Chapter 4
Ginny’s awkwardness with Rhys had been bad enough before he’d served her a flaming shot and she’d set her hair on fire.
Now her blood was rushing in her ears so loudly she could barely hear her own thoughts.
To make matters worse, her brain had switched off at the sight of his sculpted jaw and that light fuzz of stubble.
It would take her a second to boot up again.
She couldn’t imagine why he was here – or why he’d shot to his feet like a gentleman in a Jane Austen adaptation the moment she’d walked into the room.
‘Coffee!’ she blurted out and marched to the machine in the corner of the room.
‘I’ll, uh, leave you to it,’ Sophie said with a wince as she tiptoed out, the wise – and traitorous – woman.
The silence that filled the room in the wake of Sophie’s departure pressed on Ginny’s lungs.
‘Not working at the pub today?’ she asked over her shoulder as the machine spat out the first beverage.
‘It’s a long way to come, if you’ve got a shift later.
Oh, you found the photo book from Alessandra’s wedding.
You know we’ve got that venue booked in again – the museum. It’s so funny how things work out.’
The only sound she heard from behind her was something like, ‘Mffh.’
‘Sit down,’ she said, gesturing with her head, because her hands were busy trying desperately not to spill the milk. ‘Oh, I didn’t ask if you have milk.’
‘I don’t.’
‘Of course you don’t. Great Heart men – and Kira – drink their coffee as black as their souls.’
The noise he made at that was more of a gurgle.
‘You were more talkative when you had your back turned at the pub,’ she remarked, peering at him.
He sat stiffly, hands clasped between his knees, as though the comfy sofa were a pew.
Although she was trying not to care, she wished she knew how to put him at ease.
None of her usual techniques worked on him.
‘That’s probably true,’ he mumbled in agreement.
She set the second coffee – milk-free this time – in front of him and perched on the armchair facing him. ‘Three whole words,’ she commented.
He glanced up at her. Why she found that solemn brow so intriguing, she didn’t want to know. ‘That was all I could get in,’ he commented evenly.
‘Pfft.’ It was her turn to reply inarticulately. ‘Look, if you’ve come all this way to apologise for setting my hair on fire, you needn’t have. It was an accident and I was just as much at fault. I’ve calmed down now.’
She really needed him to say something, but when she turned to him, he was watching her with even more discomfort.
‘You don’t even have to like me,’ she rushed on.
‘You were right. I need to learn to take up space. I realised that might be a good self-improvement challenge to focus on while I’ve given myself this dating ban.
Isn’t it funny how “dating ban” sounds like something handed down by a judge, like a driving ban, as though I were terrorising the public with all my dating? ’
Finally, she managed to stop speaking. Stick to the point, Weller, she berated herself.
‘I don’t suppose you know any photographers we might not have tried?’ she asked.
‘Er, I’ll do it.’
He spoke so quietly, Ginny was certain at first that she’d misheard. ‘Pardon?’
‘I’ll take the photos – at the wedding.’
‘Wow – really? Oh my God.’
‘I’m not sure you need to be so surprised.’
‘You told me very suddenly,’ she defended herself, avoiding his gaze and studying the thick silver bracelet he wore on his left wrist instead. ‘I wasn’t expecting such a change of heart.’
He looked down and mumbled something that sounded like, ‘Me neither,’ but Ginny was enjoying the relief too much to pay much attention.
‘I was so worried I wouldn’t be able to find anyone who could take these amazing pictures for Sophie and now we’ve got you, Rhys Bowen, award-winning nature photographer.’
His lips tipped up and it felt like a prize. ‘You’re very good at flattery.’
‘Thank you. It’s part of my job.’
‘Well, just remember it works on me. Use it wisely.’
The heat in her stomach at his words was almost unbearable. For many reasons – mostly to do with her mental state – it would be easier to stick to her theory that he didn’t like her, especially when her brain played back the conversation they’d just had.
‘I-I’m sorry,’ she stammered.
‘What for?’ She wasn’t imagining the exasperation in his tone.
‘You came here to tell me you’d help and I assumed otherwise and didn’t let you get a word in. I was nervous.’
‘Why?’ The furrows in his forehead were back.
She’d thought that was obvious. ‘I always seem to say ridiculous things when you’re around.’
‘I didn’t realise it was just with me.’
Ginny spluttered over her reply. ‘You think I say ridiculous things in front of everyone?’
‘No, that’s not what I—’ His grimace suggested this conversation was as difficult for him as it was for her.
She blew out a calming breath. ‘Regardless, I appreciate you coming all this way to tell me, I really do. I suppose you didn’t have to.’
‘I didn’t come all this way to tell you,’ he interrupted her. ‘I didn’t intend to agree at all. You assumed right. I came to apologise, to try to clear the air before the wedding.’
