“A two-year break?”
“From the age of fifteen to the age of thirty-one, I dated. Sixteen years of dating. Three serious relationships among them. There was Chace, and you know all about him. Then there was Brent, who was five years younger. A funny guy but we only lasted five months because everything was a joke to him. He lost his job while we were together and started living off money from his parents, who didn’t have a lot to spare. He didn’t know how to care for himself, expected me to do everything, and threw a tantrum when he didn’t get his way. A year after that there was Devon. We dated for fourteen months until . . .” I winced, still mortified by the consequences of dating Devon.
“Until?”
“Ugh, let me preface by telling you I have regular health checks and I’m good.”
Roane frowned in confusion for a second before it cleared and turned into a scowl. “The fucker gave you something?”
“Chlamydia. And the cherry on top of that cake . . . I went to confront him after my doctor’s appointment. He was a freelance web designer. Expecting me to be at work, he had what I’d soon discover was one of many women on the side over at the apartment. I walked in on him with his head between her legs.”
“Fuck, angel.” Roane let go of my hand to wrap his arm around my shoulders and pull me into his side. He kissed my temple as I curled my arm around his waist. “You deserve so much better than that shit.”
“Well, in between those three relationships there was a lot of first and second dates, a few third dates, and not much else beyond that. When I hit thirty, most of my friends were in love, married, and some were even popping out kids. I was exhausted and I took a break for a couple of years until Greer convinced me to get back on the horse. That led to Aaron, the online guy, and my renewed sense of ‘this might not happen for me.’” I squeezed his waist. “Then I came here.”
His hold on me tightened as we strolled, and as I thought about my dating life over the years, I realized that I’d never actually believed I’d meet the love of my life. Deep down, I thought it was a fairy tale that other people got to live.
It made me breathless to realize I’d been wrong.
I found him.
I found my one.
As I sighed happily, my gaze wandered across the water and the beach ahead, and I thought how lucky I was that I found my person in beautiful England.
As my eyes caressed the water and followed the gentle ripples back to shore, I saw two figures ahead of us.
Something about them caught my attention.
Perhaps it was the way the tall male figure was looming over the small feminine one . . . or perhaps it was because there was something familiar about them. As we drew closer, the woman gestured dramatically with her hands, and the guy bent his head to her, his lips almost brushing hers as he responded.
“Evie, I need to tell—”
“Is that Viola?” I cut Roane off, squinting at the couple. Realization dawned. “And Lucas?”
“What?” Roane snapped his head forward and narrowed his gaze. He tensed against me. “Aye, it is.”
“Maybe we should stop.” The words had barely left my mouth when Viola began striding away from Lucas toward us. Lucas watched her go, but I couldn’t see his expression clearly from this far away.
Viola, however, didn’t react to the sight of us. Her features were tight with pain, and suddenly I felt like an ass for pushing those two together. She drew to a halt in front of us. Without preamble she said, “I didn’t bring my car. Can I get a lift from you?”
“Of course,” Roane replied. “You okay?”
“Can we not talk about it? Ever.”
We nodded solemnly and turned around to walk back the way we came. The walk was silent and tense, the atmosphere staying that way until we parked at the bookstore and watched Viola walk up toward the pub.
I turned to Roane, contrite. “Maybe I fucked up.”
He shook his head. “Like you said, you planted a seed, nothing more. It wouldn’t have grown if you hadn’t been right about how they feel about each other. And obviously there is something between them. We just need to let them sort it out amongst themselves.”
Lying in bed that night, I worried about Viola. I worried Lucas had rejected her and I’d opened the door for that to happen to her. There was a big part of me that wanted to meddle, to fix the problem, since I felt responsible. But, ultimately, I knew I had to take Roane’s advice and stay out of it.
However, that didn’t mean I had to stay out of every long-standing issue that plagued the village.
Twenty-One
By the last week in July, the countdown was on.
Five more weeks. That’s how long I had left before I was supposed to return to the States. Since that phone call with Greer, Roane and I hadn’t talked about the future. It was easier just to immerse ourselves in one another and be blissfully fucking happy. Despite my suspicions that Roane was in love with me, I still felt a niggle of insecurity and wasn’t ready to make a huge life decision about staying in England until I was one hundred percent certain that he loved me.
By one hundred percent sure, I meant until he told me he loved me.
Besides, I still wasn’t sure I could leave Greer behind . . . or my mom. I didn’t know what to do about my mother, and I didn’t like thinking about it because it hurt so damn much.
It was a gray day in Alnster, but I was already used to the temperamental weather and kind of glad for it. Summer in Chicago was hot and humid all the time, but moody British weather meant I got a break from the warm climate when I least expected it.
I was sitting behind the counter of the bookstore, working on a manuscript for one of my clients. As much as I’d wanted my freelance editing work to take off, running the bookstore full-time put a kink in those plans. I was pretty much on the same schedule with my editing as I had been in Chicago.
A few tourists had come into the store over the course of the morning, but it was a quiet afternoon, allowing me time to work. Yet I knew when Maggie Foster stepped into the store that my attention was about to be pulled elsewhere. For weeks I’d wanted to talk to Maggie about her daughter, but I just didn’t know how to stick my nose into business that was so personal.
Probably because my nose didn’t belong there.
At all.
“Maggie.” I clicked save on the manuscript and closed my laptop. “How can I help?”
She smiled as she approached the counter. Maggie was a small woman, so I assumed Annie got her height from her father’s side. She had the same lovely “are they green, blue, or gray?” eyes as Annie, although hers were slightly dulled with a perpetual hint of sadness.