Chapter Eleven
Sawyer
His pillow smelled like birch and bergamot—an intoxicating reminder of the sexy redhead, in whose home I’d slept.
Rory’s couch wasn’t quite as comfortable as mine, but I woke the next morning rested and warm.
My alarm sounded at seven-thirty, and I silenced it before I laid back and listened for any movement down the hall. I wasn’t sure how late Rory usually slept, only that he wished not to be bothered before nine in the morning.
The memory of that request came complete with the recollection I had of him shirtless, and I wondered if I’d get another glimpse of him half dressed, half awake, and with that glorious display of bedhead.
No sooner had the thought crossed my mind than I clapped my hands over my face. The act muffled my soft groan. I shouldn’t have been thinking of my neighbor half naked. My generous neighbor who invited me to sleep on his couch, made me a hot beverage to warm me up, and talked me down from the defeatist ledge I’d manage to climb on after tea with the sister who didn’t really want to be my sister.
I’d labeled Rory as broody—which was true, if only in part. But last night, he’d been more than a disgruntled helping hand. He’d been kind and receptive. He listened and was surprisingly comforting. I was worried about acquiring the label of his needy neighbor, but he made me feel nothing of the sort.
If he had stayed on the couch long enough for me to have finished my hot toddy—which was extra spicy with just the right amount of sweetness and really delicious—chances were high I would have kissed him. Again.
It was probably better he went to bed when he did. I wouldn’t have had the excuse of being drunk and jet-lagged. I was merely warm, grateful, and interested. Irrefutably interested.
Except, one blatant rejection from the man was quite enough. The thought of another, in much different circumstances, which would leave me quite vulnerable, sent a pang through my stomach.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I wanted a man who made me feel vulnerable.
I peeked through my fingers and stared up at the exposed beams of his ceiling and the naked Edison bulbs that hung above my head. I was sure half the reason I was so attracted to Rory was because he remained a scowling, illusive mystery of a man—the other half being he was a spectacularly good-looking guy over forty who still had everything going for him.
That said, while his kind words the night before led me to believe he was warming up to me, I was convinced there was no interest on his part.
He had me all alone in his flat. He could have made a move, and yet he hadn’t. Not even once.
For the first time, I wondered if maybe it was my age that turned him off. I wasn’t sure exactly how old he was. I knew only that Graham was forty-two and the two had met in college and had been friends for more than twenty years. My guess was he was at least a decade older than me, which wasn’t a huge deal in my eyes.
If I was honest, it made him more appealing not less.
Older men were more established, wise, and experienced. I also assumed they had a better idea about what it was they wanted. I’d never dated anyone even five years older than me, but the older I got the more I understood myself—and Rory struck me as a man who knew and accepted himself at a very deep level.
Could the same be said of me from his perspective?
Maybe my short-lived pity party on the rooftop only exaggerated the years that spanned between us.
Immaturity wasn’t something I’d been accused of in ages. Getting sent away to boarding school helped me grow up faster than some, and I learned early on to stand on my own as best I could. But in the same breath, I would be the first to admit it took me a long time to figure out who I was. In some ways, I couldn’t deny I was still trying to figure it out—hence a transcontinental relocation. Though, just because I was still on a journey didn’t make me immature.
Weren’t most people, regardless of their age, ever growing, changing human beings?
I rubbed at my face and then buried my fingers in my hair with a sigh. It really didn’t matter one way or another why Rory wasn’t interested in me. Fact of the matter was he wasn’t. Except, he didn’t want me to leave, which made us something close to friends, and that was worth more than nothing.
I laid awake with my thoughts for more than twenty minutes, forcing myself up when my bladder beckoned. As I made my way barefoot to the bathroom, I wondered how cold the bookstore had gotten over night. Much as I wanted to garner more foot traffic through the place, it wouldn’t do to welcome customers into an ice box. I would have to close up shop until the heat was working again.
I hoped that wouldn’t take more than a day or two.
I made a mental note to send Victoria a text when I returned to the couch. As soon as Rory was awake, I’d ask for his engineer contact and get repairs sorted as soon as possible. Where I would go while I waited on said repairs was unknown. The pub didn’t open until eleven, but I didn’t want to impose on Rory’s morning any more than I had to.
I was mulling over the idea of taking advantage of an unexpected free day and checking off another tourist destination when I emerged from the bathroom and bumped into the solid figure of a very warm, if not pale, shirtless man.
“Oof,” I muttered as I began to reel backwards.
Just as the sound escaped my lips, two hands grabbed me as if to steady me—one clasping hold of my waist while the other took hold of my opposite shoulder. While I didn’t feel as though I would topple over anymore, I wasn’t exactly steady on my feet, either.
