Chapter Six
Four Days Later
Before I knew it, it was Friday.
Since the shop was only closed on Sunday, and business was at its best on Saturday, Victoria had Fridays off. This meant I was going to be on my own as the manager of Tattered Edges for the first time. I wasn’t worried. Victoria had been an invaluable teacher that week, and I felt confident I’d be fine. It wasn’t rocket science. Not only that, but it also wasn’t the most booming business on the block.
What Juliet said about the store was true. I’d spent some time going over the numbers, and it didn’t look great. Rather than get discouraged, I couldn’t help but to believe I could do something about it. The store was a genuinely magical and charming place. It was all but begging for readers and book clubs to come and spark a bit of life into it.
All week, after we closed up and I returned to the flat, I spent my evenings trying to brainstorm ideas. I’d been scribbling down my thoughts on a notepad, wanting to stockpile the best I could come up with before I shared them with Victoria. Some of the options were more ambitious than others, but it felt exciting to dream of the possibilities.
In spite of how my week had started, I was sure I was where I was supposed to be.
And that— that was a feeling I’d crossed the ocean to find.
After my shower, I dressed in a pair of fitted, dark green corduroy pants and coupled it with a simple, black ribbed sweater. Still living out of suitcases, I was very much looking forward to my shopping trip with Victoria that weekend. I didn’t think we’d come back to my flat with furniture, but I anticipated I’d at least find what I wanted while we were out and I’d be able to schedule a delivery date or two, and that would suffice.
I debated whether I wanted coffee before or after blow drying my hair, then decided during would be even better. I hurried downstairs to procure myself a cup, then returned to the bathroom and plugged my dryer into the outlet adapter I’d been using. With any luck, I’d be ready to head down to the store early. There was a box of donated books I wanted to sort through before we opened.
Unfortunately, it seemed luck was not on my side when my hair dryer was on for a short two minutes before it cut off.
And that wasn’t the only thing that lost power.
The bathroom light was out, too.
I put the hair dryer down, abandoning my coffee as I went into the next room and tried the light switch.
Nothing.
“Shit,“ I whispered to myself.
I must have blown a fuse.
Trouble was, I had no idea where the fuse box was.
I spent a good five minutes searching the place but came up empty. When I ran out of walls and closets to search, I tucked my feet into a pair of shoes and decided to try the stairwell.
That, too, was a dead end.
It didn’t make any sense that the fuse box to the upstairs flat would be in the store, but it was an old building, and I wasn’t a European architect or engineer, so I convinced myself it was worth a look. I made it as far as the storage closet before my bad situation went to worse.
I’d killed the power in the store, too.
“Of course. Of course this would happen the one day I’m on my own,” I muttered, hugging my arms around my middle.
It was cold in the stairwell, but I didn’t want to stand in the dark closet, even if it was warmer.
Then again, if I didn’t act fast and get the power switched back on, nothing would be warm.
I contemplated calling Victoria but quickly decided against it. It was the first Friday she’d had off in months. She’d been such a help; she deserved the peace of not being bothered. Especially by the likes of me.
I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and gnawed on it a little as I thought of my next best option.
Archie and Eloise were out of the question, for more than one reason—the least of which was I didn’t have either of their phone numbers. I did, however, have a neighbor.
Chances were good Rory would know where the fuse box was. Our buildings weren’t exactly the same, but they were touching each other and had been for decades. They must have been similar. Even if they weren’t, Rory wasn’t an American. He was a local and could probably guess where it was far better than me. Not to mention, he was a man, and men were supposed to know stuff like this.
I hesitated for a solid thirty seconds, aware it was still early. At least, early for a man who ran a pub and probably rarely saw his bed before midnight.
All that aside, I was desperate. Desperate enough to hurry out into the cold without my coat and jog my way to his door.
I rang the buzzer then folded my arms across my chest and hid my hands to shield them from the frigid breeze. The temperature made me hyper aware of my wet hair. I glanced up the length of the building to the windows on the third floor, willing Rory to come down. When there was no answer, I pressed the buzzer again, holding it longer this time and then repeating the act for good measure.
“For bloody sakes, I’m coming!” I heard him yell through the door.
I gasped, then was quick to call back, “Sorry. I—”
He opened the door before I could finish explaining it was a bit of an emergency, and the sight of him caused a glitch in my brain. For a moment, I couldn’t remember words—not any of them—too distracted by all that was him.
The only thing he had on was a pair of sweatpants. It was obvious I’d roused him from sleep. His hair was a categorically sexy mess, in a way that was not at all on purpose and made me envious of his pillow. As for the rest of him, pale as he was, he looked like he’d been sculpted from marble by Michelangelo himself, an artist who knew what a man ought to look like.
As I stared at him, I was overwhelmed by a great wave of disappointment—disappointment that all I’d managed to get out of him on my first night was a kiss.
“Are you going to tell me why you’ve beckoned me away from my coffee, or must I guess?”
“Right. Sorry. I’m so sorry,” I said with a shake of my head. I sealed my eyes closed tight in an effort to reset my brain. When I opened them again, I made sure to focus only on his face.
