Much Ado About You

by Samantha Young

  Today he smelled like freshly mown grass sprinkled with musky male spice.

  My body swayed slightly toward his, and Roane apparently took the movement as an invitation, his head dipping those last few inches.

  “Excuse me.”

  A voice, loud and close, jolted me away from Roane, whose mouth had been millimeters from touching mine—so close, I’d felt his breath tickle my lips.

  “I just . . . want that book.” An arm reached between us, and dazed, I looked down to see a petite brunette with glasses that took up most of her face. She seemed unfazed by the fact she’d clearly interrupted an almost clinch. Instead her determined eagle eyes were on the historical romance novel.

  Despite my disappointment, I decided I was ultimately grateful for the interruption. I was leaving in two weeks, and there was no point in giving in to this attraction. Neither of us would be happy with a casual physical encounter. Furthermore, I was running out of time to discover what I wanted from life. I did not need a guy muddling up my already confused headspace.

  I grabbed the book for the woman, who was straining to reach the shelf, and handed it to her. She gave me a thin-lipped smile and darted away. After a second or two of staring after her, I finally drew up the courage to look at my friend.

  Roane’s expression was unreadable.

  Uncomfortable for the first time in his presence, I flickered my gaze over his shoulder, looking for something to distract us. Across the room, I spotted a shelf dedicated to Harry Potter.

  That would do.

  “Ooh,” I said, hurrying across the bookshop. Spotting the first book in the series, I removed it. Roane had followed, as I’d expected, and I turned to him, smiling through the awkwardness. “I have to get this.”

  Roane bent his head toward mine to peer at the book. “Have to?”

  Our eyes met, and just like that we were much too close for my body to handle. I swallowed hard, wondering how obvious it would be if I physically retreated. Pretty obvious, I guessed. “It’s, uh, well . . . the first book has a different title in the States. It would be cool to own a copy with the original UK title.”

  His eyes trained on my mouth as he murmured, “What’s it called in the States?”

  “The Sorcerer’s Stone, not The Philosopher’s Stone. Apparently, the publisher didn’t think Americans would associate the word ‘philosophy’ with magic.” I sounded breathless. Most likely because I was.

  “Hmm.” Roane wasn’t even listening to my words at this point. His focus was on my mouth, his eyes were hooded, and he was definitely going to attempt another kiss.

  Stop him! a voice screeched in my head.

  It was the voice of reason.

  I jerked away from him. “Anyway, I’m going to go buy it.” Wow, my voice sounded high. Unable to meet his gaze, I strode away toward the front of the store, where I’d seen the cash register.

  As I waited to be served, I took a bunch of photos of the store to share on Instagram, and by the time the line moved down, Roane had returned to my side. He didn’t say a word, just waited patiently for the guy behind the counter to ring up my book, and when I was ready to leave, he placed his hand on my lower back and guided me out through the crowds.

  “You liked it then?” Roane asked, as if he hadn’t just tried to kiss me twice, been interrupted and then rebuffed.

  “Yes,” I replied, deciding to follow his lead and pretend the encounter hadn’t happened. “I loved it. Thank you for bringing me here. I’ll have to come back before I leave.”

  He flicked me an unreadable look and yanked open the driver’s-side door of his SUV.

  Despite our pretense of normality, tensions were high between us as Roane drove me to the rental car place. Unfortunately, it was closed so we’d have to come back another day. When? I didn’t know. I was already halfway through my vacation. The thought depressed me.

  Our last stop was the supermarket, and as we strolled through the aisles, Roane pushing the cart, it felt weirdly more intimate than the two near kisses at the bookstore.

  So domestic.

  People stared at us. I didn’t know if it was because it was difficult not to notice Roane, or if it was the two of us together that was causing the stir. Then I caught sight of us in one of the mirrors in the clothing department, and my uneasiness increased.

  We looked good together.

  We looked . . . right.

  “We should invite Caroline to dinner,” I blurted out, almost desperately.

  A buffer. Caroline would be the perfect buffer, and it would give me an opportunity to get to know her better. I hadn’t seen her again these last two weeks.

  If Roane suspected my reasons, he didn’t let on. Instead he frowned. “Caro won’t leave Helena alone for tea on such short notice. Believe me, I’ve tried inviting her to different things and she declines every time. I stopped asking ages ago.”

  It was my turn to frown. “Well, maybe that’s the problem. You stopped asking.”

  Roane drew to a halt in the middle of the canned food aisle. “I think I know my cousin well enough to know what the answer will be, but if you insist.” Clearly irritated, he yanked his cell out of his back pocket to call her. His irritation was strangely amusing, probably because he was usually so laid-back about everything. Holding out my hand, I said, “Let me.”

  His brows puckered. “You want to call her?”

  “Maybe she’ll find it harder to turn me down.”

  Roane’s lips twitched as he slapped the cell into my palm. “Aye, anyone would.”

  I couldn’t help my answering smile, even though I shouldn’t encourage his flirtation. He’d already pulled up Caroline’s number, so I just hit the call button. After a few rings, she answered, “Hi, Roane.”

  “No, it’s Evie using Roane’s cell. How are you?”