His touch had quite the jarring effect.
“Boys a dear. Sorry,” he grumbled.
I looked up, and then up some more, inadvertently enjoying the view as my eyes traveled over what was likely ten inches between my eyes and his when we were standing this close. It was impossible to ignore the warmth of his touch as it seeped through my sweater. I couldn’t say whether it was his proximity, his hands, or his drowsy blue gaze aimed down at me—but whatever it was, my heart rate had picked up speed as a result.
“Didn’t expect you to open the door. Was going to knock to see if you wanted a shower. I’ll grab you a towel if you do.”
My stomach clenched in anxious excitement, my brain doing that thing where it morphed his words into something I was sure he didn’t mean.
He wasn’t inviting me to join him in the shower. He was merely presenting me with the option to bathe—me, the woman without hot water of my own. Alone.
Still, for a span of the blink of an eye, my imagination took me there, and it was rapturous.
“Um,” I started to say.
His hands fell away from me then, and he took a step back, the look in his eyes still sleepy but deliberate. He was waiting for an answer while I was mourning the loss of his touch.
“A shower would be great. Yeah,” I managed to spit out.
He nodded then disappeared into his bedroom before returning with an unfolded towel.
“It’s clean, I swear. Just haven’t gotten around to folding laundry.”
“I trust you. Thanks,” I replied, accepting his offering.
He nodded again then left me in the hallway, returning once more to his bedroom.
I stood unmoving, relishing in the fact that I had gotten a glimpse of Rory half dressed, with sexy bedhead.
Then I reminded myself a glimpse was all I was going to get, and I had things to do that morning.
I grabbed my bag from the living room and locked myself in the bathroom. I skipped my hair routine and managed to make myself presentable in under thirty minutes. When I reemerged, I was in one of the sweaters I’d layered up with the night before and a pair of jeans. I found Rory in the kitchen. He’d donned a shirt and was sitting at his dining room table with a mug filled with a steaming beverage, his attention focused on the tablet in front of him. He looked my way when he heard me enter the room.
“Could I get you a wee bit of coffee?” he asked.
“Actually, I’d love some, if it’s not too much trouble.”
He stood without further prompting and reached for a mug off one of his floating shelves beside the stove. I discarded my bag and then went to stand across from him on the opposite side of his kitchen island.
“I’m going to close the shop today. I let Victoria know, already. If I could get the name of that contact you mentioned—”
“About that, I called while you were in the shower,” he interjected, filling the mug with what remained in his stovetop moka pot.
I was not the least bit surprised to learn this was how he made his coffee—strong, and bold with flavor. Sophisticated. And bit labor intensive first thing in the morning.
“Figured it would be easier. I know the man and could ask for a favor. He’s already agreed to squeeze you in this afternoon. I didn’t have your number to share with him, but you can text him as soon as I give you his information.” He paused and glanced over at me before asking, “Milk and sugar?”
“A little of both. Thank you.” I watched him doctor my coffee, all the while transfixed by his very nature. Before I could think better of it, I teased, “You know—you’re a lot nicer than that scowl you’re always wearing would imply.”
He pinched his eyebrows together as he looked over at me and argued, “I’m not always scowling.”
I grinned, holding back a laugh as I replied, “Right, well—thank you for calling in that favor. You’re a life saver.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he muttered, handing over my coffee. “It really was no trouble. Besides, can’t have you camping out on the couch forever. Though, it seems that’s a habit of yours even at home.”
He said it with a straight face, and if I didn’t know any better I would have felt like a burden. Except, there was something in his eyes which assured me he was mostly teasing.
“I’m stuck on the couch only for a couple more days. My furniture is scheduled to be delivered tomorrow.”
“Your spine will rejoice.” As he returned to his seat at the table, he told me, “Sit if you want to. And if you’ll give me your number, I’ll text you Will’s contact details.”
My stomach fluttered in excitement at the prospect of us exchanging phone numbers. It was silly, the way I naturally responded to the simplest things he said; but as I situated myself in a chair one removed from his, I resisted the urge to let my mind runaway with his request and quelled the feeling in my belly.
Rory and I were just a couple of new friends, and that would have to do.
I stayed only until my coffee was gone. As soon as my mug was empty, I gathered my things and headed home before I had the chance to overstay my welcome at Rory’s. After a night with no heat, my flat and the bookstore were freezing. The high that day would reach nearly fifty degrees, but that wasn’t saying much. It was a relief knowing Will would be around later. In the meantime, I headed out, in search of warmth.
