Tattered Edges (Love Me Tender)

Chapter Eight

Sawyer

As soon as I woke up Saturday morning, I crawled off the couch and started brewing a serving of coffee. Much to my delight, my father had left a very fancy SMEG coffee machine, which had quickly become my favorite inherited appliance. I hadn’t taken the time to figure out how to set it to begin brewing automatically each morning, but I had figured out how to make a single cup as opposed to an entire pot.

No sooner had the machine begun to do its thing than I was initiating a call to Diane. We’d been exchanging a volley of texts at random hours of the day for nearly a week. Neither of us willing to go another day without a proper chat, we agreed this time would work best for both of us.

It was just after seven o’clock my time, which made it a few minutes after eleven at night her time. I was literally calling into yesterday. While I usually wasn’t conversation-ready first thing in the morning, no shower, makeup, or fresh breath was required for a video chat with my best friend.

“Oh, my gosh, hi! ” she answered almost immediately.

Like me, she was dressed for bed. Face washed and hair up, I watched as she made her way out of her and Brady’s bedroom, headed for the living room.

“Hey,” I replied, chuckling groggily.

“Brady was trying to stay awake, but his week has been wild, so he dozed off a few minutes ago. He says hi, though.”

“Tell him I say hi back.”

Curling up in the corner of her familiar couch, Diane grinned and said, “I’ve been looking forward to this all day. I want to hear everything . I want to see your apartment, I want to hear more about your evil half siblings, tell me how your first week on the job has been—seriously, I don’t care what time it is, I’m here for all of it.”

Laughing, I started for the stairs and replied, “Let me give you the tour real quick, then I’ll doctor my coffee and start from the beginning.”

After I showed her around, assuring her I’d send pictures once I was fully settled, I grabbed my coffee and nestled under my blanket on the couch.

“Does it feel weird? Being there with his things?”

I glanced toward the custom shelves along the wall, filled with books that belonged to a dead man I’d never know. “Honestly? No. Maybe it would be weird if he lived here, but it’s obvious he didn’t. It’s more like I moved into his study or something.” I shrugged. “He had good taste, anyway. Plus, the bits and pieces of him that are here—they tell their own story of him, you know? I’m curious about who he was. It’s become quite apparent I won’t be getting to know him from my half brother and sister.”

“Yes. Let’s get to that,” she insisted waggling her eyebrows.

I took a healthy gulp of coffee and then proceeded to tell her everything. I started with finding the photograph of my family of strangers and the subsequent emotional breakdown that was the good cry I thought I needed. Then I narrated most of the happenings from my meeting with the Blackstones Monday morning, to my dinner with Victoria, to my surprise visit from Archie, all the way up to Thursday night.

Not surprisingly, Diane had loads to say about Archie and Eloise. As someone who loved me dearly, she didn’t have any tolerance for anyone who decided I wasn’t worth knowing without actually taking the time to try to learn anything at all about me.

Listening to her rant as she stood up for me felt like a hug from halfway across the world.

My coffee was gone, and the sun was shining through the windows when I confessed, “There is one other thing I should mention. Actually, not a thing so much as a situation. A slight complication, really.”

Diane narrowed her eyes at me skeptically before she asked, “Who is he? Did you sleep with him? Was the sex any good?”

I immediately slapped a hand over my eyes in embarrassment. Nevertheless, the fact that she knew me so well made me laugh.

“Okay, so, remember that photo I sent from a pub my first night here? Well, I might have gotten a little drunk before I kissed one of the bartenders in an effort to entice him to bed. But we didn’t have sex,” I was quick to add. “He thought I was a tourist and declined the offer.”

“So—what you’re telling me is you put yourself out there, left with your tail between your legs, and now when I come visit, you won’t be taking me to that pub? Sawyer, hon, I’m sure there’s no shortage of bars for us to go to find a decent martini and a cosmo.”

