Chapter Twenty-One
Two Weeks Later
I woke on Sunday morning to the chiming of St. Paul’s Cathedral’s bells.
The sheets covering my nakedness smelled of Rory and me. We didn’t spend every night together—but my memory was hazy about the last time we hadn’t. Most of the time I wound up in his bed, but he’d graced mine a couple of nights, too.
I thought it would have calmed down a bit by now—our appetite for one another—but it hadn’t. Even the most mundane activities when done with Rory were more tolerable. And while the sex was still great , sometimes it was just as nice to sit on opposite ends of the couch, each of us with a book in our laps, the only sound between us that of the crackling fire.
I wondered if this —this feeling, this contentment—was what people referred to when they talked about finding their person.
We were still new, but the only other person in my life who had ever made me feel wholly accepted and wanted was Diane. Until Rory, I didn’t know what that could look like coming from a man. The more time we spent together, the deeper our friendship grew, intensifying our intimacy. Rory was far from a boy, and it manifested itself in our relationship in ways that made me want to hold onto him even tighter.
It was as terrifying as it was wonderful.
Terrifying because I didn’t want to mess it up.
Wonderful because Rory made me feel safe.
Emotionally. Physically. Mentally.
He was a protector and a guardian.
He was built different.
It was on me not to screw it all up.
After an indulgent stretch, I sighed wistfully and then opened my eyes in search of him.
I wasn’t surprised to find I was in bed alone.
Knowing there would be coffee if I got up, I did just that, plucking Rory’s pullover from off the floor and donning it as I made me way to the kitchen. I found him where I usually did upon waking—at the table, with a mug of coffee and his tablet.
He looked up only when I came to a stop beside his chair. When he sat back, I didn’t hesitate to invite myself into his lap—straddling him as I circled my arms around his shoulders.
“Morning,” I murmured.
Smiling at me with just his eyes, he replied, “Morning, sweetheart.”
He rested a hand on each of my thighs, feeling his way toward my hips and underneath the hem of his open-zipped shirt. I squirmed a little, warmth racing across my skin.
“What do you want to do today?”
The corner of his mouth twitched, his hands still skimming up .
“You,” he answered simply
He’d reached my breasts, and I tugged my bottom lip between my teeth, fighting a grin as he grazed my nipples with his thumbs.
When I thought I could trust my voice, I replied, “That can be arranged.”
“Glad to hear it.”
He tilted his head then dipped his face underneath my chin, pressing a wet kiss against the side of my neck. A shiver raced up my spine, and I knew he felt it when he chuckled softly and kissed me again.
He was a master at foreplay.
It was almost maddening the way he teased me.
Almost .
He lifted his head, and I thought he was going to give me his lips—but then he stopped, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me flush against him.
“I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Oh,” I muttered lamely, completely caught off guard. “Um, okay.”
“It’s nothing serious. Logistics, really.”
I nodded and tried to focus, the fog of my arousal still looming in the air.
“I’m planning on driving to my parents’ house tomorrow night for dinner,” he continued. “I usually stay the night in their guest room—but if you want to come, I’ll book us a room at a hotel for a bit of privacy.”
My spine stiffened as I pressed my hands against his chest and pushed him away, far enough so I could make out his entire face.
“Nothing serious? Driving an hour and a half into the country to have dinner with your parents—that’s nothing serious? ”
He frowned.
“It’s only dinner.”
I coughed out a humorless laugh and reached for his face, holding his bearded cheeks between my palms as I emphasized, “With your parents , babe. That’s not nothing.”
He shrugged. “If you don’t want to go, it’s okay. We’ll spend the night apart. No big deal. You can meet them when you’re ready.”
“No—that—that’s not—” I stammered and then took a beat as I tried to find the right words. “That’s not what I meant.”
I grazed my thumbs across the smooth part of his cheeks as I asked the question that would give me the answer I was really looking for.
“You’re ready for me to meet your parents?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said mockingly. “Maybe because we’ve only been seeing each other for twenty-three days—not that I’m keeping track or anything.”
He flashed me his half-smile, and it had its usual effect.
“Don’t smile at me, I’m trying to concentrate.”
“Stop being intolerably adorable, and maybe I will.”
I scrunched my face as I tried to resist the urge, but it was no use.
I kissed him then. A long, hard, closed-mouth smooch.
How could I not?
When I pulled away, I touched my forehead to his, keeping my eyes closed as I murmured, “Babe—you know I don’t have the greatest track record when it comes to parents. Introducing me to yours might not be a big deal to you, but it is to me.”
