by Bella Andre
“Believe me,” she said, “I get it. It’s a big part of why I’m so torn over inheriting the flat and bookstore. My mom and stepfather have always been there for me. They’ve given me anything I needed. A great home. The chance to go to an excellent university, then take on a challenging job at the accounting firm. Choosing to come here—to consider staying in England—feels like a betrayal. To put it mildly, Mom isn’t thrilled that I’m here.” She twirled a few chow mein noodles on her fork, but didn’t make a move to actually eat them. “If you don’t mind my asking, how did your parents react once you left the law to work for your grandmother? I’m sure they were happy you were helping her, but did you ever get the sense they were disappointed by what you’d left behind?”
“It was the exact opposite. When they saw how much happier I was working with Gran, they apologized for not steering me toward something more fulfilling much earlier. In the same way that I didn’t want to diminish their sacrifices, they hadn’t wanted to diminish my achievements by suggesting I quit. We had been running circles around each other for years, when what we really wanted was for one another to be happy.” He held her gaze. “I know your mother’s relationship with Charlie was complicated, but I can’t imagine she would want to keep you from your happy ending. Or beginning, as the case may be.”
“Can I tell you a secret?” She licked her lips, drawing his gaze back to her mouth.
“You can tell me anything, Mari.”
“Owning a bookstore is my dream come true.” Her eyes sparkled with passion as she said, “I love books. The way they smell and feel and the endless worlds and possibilities and joy and dreams between the covers. I still can’t believe I’ve inherited a bookstore. Even today, when I was practically buried in dust, it was glorious. And the truth is that despite knowing how upset my mom is about my being in her ex-husband’s home—” She looked around the flat, which had easily two hundred books on shelves, side tables, and windowsills. “I love being surrounded by Charlie’s books. And though I know it’s crazy, I can’t help but think one of the gazillion books in this building is going to help steer me in the right direction in the end.”
“It’s not crazy, Mari. Nothing you’re saying is.” At the same time, he knew all too well the toll guilt took on you—and he hated the idea of Mari falling into that dark hole. “Tell me what I can help you with tonight that will lessen your load. So that you can see things more clearly.”
“You’ve already done so much. I know how loyal you were to Charlie, and I think it’s absolutely lovely that he had dear friends like you, but that doesn’t mean you need to bend over backward to help me when you have your own life to lead.”
“Right now, this is exactly where my life has led me. To you.” He let his words take root before adding, “I like you, Mari. And not only because you’re my friend’s daughter.”
* * *
Two days ago, Mari had been in her Santa Monica office taking care of last-minute emails. Tonight, she was sitting in Charlie’s Elderflower Island flat, above the bookstore she now owned, while an absolutely gorgeous Englishman looked at her with such heat in his eyes…
Could this really be her life? Could she be brave enough to admit—not only to Owen, but also to herself—that she felt the same way he did?
Barely twenty-four hours after meeting him, she felt the butterflies in her stomach flying faster and faster. And she couldn’t stop wondering how it would feel to press her lips, and her body, against his.
As though he could read her mind, he lowered his gaze to her mouth. Without thinking, she put her fingertips to her lips, tingling now from nothing more than the heat of his gaze.
Belatedly realizing what she’d done, she pulled her hand away and cleared her throat. “I like you too.” Her words were barely more than a whisper. “But everything is already so topsy-turvy…”
“I’m your friend, first and foremost,” he reassured her. “No matter what else does or doesn’t happen between us, that isn’t going to change.”
She’d never realized how sexy kindness could be until tonight. A few more sweet words from Owen and she was liable to launch herself into his arms.
It wasn’t at all easy to stop herself from doing just that—or to remind herself that just as she tackled her client accounts with methodical precision, she should deal with the bookstore first. Once she knew what she was doing with it, then she could look harder at her feelings for Owen.
“Thank you.” She wanted to reach for his hand, but touching him would only set her heart racing again and the butterflies flying. Though she’d always thought that being methodical about everything was a good idea, at the moment she couldn’t quite remember why…. “Knowing I have a friend here, it helps so much. And your cleaning the fridge yesterday was pretty high up there on my list of awesome too. I don’t know many guys who would have been brave enough to tackle the mess.”
“My mum is the one to thank for that. She was a firm believer that her sons should excel at housework as much as sports or playing video games. All the more reason for you to tell me what’s next on your cleanup list.” Before she could protest that he must have better things to do with his time, he added, “My grandmother insisted on a night to herself at the cottage. Which means I’m yours for the duration, if you want me.”
She couldn’t keep the flush her cheeks at his words: I’m yours. Her blush grew even hotter at the realization of just how badly she wanted him, despite trying to be rational about dealing with a ton of massive life changes and upheavals.
“What’s the most difficult task on your to-do list?” he prompted again while she worked to push away the longing, and the desire, welling up inside her.
At least this question was an easy one. Because while she was happy with the progress she’d made in the bookstore today, the truth was that she was still avoiding the hard stuff. “I haven’t been in Charlie’s room yet,” she admitted. “Maybe we could go through his things together?”
