Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
There was a knock on the door. Who could it possibly be?
Jose had come back to the houseboat after dinner and promptly fallen asleep. And then three hours later, she woke up. Wide awake. It was morning in Idaho. Her body was awake and raring to go. Even though she could tell that she was still exhausted, sleep was evading her. So she got out of the comfortable bed and went into the galley to brew herself a cup of tea. Thankfully, Malcolm, or maybe Mari, had stocked the fridge, so she was just looking into what she could make for a midnight snack.
She’d unpacked and opened her suitcase of books, looking for the perfect comfort read to go with her snack. While she was reviewing her books, she pulled one out, feeling instinctively it was right for Malcolm. She wasn’t certain he’d thank her for the broad hint that he worked too much, but she set the book aside anyway. Maybe she’d give it to him if the moment felt right.
And then she heard the knock.
Part of her was a little nervous, wondering who it could be. She was in a foreign country, and it was well after dark. But at the same time, Elderflower Island seemed so safe to her. And she got the sense that this houseboat community was also extremely close. Perhaps it was a neighbor looking to borrow a cup of sugar for some late-night baking…
Still, her heart was pounding. Maybe, though, that was because, as Mari had said, a knock on the door was rarely a great thing. Especially after dark. She zipped up the sweatshirt she had put on over her pajamas—a jersey tank top and jogger pants. She didn’t have a bra on, but hopefully the sweatshirt was thick enough that whoever was out there wouldn’t notice. She took her phone with her in case she needed to summon help. Then she peeked out the window beside the door.
She was surprised to find Malcolm standing there. Also relieved that he was someone she knew.
She opened the door and said, “Hi! Is everything okay?”
He was dressed in the same suit and dress shirt he’d worn earlier, though his hair and clothes looked a little sticky. Which didn’t make any sense. Then again, it didn’t really make any sense that he was here tonight either, when he had a flat in central London that he’d told her was his primary residence.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but the light was on, so I hoped you’d still be up. Everything’s fine,” he said, “apart from the fact that I can’t get into my flat because it’s flooded.”
She moved aside as things started to make sense. “Come on in. I’ve just got some hot water boiling. I can make you a cup of tea, and you can tell me more about the situation.”
“That’s great, thanks. The water company doesn’t yet know what was in the pipes that burst.”
“That sounds slightly ominous,” she said as she walked into the galley. Not having a bra on felt really conspicuous now, but what was she going to do? Excuse herself to go put one on? That would be even weirder. No, she’d just have to hope he didn’t notice. Besides, he wouldn’t care. As he’d made abundantly clear years ago, she wasn’t his type.
He shrugged. “I’m sure they’ll sort it out. I was actually on the way to my grandmother’s cottage to see about crashing in her back unit. But when I saw the light was on, I thought I would swing by to grab some clothes and another pair of shoes. I hope you don’t mind my intruding.”
“It’s your boat, so you couldn’t possibly be intruding.”
“I’ll just pick up some spare clothes, have a cup of tea, and get out of your way.”
Before she could think better of it, she suggested, “There’s a second bedroom here. Why don’t you stay?” Just the thought of sharing the space with him made her heart pound a little harder.
But he shook his head. “I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”
Again, she spoke before she could really think things through. “I am one hundred percent okay with you staying on your own boat. In fact, I insist you do.” Just because their one and only kiss was still hanging over them, and he was so ridiculously good-looking, didn’t mean she was going to kick him out of his own home.
Finally, he nodded. “Okay, I appreciate that. I’ll be gone first thing in the morning.”
“I think you should just stay until you can get back into your flat. Whenever they finish—” She used air quotes. “—cleaning it up.” She grimaced again. “Sorry, probably shouldn’t be joking about it.”
He grinned. “No, I laughed when I heard. What else can you do? Some of my neighbors weren’t too pleased, but it’s only a flat filled with things, all of which can be replaced.”
Well, that was interesting. She wouldn’t have thought that highflying Malcolm Sullivan would be so easygoing about his likely expensive apartment and expensive furniture and expensive clothes being ruined.