“Sawyer, look at me.”
I opened my eyes but didn’t move my head away from his—both of us cyclopes until he pulled back, aiming his blue gaze straight at me.
“I think we’ve established this thing between us, it was never going to stop at friendship. At this point, we’re all or nothing, you and me, yeah?”
I nodded.
“Right. So tomorrow night, when they ask me what I’ve been up to since my last visit, I won’t keep you from them. That’s not the kind of relationship we have. And once they know about you—about the beautiful, blonde haired, gray eyed American I can’t seem to get enough of—they’re going to want to meet you.
“Whenever you’re ready, darling. Whether it be tomorrow or next month, or the month after—I’ll be more than happy to introduce you.”
I dropped my hands down to his shoulders, resuming my slouch as I replied, “Who’s the annoyingly sweet one, now? You know I can’t say no after that, right?”
“Does that mean you’re coming with me?”
“Yes. Of course, I am,” I muttered as I began to shift my way out of his lap.
“Where are you going?” Rory asked, locking his arms tight around me.
“I need to take a shower.”
“Ah. Should I go with you?”
“What? No!” I laughed. “I can’t think about sex right now. I’m meeting your parents tomorrow. Two people you love and respect in equal measure. Two people who love and support you more than anyone else in the whole world.
“I have one chance to make a good first impression. One. Yeah. No. We can’t have sex right now.”
“Maybe in twenty minutes then?” he teased as I found my way onto my feet.
I gasped and smacked his arm, shaking my head as I started for the bedroom.
He couldn’t see my face, but I hid my smile anyway.
Fifteen minutes later, when he joined me in the shower, the master got to work.
It wasn’t long before his parents were the last thing on my mind.
I slept at my place that night so I could wake up and pack what I needed for our night away before work. Fresh from the shower, still wrapped in only a towel, I was tossing items into my toiletry bag when it hit me.
It was the first week in March, and my period was late.
I froze, my mind sucking up all my brain power as I did a quick bit of math to make sure I had it right.
Twenty-eight days. It wasn’t always exactly on time, but I was pretty regular. The longest I’d gone between cycles was thirty-three days.
Abandoning my toiletries, I went hunting for my phone, still plugged in beside my bed. I pulled up the calendar app and counted again.
Thirty-two days.
Four days late.
Four days wasn’t enough to panic.
Four days wasn’t even my record.
Except—the last time my period was late, I was preparing to move across an ocean . And the time before that, I was stressing myself out writing my dissertation.
In neither of those situations was I having a gratuitous amount of sex.
I turned on my heel and lowered myself onto the edge of my bed as I tried to take deep breaths. Rory and I were about seventy/thirty when it came to having sex with a condom—but he’d never not pulled out. We were careful. At least, I thought we were. Not to mention, it’s not actually possible to get pregnant every day.
I set aside my phone, shook away the thought, and returned to the bathroom. I packed what I needed, optimistic my period would arrive any day now.
Did I want to have sexy time with my man in a cute, boutique hotel, on the countryside in Oxfordshire that night? Yes, I absolutely did.
Did I want my period to show up and ruin any hopes of said sexy time? Also, yes.
In any case, I didn’t have the capacity to freak out about meeting Mr. and Mrs. Collins for the first time and worry over my abnormal cycle. I could panic over my period if it didn’t make an appearance by the time we got back.
Besides—if heightened emotions could affect whether or not my period arrived on time, who was to say it always had to be the most negative emotions? I had a leak-free roof, new locks for my flat, a new door for the shop, and my boiler was working like a charm. The Blackstones seemed to have given up their attempts to get me to leave, and things at the bookstore were finally starting to turn around. We were hosting three book clubs in the coming weeks, and our social media following was growing faster than I thought realistic.
Then there was Rory—the very best part.
The last three weeks had been some of the happiest I could ever remember, which was why that night was so important.
Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I understood Rory was nonchalant about the whole thing because he’d already chosen me. He was a grown man, and he didn’t need his parents’ approval of the woman he was keeping in his bed. I respected that about him. Admired him, even. Not to mention, his parents had proven to be supportive of the choices that made him happy, trusting his judgement.
Regardless, I still wanted them to like me.
As someone who spent most of my life in a lackluster, long-distance relationship with the only parent I knew, Rory’s regular trips home were all the evidence I needed that they were important to him. So, of course, I overpacked.
I had two outfit options for that night—Rory having assured me we would stop by the hotel before heading to his parents’ place—and I had to talk myself out of packing a third. Instead, I put that outfit on and finished getting ready for work.