“Sounds good. And remember, once we’re in there, if you need a breather at any point—or just want to call a halt for the night—we can always just go across to the pub for a drink.”
“It’s tempting to chuck it in and go now,” she admitted. “But all these years, I had so many questions. Now that I’m here, I need to face whatever answers I get. Good or bad.”
They were standing at the sink, close enough for him to reach for her hand. “You’re a very brave woman, Mari.”
“I don’t know if I ever was before,” she told him in a low voice. “But now…here…I want to be brave.” She wanted it so badly, in fact, that she needed to prove it by taking a step forward instead of back. And then another. And another. Until she was close enough to Owen to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. “I want to be brave enough to ask if I can kiss you.”
Heat surged between them as he replied, “Kiss me, Mari.”
CHAPTER TEN
Owen’s five-o’clock shadow was rough against Mari’s palm. His body was lean and strong against hers. And his eyes simmered with barely quenched desire as she went to her tippy-toes and pressed her lips, ever so softly, against his.
The kiss was barely more than a breath.
And yet it was everything.
She lowered her hand from his cheek, but before she could step back, Owen slipped his arm around her waist, holding her against him.
His blue eyes were dark with hunger. And when Owen looked at her this way, Mari couldn’t help but feel like her dreams just might be within reach after all…
She had to kiss him again, threading her hands into his dark hair and letting her passions run free and wild for a few blissful moments.
When they finally let each other go, she had a choice to make. She could worry that they were moving too fast. She could let guilt take her over for so much as considering dating an Englishman.
Or she could simply let all of that go for the moment and smile at the gorgeous man holding her in his arms.
When her lips turned up at the corners, so did his. “My grandmother is going to be so pleased.”
Wholly caught off guard, she asked, “How so?”
“As soon as she heard you were coming,” he said as he brushed a lock of hair from her face, “I suspect she started writing a grand romance inside her head.”
A grand romance. There were few things Mari enjoyed reading about more. True love written in the stars. Couples fated to be together, no matter the barriers. Breathless passion that only grew richer with time.
And yet, she’d never thought it could happen to her. Not until this moment, when she kissed a handsome man she’d met barely a day ago in a flat, above a bookstore, on an island in the River Thames in England.
Reeling not only from the kiss, but also from all the outer and inner changes taking place in her life, she suddenly needed a little space to think more clearly. She reluctantly moved out of his arms. “Do you tell your grandmother about every woman you kiss?”
“I never have before. But I don’t think she’ll need me to say anything. She’ll take one look at me and know.”
Mari was almost afraid to ask. “Know what?”
“That I’m captivated by you. Captivated enough that I’m not willing to risk coming on too fast. No matter how much I want to.” Which explained why, instead of reaching for her again, he simply smiled and said, “What do you say we head into Charlie’s room and get started?”
She nodded, grateful for the way Owen understood her need to process what had happened—and that he hadn’t taken offense. Especially given that she’d been the one to kiss him first. Other men might have felt that she’d led them on, but Mari could tell that he would never think that.
Leaving the kitchen, they headed down the short hallway. Mari put her hand on Charlie’s bedroom doorknob and paused, her chest clenching tight. She’d never imagined she would be the one to go through her father’s things after his death. But she’d just proved that she was braver than she thought, hadn’t she? She could be brave again.
What’s more, a few minutes ago, when she’d said to Owen, “It’s one thing to never complain—it’s another entirely to be truly happy,” she hadn’t been talking only about Charlie. She’d also been talking about herself.
At last, she wasn’t merely ready to be happy, she was willing to do whatever it took to find joy. Even if some of those things felt truly terrifying…
Turning the knob, she pushed open the door. The surfaces were cluttered and dusty, but after spending the day working in Charlie’s bookstore, she understood that it was an organized chaos. He had tended to group things by use. The stack of old shoelaces with the cans of leather polish. A half-dozen reading glasses with different-colored frames. Clippings from newspapers tacked to a board on the wall. And of course, the books stacked absolutely everywhere, whether at the end of the bed or propping open the closet door.
“What do you want to go through first?” Owen asked. “There’s a charity shop on the island that I’m sure would be happy to take whatever clothes and shoes you would like to donate.”
She appreciated Owen’s gentle nudge out of her head. “Great idea. Anything in good condition, let’s stack on the bed. Anything we’re going to toss, let’s put in a pile by the window to bag up later.”
Owen had already begun taking shoes out of the closet by the time she steeled herself to open Charlie’s top dresser drawer. Holding her breath at what she might find inside, relief washed through her when she saw nothing more than a stack of white undershirts.
“At dinner,” she said, “you told me a little about growing up here. I’d love to hear more.”
“I grew up in St. Margarets,” Owen told her, “just across the river from Richmond. Property values have skyrocketed, but when I was growing up, it was simply a nice family neighborhood on the outskirts of London. I went to the local primary until I was eleven and then, as I mentioned at breakfast, on to Hogwarts for senior school.”
