Chapter Ten
Rory
She looked ridiculous, padded in layers and shivering on his doorstep.
The sight of her should have invoked feelings of pity. Except, rather than pathetic, he found the woman to be aggravatingly adorable. Her helplessness seemed to add to her charm rather than subtract from it.
He didn’t understand it any more than he liked it.
“So, a couple of hours ago, my heat stopped working,” she explained, bouncing from one foot to the other as she hugged her arms around her middle. “Apparently, the boiler for my building has a habit of going out sometimes. I thought I could stick it out until morning, but I’m so cold. Anyway, Victoria said Sawyer—Mr. Blackstone—he used to fidget with it a bit and he could get it working again. I was hoping, maybe, you might know how to fidget with it and get it working again, too.”
Rory didn’t have to stop to think about it. He wasn’t an engineer, but he knew the basics of boiler mechanics. Even if he didn’t, the way she was hopping around would have incentivized any novice with a heart to at least try.
With his shoes still on his feet, he didn’t bother heading back up to his flat. He stepped out to join her, closed his door behind him, and nodded, signaling Sawyer to lead the way.
“Uh, I think it’s on the roof. Are you sure you don’t want to grab a jacket?”
“Either I can fix it, or I can’t. It won’t take long to figure out which. If it requires tools, I won’t be able to help. You’ll need a technician. I’m a pub owner, not a registered gas safe engineer.”
“Good point. Okay,” she said before hurrying toward her door. Rory followed after her in silence. When they entered her flat and began climbing to the fourth floor, Sawyer admitted, “I haven’t actually ventured up to the roof. Deductive reasoning leads me to believe the hatch door in the upstairs hallway will get us there.”
“Sounds right. Assuming you don’t have an attic.”
She did, in fact, not have an attic, and the hatch in the hallway granted them access to the roof. As soon as they were back out in the cold, Rory tugged at the sleeves of his jumper, covering his forearms as he journeyed to the boiler closet. It looked just like his, and it took him less than five minutes to discover the boiler was low on pressure, likely due to a leak—a problem he was not equipped to solve.
“Bad news,” he told her as he exited the closet.
She was still bouncing from foot to foot, as if that little bit of constant movement would warm her up somehow.
“What? No!” she practically whined.
“I’m afraid I can’t help this time. It’s banjaxed. Looks like you’ve got a leak.”
“Damnit,” she muttered, hugging herself tighter. “Everyone wants me to leave. Even the freaking building. I thought we were getting on so well.” She huffed a sigh then shrugged. “Thanks for having a look.”
Rory barely registered her thanks, hung up on what she’d said about everyone wanting her to leave. He could tell by the way she said it that she believed it, even if it wasn’t true.
While he hadn’t voiced aloud his desire for her to go, he would have been a liar if he said he hadn’t thought it. Except, he didn’t mean it. Not really. Her ownership of Tattered Edges was inconvenient for him, but it wasn’t her fault. Now, he felt a little guilty to be counted among the everyone she thought had it in for her.
“You can stay at mine tonight,” he offered before he could second guess himself. “I’ll make up the couch for you. I’ve also got a trusted contact you can call in the morning about your boiler. He’ll get it fixed at a fair price.”
No sooner had he finished speaking than she was completely still, peering at him through the darkness as she murmured, “Really?”
“So long as you promise not to thank me with anymore biscuits,” he muttered.
This earned him a laugh, and the sound pierced him straight through the chest.
There was something invaluable about the laughter of a desirable woman. He’d always thought so. Depending on the sound, it either grated on his nerves and instantly quelled his interest, or it made her more approachable.
“Thank you. Seriously, thank you so much,” Sawyer gushed, shifting the direction of his thoughts. “I’m going to just grab a couple things and then I’ll be ready to go.”
He nodded, but she was already rushing back inside. He trailed after her, the wind cutting through his jumper encouraging him to seek shelter himself. True to her word, it wasn’t long before Sawyer was locking up her place and headed for his.
“I hope I haven’t completely spoiled your night,” she said as they climbed the staircase to his third-floor unit. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting an overnight guest. Er, I mean—well—wait, gosh, unless you were, in which case—”
“Calm down,” Rory insisted, shaking his head in amusement. “I was only reading.” They entered his flat and he headed straight for the kitchen, immediately putting on his kettle. “Make yourself comfortable. I’ll grab a couple blankets.”
After collecting the warmest blankets he could find, and plucking the pillow he never used from his bed, he returned to the living room. He found Sawyer had already shed a couple of layers, her coat and one of her jumpers draped over the arm of his loveseat. Still, he could tell she wasn’t yet warm. Having been in her flat, he understood why.
“It was probably ten degrees at your place. Why didn’t you come knocking sooner?” he asked, setting his offerings on the sofa.
“It wasn’t below freezing I—oh, you probably meant Celsius. Ten degrees Celsius. I don’t know what that is in Fahrenheit, but…” Sawyer sank down onto the couch with a sigh then swept a bit of hair behind her ears as she looked up at him. “I didn’t want to be a bother. I really did think I could tough it out, but I’m a California girl. I grew up on the east coast, where it gets really cold, but my blood has obviously thinned in the years I spent on the west coast. I’m sure I’ll get used to winters here. Though, hopefully I don’t have to worry about my boiler on a regular basis.”
