He’d seen her at events, parties, premieres — work commitments that had put him in her vicinity — but never long enough to see her like this: private, unguarded.
It was as if someone had turned her happiness up to eleven. She was radiant. What would it be like to harbor so much joy?
Harrison wasn’t unfeeling. He liked dating, though he hadn’t done it in a while, and he loved sex. But he’d never met anyone who inspired anything incredible in him. The way the movies made people believe they could.
He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Did your parents end up taking that trip to Scotland?”
“No, my mother wasn’t able to fly in the end. But her cousin came down after the funeral, brought some of my grandfather’s belongings to pass on. They spent a week getting sauced and reminiscing. Called me every day at eleven p.m. with a new story.”
“Sounds like a fun time.”
Their arms brushed. “Oh, she’d love you. She’s always begging me to bring someone home.”
“Maybe I’ll drop by.”
“Maybe you should.”
Hayley turned to him, and for a shocking second, he swore his heart had stopped. God, what he wouldn’t give to know what love felt like.
Maybe then he could begin to explain what he felt every time she was near him.
The courtyard they found was blissfully quiet, even though there were at least two dozen people around. There was a food cart set up in the corner, selling choripan, and a couple snuggled together, whispering. The cold sting of February hung in the air, even as the buildings shield them from the wind.
Taking the last empty bench he could find, Harrison shuffled closer to Hayley, aware that she only wore a thin top and jacket.
“It’s personal, isn’t it? The reason you hate all of this so much.” She asked, waving a hand toward the young couple wrapped up in each other nearby.
He studied her, watching for a hint of judgment, but he found none. Only curiosity and the familiar amber in her eyes.
It wasn’t often he chose to open himself up to another. Usually it took Courier in size twelve to do it. Maybe it was how unabashedly she watched him or the easy space around them, like he’d stepped out of his normal life for a moment, right into celluloid. Some of the more resilient trees were sprouting early, fighting the cool temperature to show new life, and it reminded him so sharply of Em that his answer slipped forth easily.
“My sister,” he says, clearing the emotion from his throat. “Emilia. She’s ten months older, but everyone always thought we were twins because of how close we were.”
Emilia would love this. Not the story itself, but him telling it. She had always accused him of being too distrusting. No doubt she and Hayley would get on like a house on fire.
“She was popular in school, had her share of boyfriends. But nothing ever worked out long term. When she graduated from college and still hadn’t found the love her life, she wasn’t worried. Said her plan was to start a family by thirty, and that still left plenty of time. And even on her thirtieth birthday, when her boyfriend said he never wanted kids, she broke it off and said that it was okay. Forty is the new thirty, apparently.”
Life could be so fucking cruel. It was painful to watch her hope rise and fall with every failed date, every short-lived relationship. Yet she still believed in love. He couldn’t understand it.
“What happened?” Hayley asked, her voice soft.
He stared down at his hands, noticed her knee resting against his. “She did what most hopeful singles do when they’re trying to find love. She joined an app.”
He turned his head, watching the soft tendrils of her hair as the wind brushed her face, her familiar scent washing over him. Her beautiful eyes were locked with his, filled with compassion. She was just so… good. He could change the subject right now, make a joke or stand without a word, and she wouldn’t stop him. Wouldn’t push.
He didn’t quite have the words to thank her, but he wished he had.
“His name was Calvin Boyd. Said he worked on Wall Street, had a high-profile job that required a lot of travel and made it hard to settle down, but he’d always wanted the whole picture-perfect deal — wife, kids, dog, house.”
“Sounds perfect,” she said.
“Oh, that’s nothing. He was the epitome of romance — sent her big bouquets of flowers, took her out to fancy dinners when he was in town, surprised her with gifts, sent her poetry every morning. They were already talking about moving in together after a couple of weeks.”
“That’s incredibly sudden. How did your sister feel about it?”
“She was head over heels for him. Convinced he was the one. Wouldn’t hear a bad word about him. Even after he started asking her for money.”
“Oh, no.”
Bile still stung his throat when he thought about it. “Apparently, he was going through a nasty divorce that meant his assets were tied up. Which was a huge load of bullshit, but Emilia bought it. It was only after he’d drained her savings account and put her in thousands of dollars of credit card debt that she learned the truth.”
“Where is he now?”
“Who knows. The cops said she isn’t the only one he tricked, but it’s almost impossible to get him on anything because everything was in her name.” He hated that he couldn’t do more for his sister. He hadn’t been able to protect her.
And now he would be contributing to the same false promises that had left her vulnerable to a creep like that.
“So you can understand why I hate all this stuff.” He gestured around them, although even he had to admit it was a beautiful spot.
“She’s lucky to have you looking out for her.” Hayley hugged herself, shivering.
He slipped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. “Emilia is my best friend. She was there when…” He sighed. “I owe a lot to her.”
Hayley considered him before placing her hand on his arm gently. An offer of support. “What was it for you?”
Of course she knew there was more. “Fifth grade. Couple of kids had been taunting me for most of the year, and one day, they decided to up the ante. They’d already broken my nose when Emilia stepped in. She’s got a mean right hook.”
Hayley smiled, but it was rife with past pain. Harrison knew that smile. Had seen it in the mirror many times.
“It was university for me,” she said. “I grew up north of London, in a town south of Yorkshire. The people there, you may not realize, have very distinct accents. Thanks to a lot of hard work and the benefit of my family’s position, I studied literature at Oxford.”
The way she spoke was clear, polished. Practiced. Harrison’s gut clenched.
“It was exciting. I’d graduated top of my class, and it was my dream to attend. It didn’t take long to see that it didn’t matter how smart I was. I was an outsider.” She ducked her face, hiding behind her hair. “I spent every day practicing to talk like everybody else. Now I barely remember what I used to sound like.”
Harrison’s gut clenched. Those fucking posh bastards. He knew the type. Boorish, classist assholes. Apparently, it didn’t matter what country you came from; they manifested everywhere like weeds.