I parted my fingers in order to peek through them and down at the image of her on my screen. “ That’s not the complicated part. That bartender? Not just a bartender. He owns the pub. How do I know that? Because it turns out he’s the one Archie was planning on selling the bookstore to.”

Diane’s eyebrows lifted in surprise.

“Yeah. I propositioned my neighbor before I knew he was my neighbor.”

I watched as she tried to hold back her laughter, then dropped my hand away from my face.

“There’s more.”

“I’m listening,” she assured me through a grin.

I told her about the fuse box incident. About the wine and the biscuits. About Graham and the invitation I’d received to watch the Manchester United match next door. When I was finished, she studied me for a moment before she responded.

“Everyone knows a drunken kiss is easily forgotten. You’re both adults; and he didn’t curse you out when you woke him up yesterday, so he obviously isn’t holding it against you. The only way this is complicated is if you’re still interested in him.”

I raked my fingers through my hair, holding it away from my face as I admitted, “I mean, maybe? I don’t know. When he was just a random guy, he was a chance to distract myself. Now he’s not just a random guy. He’s my neighbor and the man who owns the business next to mine. I’m like a fish out of water over here. It would be completely stupid of me to ruin my chance at a friendship with him. He’s already helped me out once, and I know it won’t be the last time.

“Except,” I paused, tightening my grip in my hair before I let it go. “He’s—he’s way hotter than any ginger man has the right to be. Seriously. A pale, freckled, redheaded woman is capable of being anywhere from adorable to gorgeous—but name one naturally born redheaded man who is just flat out hot. Just one. Can you? Because I can’t. Not until I met Rory.”

Laughing, she shook her head and replied, “You’re right. None spring to mind. Do you happen to have a picture of this Rory?”

“No. I don’t. And before you ask, I already scoured the internet.”

I grimaced as the memory from the previous night rushed to the forefront of my mind. After I’d grabbed a bit of takeout, I came back to the flat and proceeded to look him up while I ate. I didn’t know his last name, but The King’s Steed had a website that informed me it was Collins. Armed with this information, I did some digging—though, it yielded very unsatisfactory results.

“But you’re going to his place tonight, right?”

“Diane, I’m not going to sneak a picture.”

“No, that’s not what I meant,” she insisted with a grin. “Forget the picture, go back to the part where you might be interested. It sounds like you could be into him but you’re not really sure. He’s hot, he’s neighborly, he owns a successful pub, but you don’t know much else about him. Maybe you hang out with this guy in his element with his friends and you decide you’re not really that into it after all.”

“And if the opposite happens?”

She shrugged. “ You actually interested in someone for more than a night? It would be a welcome change of pace.”

“Hey,” I muttered with a frown. “I’m not some harlot.”

“I didn’t say you were. But it’s been ages since you’ve shown any substantive interest in a man. You haven’t dated anyone seriously since before your mom died. A therapist would have a field day with that information.”

“Diane!”

Laughing, she challenged, “Am I wrong?”

I wasn’t a liar any more than I was a harlot, so I kept my mouth shut. She had a point, even if I didn’t want to acknowledge or admit it. I’d been taking the easy route for a while. It wasn’t that I was opposed to dating or relationships, I simply hadn’t been in the mood for that sort of roller coaster ride. It so often ended in disappointment and was hardly ever worth it.

“Listen,” said Diane, interrupting my thoughts. “You just got over there. Don’t think so hard about it. Go. Enjoy the game. Be yourself. Let the rest take care of itself.”

She was right. There was no need to put any pressure on an already complicated situation. The whole reason I accepted the invitation to his place was in hopes of simplifying matters. The more interactions we had, the further in the past our kiss would dwell. The more distant that memory became, the easier it would be for us to reset and become whatever we were meant to be.

“You make a good point. But does that mean you won’t help me figure out what I should wear?”

“Oh, no, I’m not heartless. What did you have in mind?”