Victoria and I arrived at the shop at the same time. Before I could open my mouth to say hello, she cried, “You will never believe what I got up to last night.”
Instantly intrigued, I raised my eyebrows and insisted, “Do tell.”
“I subscribed to one of those dating apps.”
My eyes widened, and she laughed.
“I know. I could hardly believe it myself, given my distaste for such things, but you’ve inspired me.”
“I have?”
“Don’t act so surprised. For one thing, you called social media a necessary evil, and I think you’re right. Plus, you’ve been absolutely radiant these last few weeks—and I know it’s not just because of our increased foot traffic. You’re falling in love, and it’s marvelous.
“Granted, I don’t have particularly high expectations for the dating app, but I thought why not give it a try? There’s no harm in it.”
“You’re right. There’s not. I imagine it can be kind of fun, if you have the right attitude about it.”
“Exactly. Now, enough about me, how was the rest of your weekend?”
I turned, signaling I would walk with her to the back closet, so she could stow away her things.
“Well, uh—Rory invited me to meet his parents,” I confided as we went. “Tonight, actually. He’ll be by to pick me up around four. I hope you don’t mind closing alone.”
“Don’t worry about that,” she scoffed. “Meeting the parents. That’s monumental.”
“Right!? That’s what I said. He keeps insisting it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s a bit different for him though, isn’t it? Obviously, he’s well acquainted with all parties involved, and the invitation in itself is a sign of his confidence that you’ll get on fine. Besides, you’re brilliant. He’s coming home with a prize.”
“I don’t know. Maybe. I tend to think they’re the brilliant ones. His dad is an economist, and his mom is a tenured professor of Greek studies at Oxford. And they made Rory. What have I done?”
Having hung her coat, Victoria turned to look at me with a bewildered expression.
“Is that a serious question?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but she shook her head and waved a finger at me before she started talking again.
“No, dear, no. None of that.”
Heading back for the front of the store, she pressed a hand against the middle of my back and encouraged me to walk alongside her.
“Need I remind you that all of this is yours?”
I gave her my best look of skepticism and retorted, “That’s not fair. I barely just got here. And I couldn’t handle any of this without you.”
“Nonsense. You’re a go-getter if I’ve ever seen one. The changes you’ve made, the improvements? That’s all you. Not to mention all you accomplished before you got here. And don’t start up again about how unimpressive your life was. It’s all a journey, Sawyer.
“Rory’s parents are just people who made a series of choices that resulted in their life as it is now. You, too, have lived out your own adventure. Now your paths will cross, Rory acting as your junction point, and that’s what matters most. The thing you’ll all have in common when you walk through their door is that you all care for Rory—everything else is just window dressing.”
“Wow,” I said softly, a sense of relief easing the tension in my shoulders I hadn’t noticed until it was gone. “You’re really good at a pep talk.”
She grinned. “Everyone needs a friend to act as a mirror sometimes. Always happy to be yours.
“As for tonight being monumental, I only meant in regard to your relationship. You’ve grown quite serious. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, Victoria.”
She’d put it plainly.
Rory had expressed his commitment to me—to us —in a variety of ways. We were all or nothing. Whether we moved ahead at the speed of light or as slow as an old tortoise, we’d put something into motion neither of us could stop. But this invitation, it told me more than he’d ever spoken aloud.
I realized, in that moment, I didn’t just want his parents to like me.
I wanted to make him proud.
“You know I’ll want to hear all about it?”
Nodding, I teased, “I’ll take notes.”
The drive out of the city and into the rural landscape of Oxfordshire was magnificent. The rolling hills and vast open landscape was picturesque, and more beautiful in person than any image I’d ever seen. It was also nice to be in the car with just Rory. He never drove while we were in London, but he looked so at ease and at peace behind the wheel.
The hotel was perfect, the outside made of old stone covered in foliage, and the inside updated but still cozy and charming. I replayed my pep talk from Victoria earlier as I freshened up, and did my best to combat my nerves when Rory announced it was time for us to head out. Our destination was another twenty minutes from where we were staying.
“Are you still nervous?” he asked as he drove.
“Yes,” I answered honestly.
“You remember the night you met Graham?”
I turned to look at him then, peering at his profile through the darkness. “Yeah.”
“Wouldn’t shut up about you after you left. He couldn’t believe I wasn’t interested in a woman like you. Gorgeous. Intellectual. And a Manchester fan to boot.”
I couldn’t help but to smile, having never heard these details before.