“What kind of tea would you like?” And then she gave him a slightly apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’m acting like it’s my kitchen. It’s your kitchen—galley—and you can pick out the tea you want.”
“I’m glad that you feel completely at home so quickly.” But he did go choose a teabag for himself.
She chose mint, hoping that the lack of caffeine would help her nod off. “I was just about to make something to eat, a midnight breakfast-in-my-time-zone meal. Do you want something?”
He looked pleased by the suggestion. “What are you going to make?”
Although Malcolm was probably used to five-star restaurants with snooty ma?tre d’s and overpriced drinks, she said, “Looks like I have the makings for grilled cheese sandwiches on board.”
“We call them toasted cheese sandwiches here,” he said. “And toasted cheese sandwiches are my favorite.”
“Didn’t you eat dinner?” She wondered if she should try to cook something more substantial.
But he said, “I did, in fact. I had a steak, but I cannot resist a toasted cheese sandwich.”
“Awesome. Two toasted cheese sandwiches coming up. Unless you’d like more than one?”
“I already had dinner, so one’s good.” He pulled his shirt away from his body. “I hope you don’t mind my heading into the back to change while you make our midnight snack. A couple of drinks were thrown at me tonight.”
She cocked her head. “I don’t mind at all, as long as when you get back, you fill me in on the whole story.”
He laughed again. “Will do.”
Once he left the room and she heard the door to the second bedroom close behind him, she let out a long breath. It was getting easier to act like he hadn’t crushed her heart and soul when she was fifteen. It helped that he was no longer cranky and seemed to be in better spirits, despite the fact that he seemed to have gone from one disaster to another tonight. But there was still that voice in her head that told her not to trust him because he had hurt her so badly before. The voice that told her men were all scum. That she had abundant proof. And yet, even as that voice was shouting its warnings, some instinct inside whispered that she should ignore it and just let herself enjoy being around Malcolm. Because when he wasn’t being snappish, he was actually really nice company.
She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost burned the sandwiches. Instead, fortunately, they turned out perfectly—crispy on the outside, especially where some of the cheese had melted onto the edges of the bread. She could smell the salty butter and the fresh loaf of bread that she had cut just minutes earlier. Her mouth watered. This wasn’t her normal breakfast, nor did she usually have a midnight snack, but it seemed to fit all the bills. She had just finished putting the sandwiches on plates when Malcolm reemerged.
“That smells amazing.”
“I hope it will be.”
He nodded toward the roof. “What do you say we grab a couple of rugs to wrap up in and sit on the rooftop deck? It’s a nice night.”
“The rooftop deck sounds great, but you want us to wrap up in rugs?”
“Sorry, I forgot you call them blankets in the States.”
“Oh yeah, blankets equal rugs here. I read that in a book recently. And a tank top is called a vest, right?”
He nodded. “You’re practically British now.”
“Practically,” she joked back.
They grabbed a couple of thick blankets from the arms of the seating in the living room—or as he called it, the lounge—and headed up the narrow stairs to the rooftop deck.
She sighed, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the clear sky. A crescent moon added to the romance. “It is a beautiful night. Honestly, I don’t know how you ever leave this houseboat. I know I said it earlier, but every second I spend on it just gets better and better.”
An owl hooted, and they could hear the rustle of an animal prowling around in the night, maybe a cat in the bushes on the other side of the towpath.
He picked up his sandwich and bit into it. “Toasted cheese sandwich perfection,” he exclaimed. He took another bite, saying, “If you weren’t so busy with your bibliotherapy and reading retreats, I’d say you should open a popup shop and sell these.” He leaned back. “Then I’d take your franchise global, and you’d be the official toasted-cheese-sandwich queen.”
She felt all glowy inside from his compliment. “Thanks. They turned out well. I almost burned them, but that extra handful of seconds in the pan made them even crisper.”
They smiled at each other, the moon above them.
Then suddenly, the air between them seemed to change, and she felt a little shy, ducking her head to eat her sandwich.
Malcolm had brought their cups of tea while she carried up the plates, and she took a sip as she looked out over the river illuminated by the moon.
“Josie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to say to you. Something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.”