We stayed on the phone until it was nine o’clock and I had to get ready for the day. She said goodbye, I said goodnight, and I hopped in the shower, feeling like a fuller version of myself after our chat.

Since I’d shampooed and conditioned the day before, I was in and out of the shower in no time. Fortunately, I wore my shoulder-length hair straight most days, which meant I didn’t need to stress over the fact that I didn’t have a curling iron with the correct outlet plug. I wasn’t taking any more chances with my hair tools. After a few passes with a brush, I moved onto my makeup before I got dressed.

As Diane and I had discussed, I was keeping my attire fairly simple for the day. I wore a plain white tee tucked into my high-waisted, fitted, dark-washed jeans with a flared leg. I then donned my Manchester United jacket, wearing it open. Finally, I classed the look up a bit with a pair of black ankle booties with a chunky heel—shoes I was sure I could wear all day. At a quarter to ten, I was ready and headed down to the store. I found Victoria was already there.

“Good morning,” she greeted. She was near the back of the store, dusting the shelves with a feather duster. “I see the shop’s all in order, so it must have gone well yesterday. I knew you needn’t be worried.”

“Yeah. Business was fine, and I managed to get through that stack of books that needed to be inventoried. There was a small incident before I opened, though,” I confessed.

I explained about my hair dryer and how I didn’t want to bother her on her day off. When I told her I’d practically dragged Rory out of bed, her eyes grew wide in intrigue.

“Lucky girl, getting a glimpse of the man without a shirt. Something tells me that right there was worth the trouble. He’s quite the looker, isn’t he? Even if I’ve never seen him smile.”

“He is a bit broody,” I said amusedly, trying to keep the image of him with sexy bed-head shoved in a dark corner of my mind.

“Brilliant, but broody. That’s about right,” she insisted, moving to the next set of shelves. “Nothing like his grandfather. Jack was a boisterous, friendly fellow who knew no stranger. Sometimes I’d pop into the pub just for the excuse to chat with the old man. He could be cheeky, that one. He always knew how to cheer a girl up. Anyway, Rory does a fine job of keeping The King’s Steed with the times, and he’s a kind man if not a cheery one. Then again, with a face like he’s got, he can get away with it.” She paused, glanced at me from over her shoulder, and waggled her eyebrows as she muttered teasingly, “I wouldn’t mind shagging him on the regular.”

I hummed a laugh but didn’t mention how I felt similarly. Instead, I told her, “I’m going to his place to watch the Man-U match later. I guess he’s having a few friends over, and I got an invite. Which reminds me, I’ll have to leave here around five-fifteen. Hope you don’t mind closing up without me.”

She stopped what she was doing to face me directly. “You’re going to his flat? You lucky, lucky girl. I’d pay to see how that man lives. Is he sweet on you?”

I laughed, because the thought of that scowling man being sweet on anyone seemed unlikely. Not to mention, it felt like he agreed to my coming over a little reluctantly. It was Graham who had been so enthusiastic over the idea. “No. It’s not like that. He wasn’t really the one to invite me. I stopped into the pub last night and his friend was there. When I asked about a good place to watch the match, he was the one who insisted I come over.”

“In any case, you’re getting an inside look at the Rory Collins.”

Folding my arms across my chest, I playfully narrowed my eyes at her and asked, “Are you sweet on him?”

“On Rory? Oh, heavens no,” she insisted with a hilarious cackle. “He’s certainly easy on the eyes, and there’s an air of mystery about him that I find quite intriguing, but he’s not my type.”

“Hot?” I asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Sure, there’s that. But like I said, I’ve never seen the man smile. Not that I think he’s depressed or anything. It’s just how he is. All work and no play. You’ll be seeing him in a different light though, won’t you? I’ll be expecting all the goss on our outing tomorrow.”

I wasn’t quite ready to admit what it meant, but hearing her explain her lack of interest filled me with relief.

Feeling more relaxed I teased, “I’ll be sure to take notes.”

