“Hello, again. I remember you.”
“Do you?” I cringed internally, wishing I’d adopted a fake American accent to greet her the first time. Though, I wasn’t sure my American accent would be better than that Gwen woman’s British one.
Chelsea’s mom smiled wider. “I never forget a face. You’re the young gentleman who was here earlier this week. Would you like your same order? Earl black with a spoonful of creme?”
I nodded slowly, feeling my exterior thaw for the adorable woman. She reminded me of my own mum back home in London. With her cropped graying hair and friendly demeanor, it was no wonder the regulars loved her, as Chelsea had said.
“That would be nice, thank you.”
As she bustled about behind the counter, my gaze looked back up to the television. They were airing one of the last episodes where Francesca and I were finally getting to have some alone time without the cameras present. Up until that point in our relationship, I had thought she was going to be the one I chose in the very end. Except, I hadn’t made it that far, not after the conversation we’d had in that hotel room alone, without the cameras watching our every move. It turned out there was more to Francesca than I had yet to witness, which shocked me back to the reality of our situation.
Though I hadn’t gotten to know any of the women well enough to propose, the pressure to do just that had my mind spinning and rushing into something that wouldn’t have been fair to either of us. I was willing to take one for the team. In retrospect, I would have been an idiot to propose. Luckily, it hadn’t come to that.
That night alone with Francesca had been the first time I’d realized how much of a role the cameras had played in the entire eight weeks we’d been getting to know each other. It turned out, she wasn’t a sweet, vivacious woman dedicated to finding true love. She had strategized her way to that moment and had thought we were one and the same. She’d wanted me to help her “win.”
The moment she had called it winning, I’d known she wasn’t in it for the right reasons and she certainly wasn’t the right one for me. But what was I supposed to do? Continue to move forward with her? I couldn’t. The other women? I couldn’t do that either. Not if I were being honest with myself and them. So, I’d walked off the set. And never returned.
“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”
I did a double take, pretending I wasn’t sure what she was talking about. “What is it?”
The woman chuckled and shook her head. “A reality show, British Bachelor. Of course, a man like you wouldn’t watch a show like that. Trust me when I say it’s a train wreck.” Then she waved a hand in the air. “Don’t waste your time worrying about it.” She pushed forward my tea. “Will that be all?”
Helene was Chelsea’s mom’s name, according to her name tag. “That will do it.” I looked at the register and handed Helene a twenty before grabbing my tea and nodding to her. Apparently, sunglasses still worked wonders as a disguise. “I’m sure I’ll be back.”
She smiled and waved politely. “Looking forward to it, dear. Maybe my daughter will be here when you come by next time. She lives in the area, and she’s single.”
Despite the circumstances, I couldn’t help the smile spreading on my face. “I’m sure she’s as lovely as her mum.”
Helene’s warm eyes reminded me so much of her daughter’s, I felt a buzzing in my chest as I turned toward the door. I wondered if Chelsea had said anything to her mum about me, about the man who was staying at the Hogues’ manor. Hopefully she’d left out the fact that he’d wanted to show her his giant willy.
I laughed at my own ridiculous thoughts. How I had any restraint at all to walk away from Chelsea the other night was a mystery. She was nothing like Francesca. She was real, and she was perfect in all the ways I’d gotten to know about her.
I walked out of Spill the Tea with an even heavier heart than I’d walked in with and a determination to sit Chelsea down and talk to her about everything I’d been keeping quiet. She deserved to know the truth—more than the damn British media, more than British Bachelor producers, and more than Francesca.
As soon as I reached the house, it was clear Chelsea wasn’t home. Her car was gone, and all the lights in the pool area were off. Disappointment sank deep in my gut. Of course she would be gone, and I had no way of getting ahold of her.
I was about to turn dejectedly toward the main house when something white taped to her front door caught my eye. My initial reaction was to leave without glancing at it, but then I realized the note might be for me. I stepped forward, hoping I wasn’t massively invading her personal life, and that was when I spotted my name.
Liam,
In case you happen to look for me. I’m visiting a friend for a couple of days. I’ll be back when the Hogues return. Didn’t want you to worry.
Chelsea
Well, bollocks.
16
Chelsea
I heard their boisterous voices the second I opened my car door early Monday morning.
The Hogues were back, bringing an instant smile to my face. Quickening my steps, I pushed my way through the side gate of the house and breezed past the courtyard until I was on the back porch, where the family was all smiling.
Simon and Bridget laughed as the twins, Elizabeth and Eleanor, squealed in Liam’s lap. Brendan beamed like the rest of them with his head turned down toward his phone while his fingers danced away on the keys.
I’d taken a much-needed break from the Hogues’ residence while I’d digested the news about why Liam was really there. Maisey had let me stay with her and Roger while I spilled all the details of what had been brewing between Liam and me.
She’d always been an amazing friend, but it had been in those moments when I’d started to question all my life decisions that she’d come through hard for me. She’d offered up her study for me to spend my days writing, then she’d dragged me out at night for a full drunken experience filled with wine, laughs, and tears.
We had talked about everything, from Liam to my parents to school to writing. She’d listened with honest, sympathetic, and nonjudgmental ears. It turned out she’d been proud of me for submitting my finished manuscript to an editor, and I’d realized that worrying about her opinion had been a manifestation of my own fear. Once all my confessions were out of the way, we’d googled the hell out of Liam Colborn, which had opened up a whole new can of worms.
Liam’s swimming career had been in the public’s eye for nearly a decade before he’d faded out of the media, only to return with a vengeance. Not only had Liam been on a television show in the UK, he’d been the star of that television show, British Bachelor. Or the “Forever Bachelor” as the media reports called him. And apparently, he was a complete jerk. A playboy with zero intention to ever settle down, he seemed perfectly content to make everyone think his intentions were honorable.
All the respect I’d had for Liam felt tarnished, and it wasn’t because of the women he’d left behind or the dirt the media outlets had found on him. Liam hadn’t even explained his reasons for walking away. He’d simply left England and left everyone there to pick up the pieces of his destruction without any clue as to why.