Prologue
As soon as I stepped inside, a crackling fire in the corner of the pub washed away the bitter cold that clung to me.
I surreptitiously scanned the faces of the few patrons scattered around the room, hoping no one recognised me. Some were sipping on pints of beer and watching the TV in the corner, a football game playing in the background. Others murmured to each other as they ate. No one paid me any attention.
Great, because the last thing I needed was mum finding out I had been here or rumours spreading among the congregation that I was seen getting drunk.
Getting plastered wasn’t my goal, but my experience with alcohol was so limited I had no idea how much it took to take off the edge of a terrible day. A few glasses? Or did it depend on what I drank?
‘What’ll it be, lass?’ A man in his early fifties with a scruffy beard threw a towel over his shoulder, palms leaning on the counter as he raised an eyebrow at me.
Soft rock music was playing over the speakers, mingling with the chatter of the diners. I pulled off my coat and shook out my copper hair that grazed the top of my hips. I scraped it out of my face.
‘Uh, I don’t know.’ I admitted, taking a seat on one of the stools, draping the coat over my knees.
The only other person sitting at the bar was a guy with ashy blond hair, huddled in the corner, nursing a beer.
A beard hid half of his face while tattoos covered both of his hands.
Catching me taking him in, his eyes flicked up and locked onto mine.
My breath caught in my lungs. Startled at the intensity of the stranger’s gaze, I averted my eyes quickly.
The bartender looked me up and down. I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. Then, trying to sound more confident than I felt, I said, ‘Wine, please.’
‘Red, white?’
What’s with all the questions? I need a drink. At this point I really don’t care what it is.
‘Whatever you recommend.’ I rushed out.
The man shook his head wearily. ‘Coming up.’
I fiddled with the beer mat in front of me as I watched him uncork a bottle and pour the deep red liquid expertly into a glass. He was about to set it down in front of me when he hesitated. ‘ID first, I think.’
I didn’t blame him for being dubious about my age. With a sigh, I pulled out my licence. He gave it a quick glance and put the glass down. ‘Enjoy.’
I nodded my thanks and waited for him to walk away before bringing the glass to my lips. It smelt sharp. Almost vinegary. I wrinkled my nose at the sour scent.
The moment the liquid splashed against the back of my throat, it felt like someone had set it on fire. I couldn’t hide the cough that bubbled up and erupted from my mouth. Bringing my hand to my lips, I tried to dampen the noise, acutely aware that more than one set of eyes was now trained on me.
My cheeks flushed bright red. The problem with having such a pale complexion.
I could never hide how I felt. Finally, when I could take a deep breath without fearing for my life, I noticed the guy at the end of the bar.
Dragging a heavily tatted hand down his face.
his shoulders jostled up and down suppressing his laughter.
He was laughing at me.
My embarrassment shot to a whole new height. I tried to pull my eyes away from the stranger, wanting to crawl under the bar and never come out, but my gaze was trapped by his startling blue eyes.
His hair hung in soft waves grazing his huge shoulders.
The kind of curls that made me jealous. He obviously gave significant attention to his hair to tame those curls, and the same was true of his beard.
It looked soft, not wiry like most men’s beard.
The sides of his neck were covered in black swirls of some plant that climbed up to the shell of his ear—a beautiful and detailed design.
The sleeves of his brown coat strained around his forearms as he casually rested them on the bar.
His large hands wrapped around his beer glass.
Oh, God. I was openly gawking at a stranger. His lips lifted as he took a long pull from his glass, never taking his eyes off me.
I turned slightly in my seat, so he wasn’t in my direct eyeline. Needing something to do with my hands, I rummaged around in my coat and pulled out my phone. No messages flashed up on the screen. None even from my so-called “boyfriend”.
You’d have thought that the day you bury your father would warrant a few consoling texts.
Apparently not. Harry had shown up for the funeral this afternoon; given my mum his deepest condolences, wrapped his arms around me in an awkward hug and hopped back on a train to Manchester to get back to University. Telling me he’d call me later.
The only person who showed me an ounce of warmth was my Aunt Molly. She never left my side all day; supplying me with food and endless cups of tea. But even she had a limit to how much she could take from my mother, and had headed back to London.
‘Whatever you’re thinking about looks like it’s hurting your head. I’d stop if I were you.’