During a particularly slow hour at the shop, I left my post behind the register and walked over to the grocery store to pick up some chocolate biscuits and a bag of chips. As a first-time guest in his home, I didn’t want to show up to Rory’s doorstep empty handed.

On my way back to Tattered Edges, I stopped at the coffee shop and got a latte for myself and a tea for Victoria. They helped us power through the rest of the afternoon.

Turned out, while Saturday was, indeed, our busiest day—that wasn’t saying much. I was really going to have to start making some changes to help draw in more customers.

When five-fifteen rolled around, I said goodnight to Victoria, grabbed the snacks I’d procured earlier, and headed to Rory’s through the back exit of my building. While I was looking forward to the match, I was more excited about the prospect of getting to spend the evening with new people. I was old enough to know making friends as an adult was quite possibly the hardest part of being an adult. Being a foreigner in a new city only added to that particular challenge. Yet, while my family didn’t seem keen on spending any time with me, life appeared to be creating a bit of balance with an awesome co-worker, a hot neighbor, and his inviting best mate .

I rang the buzzer to Rory’s flat, hoping he didn’t leave me outside for long. I hadn’t bothered with a coat, much like I hadn’t the previous morning in the midst of my emergency.

To my relief, I only had to ring once before I heard footsteps descending the stairs. When he opened the door, the sight of him in a Manchester United shirt was simultaneously very weird and incredibly cool.

Weird because Victoria had been right—Rory seemed all business and no play, but his shirt implied play.

Cool because Graham seemed to have been right, as well—Rory was obviously a loyal fan.

The logo on the front of the shirt was my clue that he’d been a fan for a long time. SHARP was the sponsor for the club ages ago, back when they were really great. Back before I even knew they existed.

“Hi. Nice shirt. Also, I brought snacks,” I said in greeting.

He studied me for a few seconds with his signature scowl, and I thought for a moment he might change his mind about letting me come upstairs. Finally, he replied, “Just so we’re clear, if you call it soccer I’m kicking you out.”

I shrugged playfully, appreciative of his banter, and more than ready with a quick rebuttal. “No promises. If it slips, you really only have the English to blame. You’re the ones who came up with the term. Did you know that? Back in, like, eighteen-hundred-something. It made it from Oxford to America and then stuck. It’s not our fault you guys decided to revert back exclusively to football.”

His scowl softened and I’d earned a hint of a smirk before he nodded inside. “Come on, then.”

He led the way up the stairs to the third floor, opening his front door and signaling I make my entrance ahead of him. As I crossed the threshold, before I could take in a single detail, I heard the happy squeal of a toddler as she made a run for it. Her little feet clapped against the hardwood floors, her hands thrown over her head as she went. Her squeal was followed by the playful growl of her father, who chased after her, making her giggle. She diverted her course and made a quick turn in my direction, racing right by me and into the legs of Rory. She tugged at his jeans and insisted, “Up! Up.”

Rory didn’t hesitate but reached down and scooped her up until she was propped against his chest.

The girl was adorable, with pale brown skin, a head full of dark beautiful curly hair, brown eyes, and a toothy grin.

But it was the sight of her in Rory’s arms which caused a stirring in my ovaries that made absolutely no sense. I had zero intentions of becoming a mother. Least of all with my hot neighbor, with whom I was trying to make things less complicated.

“Is daddy being ridiculous?” he asked, tickling the toddler’s belly.

She giggled, pushing away his hand, and Rory almost smiled . His lips merely curled into a smirk, but it was the amusement in his blue eyes that made my stomach clench. It couldn’t be denied, this playful, affectionate version of him—regardless of how mild—made him that much more appealing.

“Sawyer, good to see you again!”

Graham, to my great relief, redirected my attention. In an instant, I was reminded of why it was I’d decided to join him at the bar the previous night. He wasn’t what I would call an attractive man, but that was part of his appeal. He had curly hair that was going gray, and a receding hairline that left him half bald. He was thin and lanky, but with a decent sense of style. The glasses he wore added to his nerdy flare, and the scruff on his face gave him a little edge. But it was his smile—broad and inviting—that was hard to ignore.

