Welcome Me to Willoughby Close (Return to Willoughby Close Book 2)

by Kate Hewitt

  “Then I’ll keep them coming.”

  She met his warm gaze, unable to keep from shaking her head. “It doesn’t feel right somehow.”

  “What doesn’t?”

  “This. It’s too easy.”

  “Why can’t something be easy?”

  “I don’t know.” She hesitated. “Maybe because everything has always been so complicated. And maybe because I’m wondering if…if you’re too good to be true.”

  *

  Owen felt the expression freeze on his face, the easy smile he’d been giving morphing into something of a rictus. Too good to be true.

  Well, he was, wasn’t he?

  And someone as clever as Emily was bound to suss it out. He took a sip of his drink, trying to school his face into something relaxed.

  “Well, you know what they say. Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

  She frowned, her forehead crinkling. “Is that what I would be doing?”

  Owen shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not perfect, certainly.”

  “I’m not expecting you to be perfect, Owen. I’m not, either. Not by a long shot. But you know that already.”

  Could he leave it at that? Did she deserve a warning? I’ve let down the people I love in the past. Time and time again, badly. My mother. My father. Even my sisters, stuck in Cwmparc living half-lives while I got out. I never even looked back. I wanted to save them but I didn’t. Maybe I care about you because I think I can save you.

  Was he actually screwed up enough to think that way? That Emily could somehow be his salvation, never mind him saving her? At least he wasn’t screwed up enough to say any of it out loud. “Then we sound like a perfect match.”

  She smiled at that, and looked down, and she was so beautiful and seemed so pure that Owen felt as if he had to kiss her. Unfortunately, there was a good three feet between them, and he didn’t think a lunge across the sofa was a good idea at this point.

  This was Emily’s first real date, unbelievable and even criminal as that seemed. He knew he needed to take it slow, even as he’d been itching to pull her into his arms all evening.

  “So…” He stretched his arm out along the back of the sofa in a cringingly classic move. “Are you settling into Wychwood?”

  “I think I’ve been forced to settle in, whether I wanted to or not.” She gave a soft huff of laughter. “But I’m starting not to mind so much. It actually feels good.”

  “Good.” He let his gaze linger. He was really pulling all the basic moves, but he didn’t know what else to do. This was new for him, too. He’d had dates before—dinners, movies, a few lamentable flings that made him cringe with regret now. He’d settled for so little, and now he was finding he wanted so much more, and that scared him about as much as he suspected it scared Emily. Yet here they were, trying.

  “What about your mum?” he asked after a moment, when they’d both seemed content to be lost in their own thoughts, the glow of the wood burner casting the dim room in warm shades.

  Emily sighed. “She’s stable. Still doesn’t want to see me.”

  “Has that happened before?”

  A quick shrug, more like a twitch. “She is very up and down. And when she went into hospital in the past, it was not by her own volition. When I don’t spring her from the cell, she blames me.” Emily’s mouth curved upwards in a sad smile. “I understand that.”

  “What about your father?” Owen asked. He realised he hadn’t properly considered her dad, perhaps because his own had been so absent. “Is he around? Involved? I know you said they divorced…”

  “He lives in Reading with his second wife and two teenaged children.” She spoke matter-of-factly but he heard sadness. Grief.

  “Ah,” he said quietly.

  “We are in touch. I haven’t told him about this latest episode, but I called him the week before and said I was concerned about her going off her medication. He said my mum was an adult who had to make her own choices.” She shook her head. “I know I can’t expect him to sweep in like some knight and rescue everything. They’ve been divorced for nearly twenty years. He’s moved on. Of course he has.”

  Moved on from his wife…and his daughter? Owen disliked the man already. Intensely. Still he kept his voice neutral as he said, “You haven’t struck me as someone who’s looking for a knight to charge in and rescue her.”

  She turned to him with a surprisingly playful smile. “Don’t I?”