My head snapped up at the low voice.
‘God, you snuck up on me.’ I placed a hand on my chest.
The stranger was no longer across the bar; he sat beside me, with only one stool between us. Due to the initial distance, I hadn’t realised his sheer… size. His frame dwarfed mine. His throat bobbed as he took a large gulp of beer, watching me from over the rim.
It didn’t escape my notice how gorgeous he was.
He smirked, leaning forward a waft of his cologne hit me as he moved—a rich earthy note.
Dammit, the guy smelt like a forest.
‘I’ve been sitting here for the past five minutes.’ He spoke in a low gravelly tone that sent shivers up my spine.
Had it been that long?
‘Hence why I suggested you stop the intense thinking. It looked painful.’ He smiled again, bringing the half-empty glass to his lips for a long sip.
My eyes tracked the movement of his hand. A black and white rose rippled with his movements. Each petal so intricate it looked like it could come to life. I opened my mouth, but nothing came out, so I snapped it shut. Scrambling for something interesting to say.
When I didn’t reply, he jutted his head to the abandoned drink before me. ‘First time having a drink? Or can you just not handle your liquor?’
I stiffened at the obvious jab. His eyes sparkled with humour.
‘I’m having a bad day. If you’re going to insult me, you can go back to your little corner.’ I said, waving a hand in the direction he’d just come from.
The guy held up his hands. ‘Sorry. Let me try again.’ He twisted his body so his knees were pointed at me. ‘Why are you having a bad day?’
The question was innocuous. Simple. And yet my throat felt like sandpaper.
The frisson of excitement that lit me up when this stranger sat down evaporated.
I’d learned over the years that people rarely wanted the truth.
But I didn’t have the energy to lie. To make up something pretty to make someone feel better, to ease their discomfort.
I was tired.
So, I told the truth. I stared down at the glass between my hands and said in a hollow voice, ‘I buried my father today.’
I didn’t look up to see the effect of my words. But I felt the air between us thicken. When he didn’t say anything, I lifted my gaze to his.
His azure eyes had lost their amused glint, but I didn’t find any pity.
I didn’t see any awkwardness as he searched for the best way to end the conversation.
To leave the sad girl alone to drink in peace.
Instead, he considered me. His eyes bounced back and forth, all over my face, like he was searching for something.
‘Was he someone that deserved to be mourned?’ He asked in a low murmur.
The question took me by surprise.
‘I-I-’ Words got swallowed up in my throat. ‘What do you mean?’
He shrugged. ‘Some people aren’t worthy of your grief. Sometimes people die, and it’s a relief to the people around them. Sometimes death isn’t as sad as we think it should be.’
I choked on the lump in my throat. ‘He was my dad.’
The stranger gave me a soft smile. ‘So? I know I won’t spend more than a minute of thought on my fucker of a father when he dies.’
The irreverence in his tone stunned me into silence for a moment.
‘Are you always this honest?’
He huffed out a gravelly laugh. ‘Sometimes. I’ve lived long enough to know that being honest is usually the best way to go.’
I clutched the discarded wine glass in my hands to give them something to do. He cocked his head to the side, staring intently at me. ‘So… is he worth your grief?’
My father wasn’t a bad man. He did what he thought was required of him. Be a provider, a good husband and father, and attend church every sunday. Like a checklist he ticked off every one. But there was no relationship for me to mourn. He was there, and now he wasn’t.
‘Yes.’ I said simply, lifting the wine to my lips and taking a sip. Big mistake.
Once again, the burning sensation hit and set a blazing fire down my oesophagus. I spluttered a little more gracefully than the last time. A huge hand came down and patted me solidly on the back.
‘You good there, freckles?’
I pushed the glass away and pressed a hand to my cheek, suddenly self conscious. The ginger dots of all shapes and sizes were littered all over my body; even my fingers were covered. It had taken years to accept them, and he’d just shone a blinding light on them.
He noticed my silence and frowned. ‘Did I say something wrong?’
I shook my head. ‘I should probably go. This was a bad idea.’ I muttered the last part under my breath, but blue eyes heard and placed a hand on my arm. He put no force behind it, the gesture was nothing more than a soft request. One that my body obliged before my brain had fully caught up.
‘Hold on.’ He was close enough now that I was surrounded by his earthy scent, it shot a wave of something strange straight through my core.