Rory knit his eyebrows together as he admired the woman. Her presence in his home didn’t bother him. What bothered him was the fact that she’d let her flat get as cold as it was before she asked for his help because she thought herself an annoyance.
Admittedly, Rory didn’t have the most exuberant personality. He wasn’t a charmer or a jokester, but he liked to think himself kindhearted and willing to lend a helping hand where he could. His ambitious nature made him focused, but he wasn’t so detached from the world around him that he didn’t enjoy the company of others. It was one of the reasons he loved the pub so much. He was so often in a crowded room, but without the obligation of having to carry the conversation.
Before they knew each other, Sawyer had been bold, confident, and inviting. After hardly more than a week in London, she seemed to have lost a bit of her confidence. Seeing as she was still undeniably beautiful and effortlessly enchanting, he deduced the city hadn’t welcomed her as she’d hoped.
“I’m sure it’ll be fine with a little bit of maintenance,” he finally responded just as his kettle began to whistle. “Stay put. I’ll make you something to warm you up.”
It didn’t take him long to concoct his version of a hot toddy. When he returned to the living room and handed her the warm mug, he said, “It’s bourbon, not gin. Hope you’ll enjoy it anyway.”
“Thanks,” she murmured, the sincerity of the word reflected in her pale gray gaze. She lifted the mug to her lips for her first sip, and her hum of approval was his cue to sit.
He occupied the seat next to her as he asked, “I’ve always considered London to be a bit of a mixed bag. I think there’s a place for anyone who wants to be here. You mentioned earlier how everyone wants you to leave. That can’t be true.”
Sawyer lowered the mug, holding it close to her chest as she replied, “You’re right. Everyone is a bit of an exaggeration, but not by much. Archie, Eloise, Juliet… you . I came here to discover a part of myself I didn’t even know existed and the family I technically belong to. While I haven’t received the warmest welcome—pun unintentionally intended—I’m not going anywhere. But today…I don’t know. I guess it was a little discouraging.”
“I’d like to be removed from that list,” Rory insisted. “I wanted the square footage next door, that’s not the same as wanting you gone.”
Smiling softly, she replied, “Thanks for saying so.”
“Not to mention, you’ve obviously made an impression on Graham. Maya, too. Something tells me you’re not the sort of woman who has a hard time making friends.”
Lifting the mug to her lips, she murmured, “When you put it that way, I guess the real trouble is I have a hard time being a sister.”
Rory shook his head and declared, “Archie Blackstone is a pain in the arse. If you’re using him as your measuring stick, then I’m afraid you’ll always be disappointed.”
Her eyes widened in surprise as she swallowed another sip. “I thought—are you two not friends?” she stammered.
“No. We’ve known each other for a long time, but we’re acquaintances at best. It would amaze me to learn if he had any real friends. He’s quite self-absorbed, that one.”
She was smiling again when she replied, “You’re not the first person to say something like that.” She paused for a moment, staring down into her drink before she asked, “Did you know his father? My father?”
“Sure. Not particularly well, but he came around quite a bit. He was close with my Uncle Henry before he died. Even after we lost him, Mr. Blackstone would frequent the pub.”
“I keep hearing people describe him as a kind, generous soul, and I really want to believe that’s true. My mom wasn’t—” Sawyer knit her eyebrows together as she cut herself off, then shook away the thought before she continued, “Because I never met my dad, he’s always going to be a figment of my imagination. I had one cold, distant parent and I don’t know if it’s wishful thinking or true to believe Sawyer was a warm, loving man. Evidence leads me to believe he was sentimental and traditional—but every time I interact with his children, it makes me doubt the picture I have in my head of who he was.”
Rory wasn’t sure how to respond. What he knew of Sawyer’s situation was bizarre, to say the least. To discover her father’s identity only after his death sounded discombobulating. The very fact that she was there, a world away from home and determined to make a life for herself with all he’d left to her name, it revealed a bit of what the absence of a father in her life had done to her.
Having grown up with two loving and supportive parents, Rory couldn’t even begin to imagine how he might have turned out without them. Even as an adult who’d flown the coup decades ago, the relationship he had with his parents held immense value. He couldn’t fault Sawyer for her quest for the truth.
“I might not have known him well, but I knew him enough to be sure that Archie is nothing like him. Strangers though you were, I’d wager you had more in common with the man than his son.”
Speaking through a crooked smile, she narrowed her eyes at him skeptically. “You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
A hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, he assured her, “I’m not so kind as to be made a liar. But if you don’t believe me, stop by the Tavern sometime. Have a chat with Hattie. There’s no one who knows the patrons of The King’s Steed like she does. She’ll tell you what I can’t.” Deciding then was as good a time as any to bid his guest goodnight, he stood and reached for the book he’d abandoned on the coffee table. “I’m just down the hall if you need anything.”
“Thanks,” she replied. “For the warm drink and the couch and—for everything.”
In that moment, he couldn’t help but to remember what it felt like to have her mouth pressed against his. For a split second, a part of him wanted her gratitude expressed by way of the taste of bourbon on her lips.
The thought vanished as quickly as it arrived, leaving with it a tinge of regret fueled by what he could only assume was his self-induced loneliness.
A week ago, he could have had her naked in his bed.
Now, he would leave her fully clothed on his couch.
Life had a funny way of making him pay for his choices.
“Goodnight, Sawyer,” he muttered before heading for his room, leaving her and his regret behind.