn’t a threat.
“Hi. Good morning,” I said, stepping further into the room.
“So, you’re her. Maeve Nielsen. My father’s love child,” my brother replied, somewhat coldly.
It took everything in me not to flinch. That name wasn’t mine. Not really. Moreover, I wasn’t sure how I felt about being referred to as a love child .
Before I could open my mouth to speak, Mr. Johnson jumped in.
“Right. Introductions must be made. Miss Nielsen, may I present to you Archie and Eloise, Mr. Blackstone’s other children, and Juliet, his widow.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied genuinely. “But, please, call me Sawyer. Maeve was my mother.”
“Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening,” said Archie, throwing his hands up as he began to pace along the opposite side of the room. “She throws out his name, and we’re supposed to believe she’s entitled to any share of our inheritance? How can we even be sure she’s our sister?”
Her gaze still aimed at me with unwavering focus, Eloise replied dryly, “Not that I think it matters whether or not she’s biologically his, given Maeve was clearly named in his will, but look at her eyes. It appears the bookstore isn’t the only thing he gave her.”
“Oh, do sit down. Both of you,” insisted Juliet, glancing between Archie and me.
I couldn’t say why, but I felt compelled to obey. I took the chair to Mr. Johnson’s right and shrugged my way out of my coat. Archie, begrudgingly, pulled out the seat across from me, plopping down next to his sister.
I wasn’t completely na?ve. I didn’t have any expectation that we’d meet, and an instant familial bond would spark between us—but so far, things weren’t going as well as I’d hoped.
“The truth of the matter is what’s done is done. We’ve been over this. David has already outlined all the reasons why we can’t contest the will. Now all that’s left to do is to sit down like adults and discuss the most practical way forward. David?” Juliet prompted.
The lawyer dipped his chin in a nod of appreciation, then resumed his seat at the head of the table. “As you are aware, Miss Nielsen is here as she intends to take on the responsibility of Tattered Edges as well as move-in to the flat above it.”
“Why?” asked Eloise matter-of-factly.
Mr. Johnson frowned. “Why? Why what? ”
Eloise tilted her head slightly, still studying me intently as she clarified, “I’d like to know why Maeve intends to take responsibility of a business she knows nothing about, given to her by a man she never met, whose sentimental attachment she can’t possibly understand.”
I heard it as Mr. Johnson drew in a breath, as if to respond on my behalf. I held up my hand to stop him, unappreciative of the way everyone was talking about me as if I wasn’t sitting right there. The way the Blackstones were treating me all but eradicated any nerves I’d battled over the months, weeks, days, even minutes leading up to our first encounter.
“First, as I said before, I go by Sawyer. I get how that might bother you, and I’m sorry for your loss—I truly am—but that doesn’t change the fact that my name is Sawyer .
“As for what it is I’m doing here, I’m not sure I could explain it in a way that would satisfy you. I spent my whole life wondering who my father was. If this is as close as I’ll get to meeting him, how could I possibly turn it down?”
“What if we bought you out?” asked Juliet, as if she heard not a word I’d said. “You could keep the flat, if it means that much to you, but the bookstore should have been left to my children. It’s been in the Blackstone family two generations and should remain as such. Had I known what my dear Sawyer was planning, I’m sure I would have been able to convince him of the same truth.
“Now, I’m aware you’ve come an awfully long way and you’ve gone through the trouble of relocating, which is why we’d be amenable to your keeping the flat; but there must be a fair price we could agree upon for the store.”
I thought about the letter tucked inside of the book I still carried with me in my purse. The man who’d written it hadn’t left me a bookstore as an afterthought. It wasn’t an accident or an oversight, either. It had been intentional, regardless of what any of them said.
I was still grappling with my own feelings about the fact that he knew about me for years but was never brave enough to introduce himself. It wasn’t ideal or fair or right. Not that I could say what the right thing to do would have been. It wasn’t that simple. As many times as I’d tried to put myself in his shoes, they didn’t fit. Now, as I tried to put myself in theirs, I could at least empathize with the shock of it all. I understood this wasn’t easy for any of us—but I couldn’t be bought.
“You mentioned the store has been in the Blackstone family for generations. My last name might not be the same as yours, but my ownership doesn’t change to whom it belongs. You should know, I have every intention of keeping the integrity of Tattered Edges the same, and I’d be more than happy to learn from all of you what that means."
I paused for a moment, glancing at each of them with assurance. When no one interjected, I continued, “I know I’m a stranger, and you have no reason to trust me, but I’m not going anywhere. In time, I hope you’ll come to see my intentions are honest. I don’t want to sell.”
“Ridiculous,” spat Archie. He stood abruptly, sending his chair rolling toward the windows behind him as he stormed out of the room.
I watched him go, grimacing a little. I was beginning to think he was a bit of a spoiled brat. Though, circumstances what they were, it wasn’t exactly fair to judge him, so I tried to let it go.
Juliet sighed. “Dramatic as my son might be, he’s not wrong. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into. An American girl running a bookstore in London sounds romantic, but I assure you it’s not.” She stood, collecting her coat from over the back of her chair. “That place hasn’t made a decent profit in years. When you change your mind about selling, be sure to let David know. He’ll get in touch.”
What she’d said confused me. If it was true the business I’d inherited was a struggling one, why were they so intent on buying it from me?