  “No, you seem frighteningly self-sufficient. You could run rings around me, I’m sure, in a thousand different ways.”

  “Well…I don’t know how to pull a pint.”

  “I could show you.” There was a flirtatious undercurrent to the conversation, a sensual promise that was making Owen feel as if he were buzzing inside. Emily’s smile curved wider, and then he knew he had to kiss her. He couldn’t wait a moment longer.

  “I look forward to that,” she said, and then her eyes widened as he did a slow lunge towards her, intent obvious in every taut line of his body. She didn’t move, just waited, quivering a little, as he probably was, because he wanted this so much.

  Gently he swept a tendril of hair behind her ear, let his fingers trail across the silky softness of her cheek. She sucked in a quick breath. “May I kiss you?” he asked. “Because I’ve been wanting to all evening, and it’s becoming rather difficult to think about anything else.”

  She gave a jerky nod of her head. “Uh…yes, I suppose that would be…okay.”

  “Just okay?” he teased. “I hope it’s better than that.”

  “Maybe…” Her voice trailed away as he came closer, and then he brushed his lips across hers. Just as before, it felt as if he’d been instantly electrocuted, the shock of the feeling nearly overwhelming him. How could he have such a strong physical response to this woman? It was like being burned alive and dipped in ice water at the same time, but nice. Lovely. Absolutely lovely and amazing and all-consuming.

  And she seemed to be having the same response back, her mouth opening under his as her hands came up to brace against his shoulders.

  The kiss deepened as they fell back against the sofa, and Owen’s head blanked completely, leaving only sensation—her softness, her surrender, the little sigh she gave as her arms came around him and he felt all that lovely, pliant warmth beneath him.

  Limbs tangled as they stretched out, his body on top of hers, braced on his forearms as the kiss went on and on and his head continued to spin.

  And then he felt it, like a light going out. Her body stiffened and her lips slackened under his. Reluctantly, feeling as if it were costing him everything, he lifted his head.

  “All right?” he asked gently and she bit her lip. He realised she looked near tears, and in horror and self-recrimination he lurched upright. “Emily…I didn’t…”

  “No, no. It was… lovely. So lovely.” She let out a choked laugh and then, mortified, held her hands up to her face. Owen stared at her in a sort of terrified alarm as she began to cry. This was not how he’d hoped this evening would go at all.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, wanting to put a hand on her shoulder yet not sure if he should. “Tell me what’s wrong, please. Did I… Was I moving too fast?” Although it had felt agonisingly slow to him.

  “No, no. It’s not that. I don’t know if I can explain it.” Her hands still covered her face and her shoulders shook. Heaven help them both, she was really crying. This was bad.

  “You could try,” he offered weakly. “Please?”

  She dropped her hands, showing him a tear- and mascara-smeared face. “It’s just…I’ve never. Well, I’ve never done loads of things.”

  “I know.” Of course he knew. She’d already told him she’d never gone on a bloody date. So naturally he assumed she hadn’t done a lot of other things, either, including things he was already envisioning with painful clarity.

  “I feel like a freak,” she admitted baldly. “I’m twenty-six and I’m…well, never mind. And I’m scared. Scare
d of getting too close, and scared of scaring you off, because I’m so…” She shook her head, leaving him to fill in the unfortunate blank.

  Owen leaned back against the sofa as he did his best to relax. “You’re not scaring me off.”

  She searched his face with a sort of hungry desperation. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Because I’m sort of scaring myself off.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  Her mouth quirked in an impossible smile. “I’ll try not to.”

  “Good.” Owen released a long, low breath. Maybe it was all going to be okay, even if he felt rather shaky inside. He might have said he wasn’t scared, but he sort of was. This was so much more intense than anything he’d ever experienced, and he was so very afraid of letting her down. Still he smiled, just to reassure her. “That’s all I need to hear,” he said.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Do you think this rain will ever stop?”