She almost spit out her tea. She knew what was coming, and she did not want to go there, not back to that awful night when she was so enjoying this one. “You don’t have to say anything. It’s ancient history. We were just kids.” She was pleased at how breezy she sounded, like his words hadn’t crushed her teenage heart.
“I do. I have to apologize. We might have been kids, but I was the worst kind of teenager. I was thoughtless and hurtful. What I did, what I said, was absolutely unacceptable. Also, it had nothing to do with you.”
Her chest ached just from having him bring up the whole sorry scenario again. She really didn’t like thinking about it. And she really didn’t want to talk about it. “Thanks for the apology, but—”
“No, please, hear me out. I’m not telling you this to make excuses, but I do want you to know more about what happened. Why I did what I did. And I also want you to know that it was a wake-up call for me.” His expression was serious enough that she decided that she would hear him out, even if talking about it was painful.
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“Right. Good.” Now he stalled, but she waited, letting the silence build. Finally, he said, “I have to go back from that year. My father—he was a driver on the Tube. A really cool job for your father to have when you’re a little boy. I was a hero at school. But there are parts of the job that are hard. People who hurt themselves by accident, or deliberately, on the tracks. No one really thinks about what the driver sees. No one thinks about what he goes through when he’s unable to save someone. Or worse, thinking back to whether he could’ve stopped in time if he had done something differently.” He swallowed. “He saw and experienced things that traumatized him.”
She’d never thought about the dark side of being a Tube driver. “How did your father deal with all that?”
“He volunteers to help with PTSD over at the Transport for London offices now. But back then, when I was seventeen, he was in the thick of it. Still driving. And one day, a child fell on the tracks.” He closed his eyes, going silent for a moment. “He couldn’t save her. I was the first person to find out what happened. I found him at home, with a bottle of whiskey, sobbing. I can still hear him crying out, asking why. Begging for forgiveness.
“He saw me there, in the doorway. It was terrifying. I’d never seen my father be anything but strong and infallible. I put my arms around him, and he cried. And I knew that his passion, driving these trains, trains that he had loved since he was a boy—I knew it would never be the same for him. That he could never find that joy again. Other people had died on his watch, but never a child. He was almost incoherent, but I could make out him saying, what if it had been one of us when we were children? What if they had had to call him and my mother and say that we were gone?”
He picked up his cup of tea and took a drink. She said, “If this is too hard, you don’t have to talk about it.” She wanted to reach out, put a hand over his, but they didn’t know each other well, and she didn’t want to overstep.
“No, it’s something I need to say. I’ve never talked to anybody about this before, but you deserve to know the full truth behind why I was such an arsehole to you. As I said, it won’t excuse what I did, but hopefully the story will make you realize my behavior had nothing to do with you.”
He collected his thoughts for a moment before continuing. “I applied for the exchange program not long after that. I didn’t know how to process what my father had been through, his grief, or what lingered beyond. Because he was diagnosed with PTSD after that, and I felt so helpless, like I hadn’t done enough to help him that afternoon, and I still didn’t know how to help him. I’d always wanted to go to America, and this was my chance to escape. Escape the pain and the darkness that seemed to hover over our house during that period. Over our family. All that year, I was running, running from feeling anything. That’s why I hooked up with the group that I did. The parties, the alcohol—it all helped to numb my feelings and give me something to focus on. I don’t think any of us were actually friends, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care. I just didn’t want to think about my dad, not being able to help, being useless to him when he’d done so much for me and the rest of us. And so that night, at the prom, I’d been drinking, as usual. But more even than before, because I knew I was headed back to the UK soon. And I was afraid of the state that I’d find my father in, if he’d recovered at all. My mother said he was doing a lot better, but she hadn’t been there in those first moments. She hadn’t heard him crying out, lost and on his knees, begging for forgiveness.” He glanced over at her. “I know he wouldn’t mind me telling you this now, because I’ve heard him tell this story many, many times to try to help people who have been in the same situation, to let them know they’re not alone.”
He lifted his teacup to take a sip, but it was empty. “Hell, I need something stronger for this. I’ll be right back.”