I didn’t get the chance to ask. Juliet departed without a word of goodbye, which left only Eloise.
“I’m not sure what troubles me more—how looking at you reminds me of him, or how your being here is proof that he lied to us all. He was a good man, my father. As close to perfect as I could ever want him to be. Or so I thought.” As she stood, she continued, “You’ll have to excuse us for not welcoming you with open arms. Clearly, he saw you as his—but you’re not ours. He made that abundantly clear.
“Welcome to London, Maeve Nielsen. No doubt I’ll be seeing you.”
As I watched her leave, I wondered if that was a threat or a promise. I couldn’t say whether or not I wanted to see any of the Blackstones ever again. Our first encounter had been brutal, and I wasn’t anxious to live through another.
“Miss Nielsen, I’m sorry that went so poorly. I had hoped in the weeks following the news, their curiosity would tamper their outrage. It appears, time has not yet healed those wounds.”
I reached up and raked my fingers through my hair, not sure what to say.
“It’s, um—it’s not your fault,” I stammered.
He offered me an apologetic smile, and the sympathy I saw in his eyes was too much. I had done a great job of keeping my emotions in check thus far. I didn’t need a kind, grandfatherly like man indulging the part of me that was disappointed enough to cry.
The Blackstones might not have wanted me to have the bookstore, but I did. Not only that, but it was also going to open in forty-five minutes. I didn’t have time to wallow.
“About that paperwork—you have some things for me to sign?”
It only took a couple of minutes for us to conclude our business. Mr. Johnson assured me he’d be available should I need his services in the future, but I didn’t see a reason why I would. I thanked him anyway before I wrapped myself in my coat and took my leave.
As I stepped outside, I was relieved to see the rain had stopped. At least for a moment. I hoped I could make it back to St. Andrew’s Hill before the sky opened up again.
“What do you know, there she is—the reason our deal is off.”
I stopped short at the sound of his voice, then glanced in the direction from which it had come. Except, it wasn’t the sight of Archie that made my breath catch. It was the redhead from The King’s Steed. The man I’d kissed.
No.
The man I’d propositioned.
Only, now, there wasn’t a bar between us.
Now, in the light of day, his freckles were more pronounced, his eyes were bluer, and his scowl was more intimidating. I could also make out the tiny wrinkles around his eyes. They weren’t laugh lines, exactly, but a sign of his age.
He was mysterious and debonair while concocting artistic cocktails—but he was confoundingly handsome in a wool peacoat out on the street.
His eyes danced across my face, plummeted to my feet, then took their time making their way back up. The crease between his eyebrows deepened, his frown making his scowl more pronounced as he muttered, “You?”
“Uh, hi,” I replied lamely.
I immediately regretted my word choice, and I grew warm under his gaze. Unprepared for this moment, I felt uncharacteristically shy.
Fortunately—or, irritatingly, depending on how I looked at it—Archie was quick to divert our attention.
“Rory, meet Maeve, my father’s surprise illegitimate child and the new owner of Tattered Edges.”
Instantly no longer the least bit shy, I forced myself into the space between the two men and glared up at Archie. He had me by a good five inches, but he was scrawny. Not to mention, he was really starting to piss me off.
“For the last time, my name is Sawyer! And okay, you weren’t harboring some long-forgotten dream of wanting an older sister. And I’m sorry my being here is proof positive that nobody is perfect. And I get that I’ve thrown a wrench in whatever plans you might have had for the bookstore, but that doesn’t give you the right to be so unbelievably rude.”
I didn’t give him a chance to respond but turned to address the redhead. At first, my eyes collided with the middle of his chest. I craned my neck back, then back some more, realizing too late we were close— really close.
With a death grip on my bravado, I tried to overlook our proximity as I said, “Rory, is it? Hi. Nice to meet you.”
His brow relaxed a little, and I swear I saw the corner of his mouth twitch upward before he simply replied, “Sawyer.”
The way his mouth wrapped around the letters of my name did something to my insides I couldn’t quite describe—but it was nice. Distractingly nice.
Except, I didn’t have time to get distracted.
“Archie mentioned a deal. What is he talking about?”
“He was going to sell me the bookstore. I own The King’s Steed, and I’m looking to expand.”
Oh. Wow. He wasn’t just some barkeeper. He owned the pub next door.
Right. Of course. Because he needed one more thing to make him more appealing.
I almost felt a little bad that I was going to have to ruin his plans, too.
“Well, I’m sorry to inform you, Tattered Edges is not for sale. Much as I’d like to have yet another riveting conversation about someone else’s opinion as to whether or not my decision to take over the bookstore is a good one, I’m short on time. I should be getting back. I don’t want to be late on my first day. Again, it was nice meeting you. Please excuse me.”
I didn’t bother acknowledging Archie, and neither of them spoke a word of protest at my departure.
My stomach growled as I crossed the street, and I was beginning to regret my lack of coffee consumption. A latte and a pastry sounded great, but it would have to wait. I was due to meet Victoria.
It felt a little overly-optimistic to imagine Victoria would be the pleasant, slightly older, totally mature book-nerd I wanted her to be, but I couldn’t help but to hold out hope. The last thing I wanted was to meet another person who would be irritated by the fact that I existed.
I was five minutes from the bookstore when the sky opened up and dumped buckets of rain all over me.
Somehow, it felt only right.
That was exactly the kind of morning I was having.