My first stop was to a nearby coffee shop, where I ordered a breakfast sandwich and settled behind my laptop for a while. We were already starting to get some activity on our newly created Tattered Edges social media accounts, which was great news. I shared a post, making light of the heating issue I hoped would be resolved by the end of the day, and then scheduled a few more photos.
When I was finished, I opted to play tourist for a while and headed for the London Eye. While I hadn’t planned it, the sky was clear, and the view was beautiful for the entirety of my ride. I snapped a ton of photos, as only a tourist would, and sent a few to Diane when I was back on the ground. Then, with more time to kill, I ventured to Borough Market. After wandering around for a bit and purchasing a few unexpected finds from a couple of vendors, I finally made the journey home.
Will buzzed up to the flat mid-afternoon, in the early portion of his estimated time of arrival. He was a friendly, older man who headed straight for the roof upon seeing me bundled up as if I were still outdoors. In less than an hour, my heat was back on.
I actually squealed in excitement when I felt warmth wafting from my radiator.
Soon after I paid the man and walked him out, I sent Victoria a message, letting her know the store would be open the next day. I had half a mind to open the doors for the remaining three hours of business left in the evening, but ultimately decided to let the rest of my free day play out as it would.
My place was almost warm enough to start shedding layers when I thought of Rory. He might not have been the one to physically fix my boiler, but he was the reason the issue was resolved in less than twenty-four hours. When he offered me a warm place to sleep, he made me promise I wouldn’t thank him with another box of biscuits—but I remembered Hattie’s advice about scotch.
A quick internet search helped me find the best place to procure such a purchase. An hour later, I was walking into The King’s Steed with a malted thank you I hoped he’d appreciate.
It was Wednesday, which meant the Parlour wasn’t open, so I didn’t bother with the stairs and headed for the Tavern. Except, as I made my way to the bar, I didn’t see any sign of Rory.
“Hello there, deary. And what have you got this time?”
I turned at the sound of Hattie’s voice and found her eyeing the bottle in my hands with interest.
“Ah,” she hummed with a broad smirk. “You took my advice, I see. He’ll like that, I guarantee it. Though, I doubt you’ll gift your way into his affections. He’s a tougher nut than that.”
“Oh, I—that’s not what this is,” I stammered, unexpectedly embarrassed.
Even as I said the words, I doubted my own intensions. I wasn’t trying to buy my way to his heart. The thought never even crossed my mind. Except, now that she’d mentioned it, I wondered if subconsciously I was doing exactly that.
Needing to convince myself, I explained, “He helped me again. Only this time, he went above and beyond in his neighborly duties. I thought this would be an appropriate opportunity to go above and beyond myself.”
“Mmm, I see,” she replied with a dip of her chin.
I wasn’t sure whether or not she believed me, but she didn’t press the issue.
“Well, you’d better leave it with me. He’s not here.”
“Oh. If he’s upstairs, I could go around back.”
“He’s not home either, I’m afraid. He went to have dinner with his parents. It’s a bit of a trek to the country, and we aren’t expecting him back tonight. But leave it with me. I’ll be sure he gets it.”
“Okay.”
Reluctantly, I handed her the bottle. I could have held onto it and delivered it in person at another time, but it felt like if I did that, what she said about my intentions would be true. Disappointed as I was that I’d missed him, I didn’t want to make it into a big deal.
“Thanks.”
“Sure. Why don’t you have a seat while I go put this in the back. I’ll put in an order for you, too. What’ll you have?”
I opened my mouth to tell the woman I didn’t have plans of staying, but then I stopped myself. Thinking back on my chat with Rory, I recalled how he’d told me Hattie knew my father. With nowhere else to be, I replied, “I’ll have a dirty gin martini and some crisps, please.”
“Coming right up.”
I shrugged my way out of my jacket and took a seat at a table for two in a corner near the front windows. It wasn’t quite five in the evening, but the pub was already starting to draw a crowd. There were a couple of people at the bar that looked like they’d come from the office, and a group gathered at a table who appeared as though they were just out, enjoying the afternoon.
“One dirty martini, and a bowl of crisps,” announced Hattie when she approached the table a couple minutes later with my order. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you for a bit,” she added, taking the seat opposite me. “I’ve been hoping for the chance to chat. If I recall, there’s a story behind how a woman named Sawyer came to own a bookstore that used to be owned by a man named Sawyer. Now, you’re here, I’m here—and I do love a good story.”
Reaching for the toothpick full of olives, I replied, “How about a trade? I’ll tell you about the woman if you tell me about the man.”
Her eyes brightened as she agreed, “Deal.”