“Hi, Graham,” I greeted with a smile of my own.

“What have you got there? More treats?” he asked, pointing to the items I still held.

“Oh. Yeah. I brought snacks.”

“Thoughtful of you,” he said, reaching to free my hands. “That there’s my Daisy. Can you say hi, Daisy?”

I turned to catch another glimpse of the little one, and she smiled at me before hiding her face in Rory’s neck.

“She’s a bit shy at first, but she’ll warm up to you. Come in, come in. Maya’s in the kitchen.”

As I followed after Graham, I took a look around Rory’s spacious flat. It was as masculine and sophisticated as the man himself.

His decor was industrial chic— the brick walls and hardwood floors likely as old as the building itself. The layout of the flat was very open. To the left of the door was his living room. There was a mantel-less fireplace in the center of the far wall, his television mounted above it. On either side, and built into each corner, were floating, wooden bookshelves that were stocked full. He had a large, brown leather chesterfield sofa with a tufted back and a matching loveseat, both atop a spacious area rug that filled his living room. Hanging from the ceiling were large, exposed Edison light bulbs that filled the space with a warm glow—the setting sun doing little to light the place in spite of the wall of windows that stretched from one end of the flat to the other.

Just behind his living room was the kitchen. It had far more counter space than mine, with an island that served as a room divider. He had barstools lined along the back, but that wasn’t his only dining option. There was a table and chairs to the left of the kitchen, by the windows. Beyond the kitchen was a hallway, down which I guessed were the remaining rooms. His unit wasn’t two stories, like mine—though, he did have high ceilings with exposed wooden beams that added to the overall aesthetic.

“Hi, you must be Sawyer.”

I had to make a conscious effort to keep my jaw closed at the sight of the absolutely stunning woman who stood in the kitchen, arranging food on a platter. She was obviously of South Asian decent with perfect brown skin, huge green eyes, and long, thick, gorgeous black hair that fell in soft curls down her chest and back. One look at her and I knew she was the reason behind Graham’s smart sense of style. I also knew Graham must have had a heart of gold to win a woman like her. She wore a pair of fitted jeans and an oversized button-up top she wore tucked in at the front. It was effortlessly stylish but casual, accentuating her thin frame in the most modest way.

She wiped her hands on a nearby towel, smiling at me as she came to greet me with a handshake. “It’s so lovely to meet you. When Graham came home and told me about you, I was thrilled to find out you’d be here. It’s always nice to have another adult woman in the room. Lately, most of my conversations are with a two-year-old.”

Maya spoke in a proper British accent, which led me to assume she’d been raised in England.

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I managed to say, accepting her confident handshake.

“She brought crisps, darling. Shall I put them in a bowl?” asked Graham.

“Sure,” she answered before she told me, “I made pot stickers. Was just getting ready to take them into the next room. The match’ll start soon.”

“Can I get you anything to drink?” asked Rory as he passed by us, headed for the fridge.

“He’s got a full bar. Occupational hazard. Anyway, works in our favor. Don’t hold back,” insisted Graham, extracting a bowl from an undercounter cabinet.

I laughed softly, looking between the two men. It was obvious they’d been close for years. It didn’t seem to bother Rory at all that Graham was just as much a host in his home as he was.

“Water will be fine. Thank you.”

Maya grabbed the platter of pot stickers, then pointed her chin at the small stack of plates as she asked, “Would you mind grabbing those for me?”

I did as she asked, following her to the coffee table in the living room.

“So, tell me, how is it that you became a Manchester United fan?”

Maya signaled that I should sit, and I took the spot on the far side of the sofa while she sat closest to me on the loveseat.