  “Oh. Oh, I’m very well, thank you, Evie. How are you?”

  God, I loved the way she talked. “I’m good but I’d be even better if you agreed to join Roane and me for dinner tonight at my place. Roane’s cooking. We’ll pick you up in”—I glanced at the time and calculated how long it would take us to get the groceries and return to Alnster—“an hour. Okay? Great. We’ll see you then.” I hung up before she could respond.

  Roane stared at his cell as I held it out to him, and then me, then his cell, then back to me. Suddenly he burst out laughing as he took it from me. Throwing his arm around my shoulders, Roane pulled me into his side to kiss my temple. “You’re mental, lass,” he declared, still chuckling.

  “It worked, didn’t it?”

  “We’ll see.” He released me to push the cart up the aisle. “If she doesn’t call back in the next fifteen minutes, it worked.”

  Turns out . . . it did work.

  * * *

  • • •

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew that making connections with anyone in Alnster was akin to running with a knife. At some point I was going to trip over and land on the pointy end. It would be painful, even debilitating.

  Yet I couldn’t seem to stop myself.

  Not with Roane.

  And apparently not with Caroline.

  I’d stopped thinking about time and what it meant. Quantity didn’t matter in life. Quality did. Roane was a quality human being, and there was something about Caroline that drew me to her. Maybe it was because they were cousins and for some reason I could sense they both possessed a soul-deep kindness. Surprisingly, I’d also stopped questioning my own naivete. I was choosing to risk following my instincts, and there would be no more second-guessing.

  I would befriend Caroline just as I had Roane, even if it hurt when I had to say goodbye.

  How much could it hurt after only a month anyway?

  Roane had been amused when we pulled up to a large cottage on the outskirts of Alnster. A tarmac road led all the wa
y up to the house through the woodland. I could see from the SUV that the woods ended here, the view beyond the cottage that of fields.

  “It’s a pity it’s one story. An upper floor would give views of the village,” Roane had told me just before he opened the door to get out.

  His actions had been halted by the sight of Caroline bursting out of the front door, Shadow bounding at her back. She wore a calf-length navy skirt, the same Mary Janes from before, a navy sweater with a Peter Pan collar, and a pink long-line cardigan over the ensemble. In her hands was another Tupperware box.

  Yay!

  Shadow had jumped into the back of the Defender, saying a happy hello to Roane before giving my neck a swipe with his tongue. I’d giggled and scratched his ears, giving him the attention he desired as Caro got in beside him. She’d helped Shadow settle into the back seat and beamed brightly at Roane. Her smile had dimmed when she turned to me, but I hoped it was out of shyness and not dislike. “Hello. Let’s go.”

  “Helena all right about this, Caro?” Roane had asked as he turned the SUV around. I’d caught a glimpse of a face peering out from the front window of the cottage as we left.

  “Well—”

  “Be honest, treasure,” Roane had coaxed softly.

  Hearing him so tender with his cousin made my heart squishy.

  He called her “treasure.”

  “S-She wasn’t entirely on board with the idea,” Caroline had admitted quietly.

  I’d twisted around in my seat to meet her gaze. “You told her I didn’t give you a choice, right?”

  Her answering smile had been more confident, even a little mischievous. “I did. Very clever of you.”

  Grinning back, I’d replied airily, “I do try my best.”

  The cousins had shared a smile, and when we arrived at the bookstore, I’d tried to ignore the meaningful look of gratitude that bordered on adoration from Roane. He’d squeezed my hand before hopping out to get the groceries.

  He really had to stop looking at me like that.

  Over an hour later we were seated at the small dining table in the apartment above the store, talking and laughing as the cousins shared stories about village life and growing up there. Shadow was sprawled in front of the wood burner despite the fact there was no fire blazing in it. His light snoring was a gentle backing track to our conversation.

  Sometimes the cousins would share these secret, wary looks and seem to hesitate before talking, but I gathered it had something to do with the way Caro had been raised. Roane was probably checking with her before speaking to reassure her that he wouldn’t mention how it was for her with Helena.

  At least that was my guess.

  As for me, I spent time waxing lyrical about living life as an independent woman. “I come and go as I please. I get to travel. Right now, I’m working on making my editing business a full-time gig.”

  “You’re doing it then?” Roane asked, sounding pleased.

  “I’m going to try. It probably won’t be feasible, but at least it’s something to concentrate on while I try to find another editing job in Chicago.”

  Roane frowned a little but nodded. “Good plan.”

  Was it the mention of Chicago that made him frown?

  It was making me frown too.

  Two weeks would be up before I knew it, and I still hadn’t figured out what I wanted from my life.

  But Caro didn’t need to know that. “It was really scary moving out on my own at first, but I love it now. The sense of freedom is amazing.”

  This time Roane shot me a knowing, teasing look, but I ignored it. I was determined to plant as many seeds in Caro’s mind as possible about grabbing hold of the reins of her life from her controlling aunt.

  We were eating the light-as-air Victoria sponge cake Caro had baked when Roane excused himself to use the restroom.

  As soon as he was out of earshot, I turned to his cousin. “Your baking is off-the-charts delicious, and Roane says you’re good enough to bake professionally. Have you ever considered approaching the baker for a job?”