Seeing as this wasn’t the first time I’d told my story, it came out with ease. Hattie listened intently, responding at all the appropriate moments, and asking questions that were beginning to sound familiar. However, it was the way she looked at me when I was finished that took me aback. Her eyes were swimming in tears she did her best to blink away.
“It really is a shame the two of you never met. If he was here, I’d give him a stern talking to for being a right git. He would have adored you, but he never gave himself the chance—and you—well, you are a treasure. I’m quite sure of it.”
“I don’t know that I deserve such praise, but thanks,” I muttered, lifting my martini to my lips.
It wasn't as good as Rory's—but it went down easy enough.
Hattie smiled. “I’m old enough to remember when your father first inherited the bookstore. By then, he and our Henry had been best mates for years. Henry was always here, as he was next in line to take over the pub; and Sawyer was next door as much for the same reason. He loved Tattered Edges because it was his mother’s joy and because he always had a fondness and appreciation for literature. The written word was fodder for his soul.
“But I also think he loved it because it was right next door to the pub. Sawyer was a family man, most of the time. After he became a father, you wouldn’t find him here in the evening. At least not often. Usually, he’d walk over before dinner. He and Henry would have a pint together and play a round of chess or two. There was no one they liked playing with more than each other. And boy did they squabble.
“The two couldn’t have been more different, but that’s always been the magic of the pub. It was Henry’s home, but it was Sawyer’s third place, which made it almost like home. And in spite of all that made them opposites, in here it didn’t matter. He grew up believing that. Once he passed through those doors, he could be his true self; and next door he could get lost in a world of endless possibilities. This corner of London was priceless to him.
“All that to say—I know Sawyer would never have wanted the bookstore to fall into the wrong hands. I think he knew his other children couldn’t care less for the place. He took a gamble on you, but you were his last hope.
“If he knew you were the type of woman who would drop everything and move across the world to ensure the legacy of the store lived on—well, he would have been beside himself with pride.”
At first, I didn’t know what to say. My chest had grown tight as she spoke, and when she mentioned my father’s pride, it was my turn to get a little teary. Hypothetical as the sentiment might have been, it was inexplicably validating.
In an effort to keep my emotions in check, I thought it best to steer the conversation in a different direction. “You called the pub his third place. What does that mean?”
“Well, almost everyone has two places where they are known best. At home, with their families who know them most intimately, and work, where we spend so much of our time. A third place is that special place that is neither home nor work but a place where everyone knows you; a place you enjoy; a place you choose.”
I looked away from Hattie and around the Tavern, which was fuller now than it had been when I sat down. I considered the people who sat together over drinks and games. I thought about the way Hattie must have known a good number of them. She wasn’t just an employee at the pub. She was a keeper of names and a collector of stories and memories.
I loved the concept of a third place . It was both comforting and inspiring. I wanted my store to be someone’s third place, too.
“I know Rory wanted to buy the bookstore and turn it into a restaurant,” I said, casting my attention across from me once more. “Given how inviting the pub is, I’m sure it would have been great for business.”
“That makes one of us,” she stated flippantly.
“So, you weren’t on board with the idea?”
Hattie drew in a deep breath as she shook her head. “Rory is brilliant. Truly. I love him as if he were my own. I’ve known him since he was a small boy and can attest he’s grown into the man his grandfather knew he was, and the man his uncle believed he could be. But sometimes his ambitions are his downfall. I’m quite relieved you came along. The last thing that man needs is more work.”
I liked hearing her talk about him. I liked it even more that she’d known him since he was little.
“You’ve been a part of this place for a long time, haven’t you?”
“Longer than I’d like to admit,” she laughed. “Jack hired me on, back when I was still young and gorgeous,” she teased, patting her white hair. “For a while, I stayed because I was sweet on Henry. He was a bit of a rolling stone, though. I gave up on him and married someone else. I had a couple children and quit working for a bit, but when I was ready to come back, Henry made it happen. Then after we lost him, I found I couldn’t leave.
“The only two here left who really knew Henry are Rory and me. There was Sawyer, of course, until he passed. And old as I am, I’m still useful. Rory relies on me down here, and I’m happy to be of service in Henry’s Tavern.”
She’d labeled herself as useful , but in the short amount of time I’d spent with her, I knew she was selling herself short. The first time I met her, I could tell she had a care-giver’s spirit. Now, I knew it was more profound than that. I was hardly more than a stranger, and yet after thirty minutes in her company, my heart felt full.
“Hattie,” I began to say, leaning toward her a little. “If I’m a treasure, you’re a crown jewel.”
She beamed at me as she laughed. “Oh, I like you. We’re going to be friends.”
I couldn’t help but to smile right back at her as I replied, “I hope so.”