“Oh, well, it’s a little embarrassing but—when I was around twelve, I saw that movie Bend It Like Beckham . My mom was never really into sports, so I didn’t have a ton of exposure to them. When I got sent to boarding school, my roommate was really into soccer. David Beckham in particular. By then he wasn’t playing for Manchester, but she followed the team, and I got into it, too. In a way, soccer is what got me through boarding school.”

“You mean football,” said Rory.

I looked up and found him standing next to me. He was no longer holding Daisy, but he had a glass of water in one hand and a beer in his other.

I smiled at him as I accepted the water and replied, “Mmhmm. Exactly.”

He shook his head at me, but I could tell he wasn’t really annoyed. There was something in those blue eyes that made me believe he was teasing. I watched as he set his beer on the coffee table before heading back for the kitchen. Admittedly, he was still as debonair and fascinating as he had been the night we first met. Now that I was in his home, perhaps even more so.

“I don’t think that’s embarrassing,” said Maya, earning my attention once more. “Beckham’s a looker even now. I’m sure he’s attracted more than a few people to the sport.”

“He was never hot enough to get you into it,” joked Graham as he entered the room with a bowl full of crisps and Daisy on his heels.

“You’re not into football?”

“I’ve spent enough time with these two to understand it well enough, but I don’t get into it like them. Not the Premier League, anyway. I do like to watch the countries play for the World Cup, though.”

“And what made you a Man-U fan?” I asked Graham as he took the seat next to his wife.

“Oh, I’m not,” he replied before popping a chip into his mouth. “I’m usually just here for moral support. You guys seem to lose more games than you win these days.”

I pressed a hand against my heart and feigned offense. “Ouch!”

“We beat you lot the last we played,” argued Rory from the kitchen.

“Yeah. That was the last match you won.”

I tried to think back to the last match we won. Graham wasn’t wrong. We hadn’t had a winning record in a while. When I remembered, I gasped, “You’re an Arsenal fan?”

Grinning, he replied, “You really know your stuff, don’t you?”

“Don’t let him fool you,” said Maya, resting a hand on her husband’s thigh. “He’s not as loyal a fan as Rory is. But they do love to rib each other.”

“What about you? What made you become such a loyal fan?” I asked the man of the house as he returned to the living room.

He had a glass of wine for Maya and a beer for Graham.

“My dad,” was his simple reply. He then filled a plate with a couple pot stickers and sat on the opposite end of the sofa, turning up the volume on the TV.

“Please, help yourself,” said Maya as she, too, grabbed a plate. “They’re pork and cabbage. Hope that’s okay.”

“Sounds delicious.”

“Dada, crisp?” asked Daisy as her father popped another into his mouth.

“Hmm. Not sure mummy would approve, my girl,” he said, lifting his little one onto his lap.

“Oh, she can have a couple,” sighed Maya. “No sense in sending her into a tantrum before the match has even begun.”

We all settled in just as the game clock started. We were playing Tottenham, whose record was neither good nor bad, which meant we had a decent chance of winning our first game of the new year. When Manchester scored a goal within the first five minutes of the match, I felt quite optimistic. That feeling increased when, twenty minutes later, we got another goal, creating quite the lead—a lead that we held until just before halftime. With the extra time added to the clock, Tottenham scored its first goal.

Unfortunately, not two minutes into the second half, Tottenham had tied the game.

“Wish I could say I was surprised by their ability to blow a lead,” grumbled Rory. “You ready for something stronger than water?” he asked me as he stood, his empty beer glass in hand.

“Sure,” I nodded. “I’ll have whatever you’re drinking.”

He came back with two glasses of beer. I hardly tasted mine as I drank it, too distracted by all my other senses. Rory and I were both voicing our frustration at what we saw on the screen to players who couldn’t hear us. We were up and down enough that as the end of the game got closer, so did we. At one point, after an egregious yellow card was thrown, Rory shot to his feet. When he sat back down, his thigh brushed mine. He apologized, putting a little distance between us, and I brushed it off as nothing, equally as focused on the game.