More glad than she could say that she was able to laugh while going through her father’s things, she asked, “Were you sporty?”
“I played cricket and rugby. Broke a couple of bones, but what kid doesn’t?”
She hadn’t, because her mother had always encouraged her to stay away from the riskier sports. Tennis and swimming had been allowed, rather than lacrosse or soccer. All her life, her mother had done her utmost to keep her safe, as though she was forever trying to make up for what had nearly happened that day on Third Street.
Shaking herself out of her thoughts yet again, she said, “There’s a rugby ground in Twickenham, isn’t there?”
He nodded. “My dad never misses an England game. You’ll have to come with us.”
As she took a stack of socks out of the second drawer and put them in the discard pile, she couldn’t help but hear the part of the sentence he’d left off: If you’re still here.
“Alice said your father drove trains for the Tube. That must have been hugely exciting for a little boy.”
“Everyone wanted to come to my sixth birthday party for a chance to sit behind the wheel of the train.” She could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke about his father—the same joy that resounded whenever he talked about his family. “Now Dad works with the drivers, training them on new systems, making sure they’re getting enough sleep, and convincing them to go to counseling even when they insist they don’t need it.”
She looked up from the bottom drawer, about to ask why the drivers would need counseling, when it dawned on her that people sometimes stepped onto the tracks—either deliberately or by accident. “I didn’t even think about the things your father must have seen.”
“We always knew something bad had happened at work on the nights when he sat at the dinner table without touching his food. He was there, but he wasn’t, if that makes any sense. Mum is the one who convinced him to see someone to talk about it.”
“Your mom sounds amazing.”
“She is.” He took a stack of long-sleeved shirts from the closet and laid them on the bed to sort. “I spoke with her this afternoon during my commute home. She’d like to have you ’round for Sunday roast. Alice also said she’d mentioned it to you. Will you come?”
It was one thing to work on putting the bookstore to rights—even to reopen it, since it would probably be best to have it operational if Mari wanted to sell it for the best price. It was yet another to kiss Owen. But going to lunch with his family felt even bigger. As though she was setting down roots, making friends, building a future here.
No wonder her mother hadn’t wanted her to come to Elderflower Island. Donna must have known that the pull to stay might very well end up being stronger than Mari’s willingness to return to a life in Southern California that was good, but miles from everything she dreamed of.
Out of solidarity with her mother and stepfather, she should make her excuses about having lunch with Owen’s family. Only, how could she resist a man who adored his grandmother so much that he had devoted his career to building her business? Who happily talked on the phone with his mother? Who had brought Mari fresh jam and scones made by his sister? And whose kisses made her breathless?
“I would love to spend Sunday with your family. Thank you.”
Flustered by how she was managing to get in deeper and deeper with Owen with every moment that passed, she opened the lowest drawer of the dresser without pausing to prepare herself first for what she might find inside.
Her breath caught at the sight of a small, pink dress. A tiny sweater. A pair of white ankle socks printed with red hearts. Everything in the drawer would fit a three-year-old.
As the initial shock subsided, Mari recognized the clothes from photos in her mother’s old albums as those she had worn as a child.
She sat back on her heels and put her hand over the ache in her chest.
“Mari?” Owen stopped taking shirts off hangers and came to her side. “What did you find?”
With trembling hands, she lift
ed the little dress from the drawer. “This was mine. The sweater and socks were too. He must have taken them when he left California.” A tear fell, and then another, even though she was smiling too. Joy and sorrow seemed intrinsically bound together whenever she thought of her father. “All this time, I thought he forgot about me. Or just didn’t care. But after finding these clothes and the book this morning—”
“What book?”
“Winnie-the-Pooh. It was my favorite bedtime story. He would read it to me every night. When you came to the door this morning, I had just found a signed first edition.” She gathered the dress to her chest. “It was almost as though he left it there for me to find.”
As Owen’s arms came around her, despite her tears, she realized relief had also taken hold. Relief at finding out in yet another way that she had mattered to her father.
She’d never stop wishing that she could have seen him while he was alive. That she could have talked with him. Touched his hand one more time. But if this was all she could have, she would take it. And she would be grateful for the small sense of peace she could now hold onto whenever she thought about her father from this moment forward.
She lifted her head from Owen’s shoulder. “Thank you for being here. For helping.”
He brushed the wetness from her cheeks. “He would have been so proud of you, Mari. So damned proud.”
She inhaled a shaky breath, realizing for the first time that it might actually be true.
In the aftermath of the emotional upheaval, exhaustion swept over her. She yawned, so big her jaw made a small popping noise. “I think it’s officially past my bedtime.” She got to her feet, her knees a little wobbly. “Thank you for helping me make a start in here.”
“It was my pleasure.”
She walked him downstairs and through the bookstore. As soon as she opened the door, the black cat came sauntering in and leaped up on the counter by the register to settle in for the night.