“He was wrong, obviously. But he was also right—I’d have been a blind eejit not to like you.” He reached over and rested his hand atop my thigh, giving my leg a squeeze. “My parents are neither blind nor idiotic.”
I covered his hand with both of mine, appreciative of his comfort. Though, as I realized earlier in the day, I was anxious over more than whether or not I was likable.
“It’s not about them. It’s me. I just—I want to be enough,” I murmured.
“Sweetheart…”
“I’ve been thinking about it—about what tonight might be like if our roles were reversed; if my mother was alive and you were meeting her for the first time. I bet she would have liked you. You’re handsome, talented, and confident without being arrogant. You don’t demand attention, and yet you have a voice—you’ll discuss anything.
“Maeve was narcissistic and obsessive, but she wasn’t mean or judgmental. Not to strangers or fans, or the few friends she had. But I keep picturing the three of us sitting down to dinner and her telling you about my wasted potential. I would be a catch, if only I did X, Y, or Z. And then she might laugh it off and say maybe you were lucky I hadn’t reached my full potential, because if I had, I might not have noticed you at all.”
“And what did I say?”
“What?”
“In this fantasy dinner scene you’ve played out in your mind, after your mother insulted you, what did I say?”
I shook my head, even though he wasn’t looking at me, and murmured, “Nothing.”
“That’s not very accurate, now is it?”
“Okay, then. What would you say?”
Without a hint of hesitation, he replied, “I would say whatever potential you’d wasted was on account of excess. I would tell her your tenacity and your boldness once you’ve made up your mind about something is what makes you special—and it was in your pursuit of preserving a business that is a testament to the tradition of respecting the written word, a pastime she herself has to thank for her livelihood, that drew me to you in the first place.
“Simply put, I would kindly insist she was wrong.”
I looked away from him, staring unseeingly out of the window as I bit the inside of my cheek and tried really hard not to cry. My mascara wasn’t waterproof.
“Sawyer?” he called gently, squeezing my leg.
Speaking around the knot in my throat, I whispered, “You hide it behind that sexy scowl of yours, but you’re definitely the annoyingly sweet one.”
“Come now, don’t cry.”
“Give me a minute, will you? I’m working on it,” I teased.
He squeezed my leg once more, and we fell into a comfortable silence.
Not ten minutes later, we were parked in front of the most adorable cottage I’d ever seen. As I would soon find out, the couple who resided inside were just as great.
“Hello there, my boy,” greeted his mother at the door, reaching up to pat his cheek affectionately. “So good to see you. And you must be Sawyer.” She settled her kind gaze on me and smiled. “I’m delighted you’re here. Come in, come in out of the cold!”
“There you are! How ya getting on?” asked his father, who appeared from what must have been the kitchen. He was wearing an apron, on which he was wiping his hands. “Was a little late getting home this evening, so dinner’s not quite ready. But it shouldn’t be long now.”
Lorcan Collins was a tall, lanky, redhead with bright eyes, a broad grin, and a heavy Irish accent. Adelaide was only a little taller than me, but curvier with curly, gray-streaked, sandy brunette hair she wore in a long braid that draped down her chest—her accent that of a proper English woman.
“I hope you like shepherd’s pie,” said Adelaide after introductions were behind us. “It’s Lorcan’s specialty. Or, rather, the only thing he’ll cook. He refuses to let me do it. Says the seasoning’s always off when I try.”
“G’wan, don’t let her fool you! I’m no one trick pony.”
“Well, it smells delicious,” I assured them on a laugh. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Rory, take her into the next room and you two have a seat. I’ll fetch something to drink. What would you like? We’ve got wine, tea, water—tap or sparkling, depending on your preference.”
Rory and I both opted to start with water before he showed me into the next room. We were there long enough for me to come to the conclusion I had worried over nothing. Both his parents were practically tripping over themselves to make sure I felt welcome. It was when we sat down to dinner with a bottle of red wine that we settled into relaxed and engaging conversation.
Lorcan was quirky but obviously clever and deeply intellectual. Any mention of Manchester United set him off on a tangent, which I loved. We discussed the club’s ownership and the ramifications of the coaching staff for more than twenty minutes.
Adelaide was the definition of maternal, but also sophisticated and brilliant without being pretentious. She was passionate about her work, and when I mentioned how I would be interested in exploring Oxford University, she lit up and insisted upon it.
“How about tomorrow?” she asked, looking from me to Rory and then back at me. “If you don’t have to rush back. I know you’ve got responsibilities, but you’re already here. My first class doesn’t start until half past ten. We could grab a tea, and I’ll give you an abbreviated tour. I’d love to show you around.”