  Alice stood by the tall sashed windows as Emily came into the office, the Monday after her date with Owen. She hadn’t slept much the night before, her mind insisting on replaying every single moment of the evening, with accompanying in-depth analysis. What had he meant when he’d said… Why had he smiled at her like that… Had she completely freaked him out?

  As a result, she was both exhausted and energised, fizzing and fatigued and probably a bit manic, which scared her because it was a little too much like her mother. She wasn’t used to feeling this out of control.

  “Stop?” Emily glanced at the rain streaking down the windows, bemused. She’d just walked from Willoughby Close through a steady drizzle and she hadn’t even noticed, because her mind was pinging around like a ball in a pinball machine. “It has to sometime, I suppose.”

  “Yes, it’s just so dreary.” Alice heaved a loud sigh, and Emily cocked her head.

  “Is everything okay, Alice?”

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “Fine.”

  Which definitely did not sound fine. “What’s happened?” Emily asked. It couldn’t be the baby thing again, could it? Because it was only two weeks since Alice had told her they were trying.

  “I don’t know. The weather gets me down.” Alice wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s mid-April and it still feels like winter. And I think I see less of Henry since we started this blasted charity, plus the number of hoops we have to jump through even to have one child come through our doors… I don’t know if they’ll ever even get here.” She shook her head. “Sorry. You don’t want to hear all this.”

  “I don’t mind.” And, Emily realised, she really didn’t. She actually liked hearing someone else’s problems, having them confide in her. Being part of someone else’s life. It was new and still scary, but she was starting to like it. Need it, even. She had friends.

  “Well…” Alice slumped into a chair at the table, meant for conference meetings, with a sigh. Emily waited for her to say more. “The thing is,” she said after a moment, “I’m not a complainer. I never have been. Even when life is tough—and I admit it has been really, really tough at times—I always made sure to look on the bright side.” She drew a raggedy breath. “And yet here I am, married to a wonderful man, living in a beautiful house, and I can’t summon that sunny-side-of-life feeling. What’s wrong with me?” She looked at Emily with tears in her eyes, waiting for her verdict.

  “Er…” Emily scrambled to think of something helpful to say. “We can’t help our emotions,” she offered a bit lamely and Alice nodded slowly as she blew her nose.

  “I know. But I feel like I’m being a big whinger.”

  “You’re not. You’re just saying how you feel, and I did ask.”

  Alice gave her a watery smile. “Perhaps it’s just the weather. All this rain…you haven’t had a chance to see the village at its best.”

  “It can’t rain forever.”

  “I suppose not.” Alice heaved a sigh. “Tell me something cheerful or exciting.” She smiled wryly. “If you can?”

  “Well…” Emily racked her brains trying to think of something, but there had really only been one thing on her mind recently. “I went on a date,” she offered shyly, hesitant to admit so much even though she was positively bursting with it.

  “You did!” Alice straightened, looking both surprised and thrilled. “Who with? Or is that a secret?”

  “I thought it might be posted on the village noticeboard,” Emily returned wryly. “But apparently not. Owen Jones.”

  “Owen! Of course. That champagne…”

  “Well.” Now she was blushing, and yet somehow she didn’t mind. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “So where did you go?”

  “He made me dinner at his house.”

  “Wow.” Alice sat back, impressed. “That sounds very special.”

  “It was, actually.” Her face was positively fiery now, and yet she felt like laughing. “But it’s early days. Very early days.”

  Alice held up a hand. “I understand completely.”

  “How did you and Henry get together?” Emily asked curiously. “He’s such a…”

  “Stuffed shirt?” Alice filled in with a laugh. “I know. I’m not sure how we got together, to be honest. There were always sparks, even if I didn’t realise that’s what they were.” She rolled her eyes. “I have to tell you, before Henry, I had literally zero experience with men. I’d never even been on a date.”

  “You hadn’t?” Emily goggled at her, and Alice gave another wry laugh.