He headed down the stairs, and she put a hand over her heart. His poor father. And poor Malcolm too. He’d been a teenager who had wanted so badly to take his father’s pain away, but he hadn’t known how. No one could have done that for his father. Likely only therapy and time would’ve done it. For some reason, her mind flicked back to Emily Soames and the books she’d recommended for grief. Emily’s grief was deep and painful, but it was also straightforward. What Malcolm’s father had been through was complicated. Trauma, shock, grief, and self-blame. What an awful combination.
Malcolm came up with a bottle of clear liquid and two glasses. “This is a botanical gin. A friend of mine in the Surrey Hills distills it.” He poured them each a glass, a rather hefty one by her measure. He threw his head back and downed his gin in one swallow, then refilled his glass. “When that girl I was dating—Lord, I can’t even remember her name.”
“Brianna Sterling,” Josie said. He might have forgotten Brianna, but Josie never would. Not the girl who’d christened her Worm.
“Right. When Brianna dared me to kiss you… I knew it was wrong. Not because there was anything wrong at all with kissing you,” he clarified, “but because we didn’t know each other. And she and I were dating. Teenagers daring each other to do things is always stupid. I knew it. I could hear my mother’s voice in my head, telling me that I was raised better than that. That I was raised better than my behavior had indicated that whole year. But I didn’t say no. Instead, I let my whole twisted-up teenage self walk up to you outside and pull you into my arms without even asking if it was okay to kiss you.”
He let out a harsh breath. “I’m sorry, Josie. Truly sorry. Especially about what I said after, when she came out, when she pretended that she had caught us kissing, when she acted like she hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing, and when I said those horrible words.” He didn’t have to say them now for her to hear them.
I was just screwing around with her, Brie. Do you think I would actually want to make out with some random sophomore? You know I have higher standards than that.
“I won’t ask you to forgive me. I don’t think I deserve it. But I can say I’m sorry anyway.”
Jose was on the verge of tears. It was so emotional to have the boy who had done that to her sitting in front of her now, bringing it all up again. But she didn’t need to cry this time. Didn’t need to go dashing off in a flood of tears the way she had before. She was a grown woman, and she had recovered from that horrible night. Still, his words helped ease the old scar.
“Worse things have happened to people,” she said softly.
“I know, but you still didn’t deserve to be treated that way.” He took another drink from his glass. “The next morning when I woke up, I knew that I was finally done with it all. Done with the partying. Done with the drinking. Done with acting like a dick. I want you to know I’ve never done anything like that again, never said anything like that to anyone or treated anybody’s feelings as callously as I did yours. And though I’m sure some of my exes might disagree,” he added with a wry smile, “I never intend to hurt anybody.”
She let out a massive sigh. “Thanks for letting me know. It does help a little to know what you were going through and what made you act that way.” She shook her head, taking a sip of gin, which burned all the way down. “I’m not going to lie. I did feel pretty bad for a while after that. But I got over it a long time ago.” She thought about it and realized that even then, books had helped her. “I felt the falseness in your words somehow. And it made no sense for you to act that way. The story didn’t make sense, so when I stopped feeling humiliated, I was able to realize that what you did could have been done to anyone.” She made a face. “But Brianna really did have it in for me.”
“If you ask me,” Malcolm said, “she was jealous of you.”
Shock gently punched her in the stomach. “Jealous? Brianna? Of me?”
“Sure. You were so smart. Focused. Maybe it wasn’t cool to love books, but you didn’t need other people’s adoration the way she did. I think that’s why she targeted you.”
She very much liked his interpretation of what had happened. She grinned at him suddenly. “You know what my company’s called?”
He shook his head.
“The Bookworm. I have Brianna to thank for that.”
He chuckled. “I lost touch with that crowd years ago, but I’ll wager you’ve made more of your life than any of the cool kids.” He paused and then said, “I noticed, you know. You always seemed so happy, and the way you’d walk around with a book all the time—I found it charming. So I’m even more sorry I did that awful thing.”