He was scowling again—which, honestly, didn’t take away from his appeal in the slightest.
“Um, my power went out. I think I tripped a fuse,” I admitted, the words coming easier the more I managed to spit out. “Except, I can’t seem to find the fuse box. I promise I wouldn’t have bothered you if it was just my apartment, but the bookstore doesn’t have power either. It’s Victoria’s day off, so it’s just me today and…”
My words trailed off into silence as I watched him turn his back to me before I could finish. The door eased its way to closed as he disappeared, but he hadn’t shut it hard enough for it to latch. I didn’t know what to make of his sudden departure, so I stood there, dumbstruck and very cold.
Was he coming back?
Was my cry for help not worth his time?
Was he still upset I was the reason his premature deal with Archie had been called off?
Did he want me to fail? It would certainly work in his favor.
After a full minute, when he still hadn’t returned, I frowned—still very confused—and turned to make my way back home. Maybe I would have to call Victoria after all. Or maybe I could google an electrician; though, to pay someone to come out only to locate a fuse box seemed ridiculous.
I was halfway to my door when I heard someone else’s shut. A quick glance over my shoulder, and all my worry melted away.
Rory was no longer half naked. He’d put on a quarter-zip pullover and some sneakers. Though, his hair was still a mess, and his scowl was perfectly intact, so he was still unignorably good looking.
I smiled at him as he closed the distance between us. When he caught up with me, I murmured, “Thank you.”
He shook his head once, not missing a step as he replied, “Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t done anything.”
I hurried after him, relieved to be going indoors. When we arrived at my front stoop, he stood aside to allow me to go in first, then trailed after me as I hurried up the stairs. As soon as we stepped foot into the flat, it was my turn to step aside. I motioned with my hand that he was free to roam, and he didn’t need further permission.
Rory walked right into the kitchen, barely lit by whatever sunlight was straining through the gray sky to reach us through the windows across the room, and immediately started opening cabinet doors. I knit my eyebrows together, not understanding in the slightest why a fuse box would be tucked inside of a cabinet. But, sure enough, in less than thirty seconds, he’d found it.
Other than what remained of the dry goods I’d purchased at the grocery store on Sunday, a few mugs, and literally two plates, the overhead cabinets were still fairly empty. He didn’t even have to clear away any items in order to open the metal door to access the switches. I heard a few clicks, and then the lights were back on.
As was my hair dryer.
“Crap!” I gasped before racing up the stairs.
Fortunately, I managed to make it to the bathroom to turn it off before it tripped another fuse. I unplugged it for good measure, then breathed a sigh of relief.
“Is that what you were doing when the power went? Blow drying your hair?” Rory inquired, his voice finding its way to me from the third floor.
I stepped out of the bathroom and into the hallway, walking the short distance to the top of the stairs. He stood at the bottom and looked up at me.
“Yes. But this is the third time I’ve done it this week,” I felt compelled to explain. “I didn’t have this problem before.”
He pointed at the stairs. “May I?”
“Uh, sure, yeah,” I stammered.
He made quick work of the stairs, and I watched him do it. When he reached the top step, I moved out of his way. Except, ever the gentleman, he nodded his head, indicating I should go first.
“Show me, Sawyer.”
I knew what he meant, but my brain took his words, twisted them out of context, and sent my imagination to a place that made my stomach clench in anxious anticipation.
He wasn’t a stranger. Not anymore. Knowing precisely who he was, I understood sex would complicate things between us.
Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from thinking about what I would be willing to show him with the promise that he’d reciprocate.
Not five minutes earlier, I’d gotten a preview. I was sure he wouldn’t disappoint.
It was a tempting thought; however brief it was.
Before things got awkward, I put a lid on my imagination, cleared my throat gently, and led the way to the bathroom.
As soon as he saw it, he picked up my plug adapter and quirked an eyebrow at me. “Blimey. This will never do. You’re lucky to have gone as long as you did, you using this thing. You need to buy a new dryer. One with the correct plug.”
I would have felt reprimanded had he not started with blimey . I had to fight a smile hearing that. I knew it wasn’t meant to be, but it was incredibly endearing.
“New hair dryer. Got it. I’ll add it to my ever-growing list.”
“Good.”
He said nothing more before he set aside the plug adapter and turned to leave.
I followed after him, though he didn’t make it far before he paused. He glanced back into what would be my bedroom, then peered at me from over his shoulder.
“You sure you’re staying?”
I smiled, mostly because I knew what it looked like, which was to say— noncommittal . I’d gone out to pick up a blanket earlier in the week, so I could upgrade from a towel while on the couch at night, but I hadn’t made much progress outside of that. I was waiting for my shopping trip with Victoria. We’d already discussed the places we would go, and it would be extremely helpful to have a car to carry my haul.
“Sorry to break it to you, but I’m definitely staying. I’ve just been a bit caught up with the store, and I haven’t had the chance to fully settle. Don’t go getting any ideas about buying me out.”
He grunted in acknowledgment, took one last look at my splayed luggage, then began his journey down the stairs.