  I’d met the baker when I’d gone there to buy lunch. His name was Antony Graham. I’d gotten his life story from him when I went in—early forties, divorced, had his kids every other weekend, and he’d run the bakery in Alnster for twenty years.

  Caro shot a look at the door where Roane had disappeared out of, and then turned to me. Her dark eyes were bright with frustration. “I have. Two years ago I went to Tony with my baking. I was so nervous.”

  “What happened?”

  With a heavy sigh, she lowered her eyes to the table. “He said he thought I was a good baker but asked me if Aunt Helena knew I’d come to him about a job. When I said no”—she met my gaze again, anger mingling with the frustration—“he said he wouldn’t employ me, knowing it was going directly against the wishes of my aunt. I said, ‘But I’m twenty years old,’ and he said . . . ‘Everyone knows Helena’s in charge of your life, and I don’t want to deal with her wrath. Go home, little girl.’”

  “He said what?”

  I closed my eyes, wincing at the fury in Roane’s voice. When I opened them, Roane was rounding the table, indignation etched into every feature of his face. He placed his palms on the table and bent toward Caro, who was wide-eyed with concern.

  “He really said that?” Roane asked, clearly forcing calm into his voice.

  “Roane, it’s not worth getting upset over.”

  “I beg to differ. Why didn’t you come to me, treasure? I didn’t . . .” He slid into his seat, his expression changing to one of guilt. “If I’d known you were trying to make a career out of baking, I would have helped. I would have gone to that spineless prick of a man and—”

  “And what, Roane?” Caro placed her hand over his. “Threatened him? I don’t want a job that way. I just . . . I just wanted to see if other people liked my baking . . . if I was good enough to do something with it.”

  “You are,” he promised. “Let me speak to Tony.”

  Seeing Caro’s lips pinch together, I found myself intervening. “Caro is right,” I butted in. “She doesn’t want a job because you threatened the baker. She wants it on her own merit.” My brain kicked into high gear. “I . . . what if you set up a market stall on Main Street just outside The Anchor? You could sell your baking and get some reactions.” Although I already knew those reactions would be positive.

  For some reason this idea caused panic to flitter across Caro’s face.

  Deducing she was too shy to put herself at the center of attention, I hurried to add, “We could see if anyone else is interested in putting up a stall. Have a market day. I could ask Penny if I can sell some books.”

  She relaxed. “That might work.”

  “You’ll need permits,” Roane said, his brows drawn together, “and Caro would need to register with the Food Standards Agency, and that takes time. I can see about pushing the permits through, but not the FSA. You need to register with them twenty-eight days before the event.”

  “You can push the permits through?” I asked, curious about his influence in town.

  “I sell livestock to market,” he explained, but he wouldn’t meet my eye. “I know people.”

  There was something cagey about his explanation—

  “Do you really think we could do it?” Caro seemed brighter now, hopeful.

  Realizing I wouldn’t be there for it made me sad. But I could still help organize it before I left. “Absolutely.”

  Roane frowned. “You’re really not worried about Helena trying to put a stop to it?”

  “I’m a little worried,” she replied softly. “But . . .”

  “But . . .”

  She swallowed hard and stared Roane right in the eye. “I-I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I need to know if I can do this. Because maybe if I can do this one thing
. . .” She stared forlornly at the table now.

  “You’ll feel strong enough to leave her?” Roane guessed, his tone hesitant, like he was afraid of pushing too hard.

  “Perhaps.”

  Roane looked at me, his expression determined. “Get sign-ups for the market by Wednesday and I’ll see about getting what you need to hold it in four weeks’ time.”

  I knew my expression was equally determined. “You got it, Robson.”

  “I do wish you could be there, Evie,” Caro said.

  Sadness threatened to take hold, and I couldn’t quite meet Roane’s gaze. “I’ll be there in spirit,” I replied far more brightly than I felt inside.

  Nine

  It was the first week of June and the end of my third week in England.

  A gentle breeze kissed my bare arms and legs as I clasped the old photograph in my hand and shook with laughter.

  “Give it here,” Roane demanded. “Caro, you’ll pay for this.”

  Caro, wearing a light summer dress that still managed to cover everything but her arms and throat, giggled. “I’m sorry. I felt it was in Evie’s best interest to see this side of you. I wouldn’t want her to think you’re perfect.”

  I snorted and shot him a teasing look. “I’m keeping this.”

  Just as he had last Sunday, Roane decided to take a day off to join me on a walk along the beach. Considering my attraction to him had only deepened over the last week, I felt it prudent to invite Caro to join us. Shadow danced in and out of the water, entertaining us with his exuberance.

  And then Caro had produced an old photograph of Roane she’d found.

  She told me he was fourteen years old in the photo.

  Once upon a time Roane was a gangly, long-limbed, skinny teen whose face hadn’t quite grown into his ears.

  Oh, and he was wearing a Spider-Man costume in the photograph.

  Scowling, Roane turned to Caro. “Mum and Dad guilted me into wearing that costume for your bloody birthday party because you loved Spider-Man. I took shit from everyone for it and this is the thanks I get.”