  “Nope. As a foster kid, I spent most of my time trying to be invisible, really.”

  “The date with Owen was my first, too,” Emily confessed in a rush, and now Alice was the one to goggle.

  “What? But…”

  “But what?”

  “It’s just, well, you’re so beautiful. And glamorous. I’ve been a bit intimidated by you from the start, actually.”

  “What? No.” Emily shook her head, laughing in surprised disbelief. “I’ve been like you, really. Trying to be invisible to everyone else.”

  Alice stared at her in confusion. “But why?”

  “Well.” Emily took a deep breath. Was she really going to keep doing this? Telling people the secrets she’d held closely for so long? “Because of my mother,” she said. It seemed she was.

  *

  The rain kept up all day, and turned into a downpour as Emily hurried home. She’d checked her phone several times—they’d exchanged numbers on Saturday night—and hadn’t had any texts or missed calls from Owen, and stupidly, she was starting to feel anxious about the whole thing. At four o’clock she’d recklessly—for her—texted a “thanks for a lovely evening x,” deliberating for a good ten minutes over that single x, but there had been no reply, which, an hour later, was starting to make her panic.

  What if he’d finally twigged how messed up she was? What if he was regretting everything? The possibility made her chest tighten and fear race through her veins. As scary as all this was, she still wanted it. Wanted him.

  “Hello, kitten.” Her unnamed fluff ball rubbed up against her ankles and Emily scooped him up and pressed her cheek against his tiny, soft head—something she wouldn’t have considered doing a few weeks ago. She was changing, whether she wanted to or not, and the truth was, she did.

  But when was Owen going to text back?

  She fed the kitten and changed into comfortable clothes before making her daily telephone call to the hospital. Her mother had been a patient for eight days now, and yesterday the nurse still believed a visit from Emily would not prove helpful at this point, although today it was different.

  “I think your mother might be up for a visitor,” she told Emily when she called. “Are you free tomorrow? But ring in the morning to check.”

  “Oh…okay.” Emily couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice. She’d been anticipating another gentle no. “That’s…well, that’s good news.”

  “Yes.” The nurse sounded both brisk and kind, and tears pr
icked Emily’s eyes. Goodness, but she really needed to get her emotions under control.

  “Thank you,” she managed, and then took a deep breath to steady herself. So her mum wanted to see her, or at least wasn’t unwilling for her to visit. Emily had no idea what the level of her enthusiasm would be, and she didn’t really want to guess. Better to have low, or even no, expectations.

  She checked her phone again, willing Owen to have left a message while she’d been talking to the nurse, but of course he hadn’t. She realised she wanted to share this with him, but she wasn’t brave or bold enough to call. She wished she was, and she considered ringing several times, but she just couldn’t make herself.

  Then, at half past six, the doorbell rang. A smile was already spreading across Emily’s face as she went to answer it, because somehow she knew who it was. Who it had to be. Even though it could have just as easily been Olivia, or Ava, or Jace…

  It was Owen.

  “Hello, you.” She was positively grinning now, and so was Owen.

  “You’re in your pyjamas.”

  “My comfy clothes, thank you very much. You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

  “Should I have done?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think it matters, actually.”

  “Is that a good thing?” he asked, eyebrows raised. “And can I come in?”

  “Oh yes, of course.” It was still pouring out, and the shoulders of Owen’s jacket were soaked. “And yes, it is a good thing. But what are you doing here? I mean…what about the pub?”

  “The pub is closed.”

  “What…?”

  “Water has been coming in the cellar. I’ve sandbagged the place and hoped for the best. But it backs out onto the Lea, so…”

  “Oh, no.” She looked at him in dismay but he just shrugged.

  “Frankly I’m glad for a free evening, and as long as the water stays in the cellar, I should be fine. I put a sump pump in there as well, so there’s nothing more I can do. I took a chance you like Indian.” He hefted a paper bag, and a sweet, fragrant aroma of almonds and spices wafted out.