“Truthfully, it doesn’t matter. And I think now that we’ve cleared the air, why don’t we both agree to move on? We’re not kids anymore. And it’s water under the bridge.” Which seemed like the perfect phrase, given that they were floating on a river with one of London’s bridges visible from where they sat.
“I’d like that. I’d like that very much. Thanks for giving me a chance to be less of an arsehole the second time we’ve met.” Then he made a wry face. “Although I wasn’t much better at the airport, was I?”
She shook her head. “Not really.”
“I was just so shocked to see you again. And ashamed. It’s no excuse, and I won’t hurt you again. I promise.”
“You’d better not,” she said, but she said it lightly.
Their eyes caught and held, and she gave a little shiver even though she was wrapped in a warm blanket. It was so tempting to spend all night under the stars with Malcolm, to keep talking and sharing. But she knew better. Knew that she needed to keep him in the friend zone.
At the very least, she needed to keep her own head in the friend zone, because she very much doubted that he was looking to kiss her a second time. “I guess we should head back downstairs so you aren’t too tired for work in the morning. I’m assuming you have an early start, with all those deals you have cooking?”
“Nope, no work for me tomorrow. I’m on holiday. I was supposed to be heading to Thailand.” Then he sighed. “But I’ll likely be busy with this New Zealand deal anyway.”
She cocked her head. “You’re not going to Thailand because…”
“For the same reason I showed up smelling like a cosmopolitan. The woman I was going with is going with someone else now. Turns out she’s been shagging her new hire.”
A spurt of laughter was surprised out of her. She couldn’t imagine a woman choosing anyone else if they could have Malcolm. And he clearly wasn’t brokenhearted. “Oh no, sorry, finding that out must have been hard.”
“No, it was fine. I realized we weren’t meant to be together anyway. I’m sure she’ll be much happier with him. With anybody but me, actually. I was a lot more upset over the House in a Box deal nearly going south than over losing a woman. I guess that pretty much defines me as a workaholic.”
She’d thought about giving him a book if the moment was right, and this seemed like the perfect moment. “Just a second,” she said, standing. “I have something for you.”
He looked utterly surprised, and she got the strangest feeling that he was usually the one giving gifts and less often the one receiving them. She ran down and fetched the book she’d chosen for him.
“As a professional bibliotherapist, I’m prescribing a treatment for this workaholism of yours.” She said it in a teasing tone, but she truly felt that Malcolm needed to read the old but still very relevant wisdom.
He accepted the book, and she said, in case he couldn’t read the cover in the dim light, “It’s Walden by Thoreau. I usually suggest this as an antidote to stress caused by overwork. But the lessons are good for all of us.”
He opened the cover and flipped through the pages, though it was too dark to read. “Thank you, Josie. I didn’t expect to be your first patient.”
She smiled at him. “First, you aren’t. I recommended some titles to a woman today in Mari’s bookshop, and second, I don’t consider the people I work with as patients. They’re clients. Or fellow bookworms.”
A moment passed, friendly, peaceful. Then he stood. “I should let you go to sleep, since I’m sure Mari plans to pick your brain bright and early tomorrow for her reading retreat.”
Josie nodded as they collected their blankets and empty cups and plates. “That’s the plan. I’m really excited.” She yawned. “And actually, even though I woke up just before you got here, convinced I’d never be able to get back to sleep, I think I might be able to now.”
“Finding out that he’s put you to sleep isn’t good for a guy’s ego,” he teased. “I normally don’t have that effect on women.”
She laughed, but it was a slightly awkward sound. Not sure what she was supposed to say to what sounded a lot like flirting, she said, “Okay, well then, good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Good night, Josie. Sleep well.”
She headed into the back bedroom, feeling a little flushed and overheated, considering that they’d been outside in the cool night air. That was what being around Malcolm Sullivan did to her. Heated her up all over. She put her cool hands on her warm cheeks. She had to stop thinking of him like that. Like a sexy, available man. Okay, so as of tonight it sounded like he was available. And he was completely sexy. But he wasn’t for her. No man was, especially not one who was charismatic and wealthy like her last boyfriend. Men were all dogs, she reminded herself as she slipped under the covers. Except that dogs were loyal.