‘But… What changed your mind?’
He studied the photo book on the coffee table, the lovely picture of Alessandra from the winter wedding. ‘Sophie – and you.’
The way he said ‘you’ curled around her heart as she imagined a tone of fondness behind it. She’d always had an unhelpfully vivid imagination. She truly needed this break from dating.
‘But I’m not a wedding photographer,’ he insisted ruefully. ‘I’ll do my best, but that hasn’t changed.’
‘It’s all right,’ she said indulgently. ‘I’ll hold your hand through the whole thing – I mean figuratively!’ Her gaze flew to his, finding his eyes on her already. The way he looked at her was enigmatic, as though he found something puzzling in her face. ‘Any help you need, just ask.’
He nodded. ‘I really am sorry about the sambuca.’
‘It was an accident – I know.’
‘And I’m sorry you’re nervous. You don’t need to be.’
She bit her lip, not sure she could agree with him, especially now she knew the sound of his quiet voice – the slightest hint of a Welsh lilt – when he spoke whole sentences instead of monosyllabic mumbles. She was nervous about just how big a crush she could develop on him.
‘Er, how long have you had that piercing?’
She blinked as he gestured to his lower lip. ‘Oh, this?’ She must have been fiddling with her labret stud again. It was a bad habit.
‘It’s very… recognisable,’ he commented.
She would interpret this attempt at conversation as progress.
‘I got it at uni,’ she answered. ‘I had a rebellious boyfriend. This was easier than getting a tattoo and I got in less trouble with my dad. Now it serves to remind my parents of what could have been, so they don’t come on too strong with the “wanting to see me settled down and happy” talk. ’
That answer was obviously more than Rhys had bargained for, but he’d asked.
‘Aren’t you a little young to be settling down?’
Ginny shrugged. ‘You should tell that to my dad. My sister is engaged. She’s twenty-five and I’m three years older.
What were you doing when you were my age?
Exploring the world, free as a bird?’ She waited, holding her breath, to see if he’d fall for her ruse and let slip some personal information.
She was dying to know how old he was, because his enigmatic face gave nothing away.
‘It was a long time ago,’ he muttered. ‘I was living in Bolivia.’ Another person might have gone on to explain who he’d been living in Bolivia with, doing what, but Rhys had no respect for Ginny’s bottomless curiosity.
Whatever ‘a long time ago’ meant, he clearly thought he was much older than she was.
‘Well, there you go,’ she said when he didn’t continue. ‘If I told my dad I was moving to Bolivia, he’d have a heart attack and I don’t particularly want two dead parents.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Your mum has passed?’
She nodded. ‘When I was five. But I’m close to my stepmum.’ She clutched her own hand and squeezed to get herself to be quiet so he’d respond.
‘Did it hurt? The piercing?’
‘Are you thinking of getting one?’ she teased with a jumpy laugh. ‘Not pain, exactly. The anticipation was the worst, then the shock. But I don’t think it actually hurt, you know? This one was worse. It hurt for months.’ She tweaked the stud in her upper ear. ‘I don’t think I’d get either again.’
‘Perhaps it was a good thing you didn’t go for the tattoo, then.’
Her gaze shot to his. ‘Do you—?’
‘I should get back—’ He stood, knocking his shins on the table and spilling his drink.
She shot out her hand to steady the mug. ‘You didn’t drink your coffee!’
He peered at the mug as though seeing it for the first time. ‘I didn’t.’
‘It’ll be cold now.’
He headed for the door, clearly fleeing.
‘Wait, do you want me to book your travel for the wedding? Equipment transport? Anything special you need?’
Shaking his head, he called over his shoulder, ‘I already have everything booked.’
‘Do you want me to arrange a visit to the chapel beforehand?’
‘Okay,’ he mumbled with a longing glance at the door.
Ginny couldn’t help it. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
‘No,’ he insisted quickly. ‘Maybe…’ His tone was pained. She pained him, for some intolerable reason.
She clasped her hands behind her back, holding in all the words crowding her mind while she waited for him to continue.
But all he said was, ‘Maybe you make me nervous too.’
She was still frozen in shock at his words when he smiled at her, an action that transformed him from good-looking to utterly compelling.
‘Goodbye, Ginny. I’ll see you in Italy.’
Her breath returned slowly after he’d left the room and she felt as though she were waking from a dream. Or returning home from a very awkward date, the worst she’d been on in recent memory. But she was buzzing as though she’d drunk his coffee as well as her own.
When she’d admitted he made her nervous, what she’d meant was that she couldn’t handle the combination of attraction and insecurity he brought out in her. What had he meant when he’d said the same thing about her?
At least she didn’t have to see him for another seven weeks. Her dating ban would start to have an effect and the next time she saw him, she’d be calm and sincere in friendship and neither one of them would be… nervous.