Or, at least, trying to remain equally focused on the game.

With him so close, it was hard not to breathe in the scent of him.

Citrus and wood.

Bergamot and birch.

Subtle yet distracting.

The truth was, even as Manchester United lost their lead, I was still enjoying myself. It had been a long while since I’d watched my football club play with someone who was equally as interested and enthusiastic about the game. It made the match more exciting.

Five minutes of stoppage time was added to the playing clock, and the score was still tied. Tottenham kicked toward our goal, but the goalie caught it and put Manchester in possession once more. As time wound down to mere seconds left, one of our players passed the ball to another, he aimed with his head, Rory and I stood in anticipation, then groaned in disappointment when the ball grazed over the top of the net.

The match ended in a tie, and we both dropped down onto the couch in unison.

“Cheer up, you two. It wasn’t a loss, now was it?” insisted Graham.

He and Maya were both staring at us with smiles on their faces I couldn’t quite interpret.

Turning to Rory, I asked, “What do you think? Is a tie worse or better than a loss?”

“Technically better,” he replied with a shrug. “But after that last bloody shot, it feels worse. They should’ve won.”

I agreed, but I didn’t voice my opinion. Now that the game was over, our proximity was suddenly more distracting than it had been. Looking at him in that moment, I tried not to think about the fact that I knew what his lips felt like.

The mere fact that it crossed my mind was all the confirmation I needed.

If, while in the company of an attractive man, I began to imagine scenarios in which we were alone—all of which included touching each other in an attempt to distract ourselves from the disappointment of our club’s loss—well, it was hard to deny my interest.

“It was still fun. Don’t deny that,” said Maya, yanking me out of my fantastical thoughts as she began to clear the table.

I stood to help, needing the excuse to redirect my attention, but Rory stopped me. “I’ve got it,” he said, freeing my hands. “You all don’t have to stay to help clean up. I’ll do it later. I need to get down to the pub, anyway.”

“Oh, come on, mate. Do you really? Can’t they go the night without you? We could all go to dinner.”

“It’s Saturday, Graham. It’s our busiest night, you know that.”

Picking up on Rory’s mood, and not wanting to overstay my welcome, I tossed in a work excuse myself.

“Actually, I should be getting back to the shop, too. Victoria’s probably closing up now.”

“Workaholics, both of you,” Graham grumbled.

“I really appreciate the invite. I had a good time, even though we didn’t win.”

“I hope I’ll see you again. Maybe Daisy and I can pop into the bookshop sometime soon,” said Maya.

“I’d love that,” I replied, genuinely hoping she would.

“Well, go on then, Rory. Aren’t you going to walk her out?”

Rory paused at the sink and glanced over at me. My stomach clenched when those eyes met mine, and it hit me all over again.

I wasn’t maybe interested.

I was definitely interested.

Except, as we stared at each other for that brief moment, I wasn’t convinced he felt the same. He’d turned me down when he thought I was passing through—but he hadn’t hinted at having changed his mind after learning I was staying. To him, I was probably just the younger, American woman next door.

It was Graham who had invited me over.

Graham who was disappointed I was leaving so soon.

Graham who thought I should be accompanied to the door.

Not Rory.

In order to avoid an awkward goodbye, I waved him off and replied, “No need. I think I can handle the stairs myself. Thanks again. I’ll see you all later.”

After a quick round of farewells, I found myself on the opposite side of the front door. I paused and breathed a sigh. Diane assumed an afternoon with Rory and his friends would help me decide how I felt about the man. In truth, I hadn’t learned much more about him, but that was part of the appeal. He wasn’t an open book. He was an intriguing mystery I wanted to solve.

He was successful and handsome and kind. Yet, he was unattached, which could have meant a number of things.

And that was my problem. The men I liked most were either unattainable in one way or another or remarkably dull after I’d figured him out.

I didn’t think Rory was dull, which meant he was likely unattainable.

The best ones always were.