I smiled sheepishly at Rory, hoping he would say yes. When he winked at me, I grinned at Adelaide and said, “Tomorrow it is.”
“Wonderful!”
And it was—the whole night was wonderful.
It wasn’t just the kindness of Rory’s parents, or the lack of nerves I felt as the night wore on—it was getting the chance to see a different side of Rory that left me in awe.
Since we’d started a more intimate relationship, I’d seen what he was like after peeling back a layer or two. But Rory when he was with his parents opened up completely—like he knew there was no place safer for him to be his whole self. He laughed more, and shared bits and pieces of himself I didn’t know he had inside of him.
It was mesmerizing.
Later, on our drive back to the hotel, I couldn’t get it out of my head—what he’d shared with me. He hadn’t said or even hinted at it, but I understood his invitation to the countryside wasn’t about his parents. Not really. It’s why he was so nonchalant about it; because he’d already made up his mind, and the real invitation was for me to know him better. Deeper . I knew, without him having to say a word, he wanted me to have that—him.
We were all or nothing, and he was giving me all .
As soon as we got back to the room, the only thing I could think about was how much I wanted him. Every bit of him.
When I reached for him—I didn’t even have to say it.
His mouth still tasted of wine. As he began to remove my clothes, I couldn’t tell if the heady feeling I had was a result of the two glasses I’d drank or just the effect of him. I was desperate to get as close to him as possible—to have every inch of me pressed against him. Skin to skin. Stripped naked and vulnerable.
I wanted to give it.
I wanted to have it.
When we were both completely bare, we crawled between the sheets, still neither of us speaking a word. Rory brought his mouth back down on mine, tasting me as he felt his way along my side, over my hip, then between my legs. I was already drenched, the ache I had for him permeating from the deepest part of me. He groaned as he slipped two fingers inside of me, and I rolled my hips, desperate for more.
Like he always did, he took his time as he played with me. But I didn’t have the patience. Not that night.
“Baby, I need more. I need you ,” I breathed into his mouth as I reached for his hardened length.
He nodded, then lifted his head and began looking for something.
His wallet, and the condom I was sure he’d stowed there.
I didn’t want that, either.
I knew I should—but I didn’t.
“No, please—just you. Just us,” I coaxed, reaching up to turn his face back toward me. “Just us,” I repeated on a whisper.
I saw it. The moment it happened, I saw it.
The recognition. The acceptance. The offering.
He took hold of himself and grazed his tip across my entrance and then up, until he nudged my swollen clit. I spread my legs wider as a soft moan spilled from my lips, our eyes locked on one another as if nothing in the entire world existed outside of this very moment except for us.
“Just us,” he muttered, echoing exactly how I felt before he filled me full.
He made love to me. Patiently. Adoringly.
His hands were everywhere, and I kissed every part of him I could reach, all the while rocking my hips in tandem with his.
When I was close, the promise of my orgasm growing with every thrust, I wrapped myself around him completely—holding on for what I was sure would be the greatest fall of my life.
“Sweetheart,” Rory grunted, his thrusts coming harder now. “Sweetheart, I’m almost there.”
“Together,” I mewled.
He propped his forehead against mine as he rammed into me again.
“Sawyer—”
“Baby, together. Please.”
It was reckless, and I knew it, but I didn’t care.
I couldn’t care.
“I’m yours. Come inside of me. Make me yours.”
“Bloody hell,” he groaned before closing his mouth around mine.
He kissed me deep and hard, rolling his hips just right until I could hardly breathe.
Then it hit.
I arched my back, pressing my breasts against his chest as I broke our kiss and cried, “Rory!”
My sex clamped down around him, calling forth his pleasure on the heels of mine. I felt it as I clung to him—his muscles tensed, his cock twitched, and as I continued to flutter around him, he eased in and out of me until he was spent.
“Do you believe it now, darling?” he asked, still breathless.
I had no idea what he meant, my mind in a fog of our own making.
“Believe what?”
He lifted his head away from mine so he could see into my eyes as he said, “That you’re enough. You’re so much more than enough.”
I didn’t know if what I felt was love—but I knew I’d never felt closer to anyone in my entire life, and I never wanted to forget that feeling.
The way he was looking at me, our bodies still joined, his words wrapping themselves around my heart.
No, I never, ever wanted to forget.
Because in that moment, I did believe it.
I said as much with a tiny nod. Then, my eyes growing full of tears, I whispered, “I’m going to cry. Kiss me, baby. Now. Please.”
“With pleasure.”