Curious, as I followed I asked, “What did you want to do with the place, anyway?”
His back to me, he replied, “I was planning on turning it into a restaurant. Full service. We don’t have a proper kitchen at the pub, so all we offer are crisps.”
“Oh,” I murmured as we reached the bottom of the stairs. He stopped in my entryway and faced me as I went on to say, “Your pub is great. I’ve only been once, so that probably doesn’t mean much coming from me, but it’s true. I bet a restaurant expansion would have been quite successful. I’m sorry my being here threw a wrench in your plan. Really.”
His hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, he shrugged. “You don’t owe me an apology. But in the future, try not to blow a fuse before nine in the morning, will you?”
Laughing, I promised, “I’ll do my best not to. Thanks for your help. I really appreciate it.”
He dipped his chin in a nod, and I somehow knew that meant you’re welcome and goodbye .
I was still smiling when he closed the door behind him.
Aside from my snafu that morning, the rest of my day went on without incident. After I styled my damp hair in a messy top knot and threw on a little makeup, I reheated my coffee and took it with me to the store. I was able to sort through our new collection of books before I opened, and the rest of the day was fairly quiet.
Quiet enough that I spent more than a little time thinking about Rory.
I wanted to do something for him. Something nice. Something to showcase my appreciation for his neighborly kindness.
Things between us were a bit all over the place. Admittedly, it was mostly my fault. Every time we interacted, he was the same.
Broody but not rude.
Thoughtful but not open.
Kind but not friendly.
Not exactly, anyway.
It was true I was more than a little attracted to him. Drunk and jet lagged or sober, it didn’t matter. If he wanted to take all my clothes off, I would let him.
While he told me that first night he wasn’t interested in a tourist, there was always the possibility that door hadn’t fully closed, given I wasn’t a tourist.
Except, I was his neighbor. In my experience, a one-night stand worked best with a stranger. Seeing as that ship had sailed, it meant any sexual encounter between us would come with an unknowable variety of strings. As pleasurable as I imagined a trip to bed with him would be, I was smart enough to accept that he held more value as my neighbor and, possibly, my friend.
So—a friendly gesture was in order.
At seven o’clock, rather than locking up and heading upstairs, I bundled up and made the short trip on foot to the grocery store. I had absolutely no idea what kinds of things Rory liked to eat or drink, but food and alcohol consumption was something most people had in common, so it felt like a somewhat safe bet.
I grabbed a box of biscuits from the sweets aisle—because who didn’t like a cookie made of butter and sugar? If I was a baker, chocolate chip cookies would have been better, but there was a reason I merely watched Bake-Off rather than try to replicate any of their recipes.
Besides, my kitchen was definitely not equipped to handle any homemade baking attempts.
I then wandered my way through the store until I found a selection of wine. While I was fairly certain wine and biscuits didn’t go together, if it turned out he wasn’t into sweets, a cabernet would be a suitable alternative. Or, at least, it made sense in my mind. Either way, it was the thought that counted.
Having made my purchases, I hustled my way back to St. Andrew’s Hill, in a hurry to get out of the cold. When I arrived at The King’s Steed, it was even busier in the tavern than it had been during my first visit. Knowing Rory was more than a bartender in the Parlour, I looked for him on the first floor before heading for the stairs.
“Hello, dear.”
I glanced beside me and found an old woman. She was about my height, with a generous bust and a round face. Her hair was completely white and cut in a short bob. She smiled at me, revealing a mouth full of crooked, discolored teeth that didn’t at all detract from her grandmotherly like charm. She couldn’t have been any younger than seventy, but she appeared far from slowing down. Her eyes were bright at the sight of me, as if she knew me, even though we’d never met.
“You’re more than welcome here, but I’m afraid we don’t allow outside beverages,” she said, pointing at the bottle tucked in the crook of my arm.
“Oh, this isn’t for me. I—it’s actually a gift for Rory. I’m his new neighbor. He helped me this morning, and I just wanted to say thanks.”
“You’re next door? Above Tattered Edges?” she asked, as if this was very juicy news.
“Mmhmm. I’m managing the store now.”
“Are you really? Rory didn’t mention it, that sly devil.”
Her intrigue had me smiling.
“I’m Sawyer,” I said, offering her my hand.
“Hattie,” she replied, accepting my gesture. “Sawyer, you say? Uncanny.”
“Yeah. It’s a long story,” I confessed.
Still eyeing me carefully, she said, “I’m sure it is, dear. I’m sure it is. I hope I get to hear it one day. As for Rory, he’s upstairs. Though, next time, I suggest you get the chocolate biscuits. And a bottle of scotch wouldn’t hurt, either.” She winked at me then bustled off to a nearby table.
I noticed, as she approached, the group greeted her as if they’d known her for years. I got the impression Hattie had a way of making everyone feel seen and heard—like she was there to fill the role of care giver to anyone who needed it. She struck me as quite the unique woman whom I looked forward to running into again.
Remembering the gifts I was still holding, and the man I’d come to see, I left the Tavern behind and ventured up to the Parlour.