Ellis glares at him before turning to me, not quite meeting my eyes and sighing wearily, “Follow me then. It’s not much. I don’t know what Iris told you about it, and if you want what you’ve paid refunded once you see it, we can arrange that in the morning.”
“I’m sure it will be fine.” I smile, my eyes begging his to just look at me. See me. It’s me, Eilis. It’s me. A desperate urge inside me needs him to return it.
He doesn’t.
I stand, grab my suitcase and follow Ellis as he walks away.
I will always follow you.
We go out through the same door Iris slipped into a few minutes ago, one I now know leads into a cool, narrow hallway. An opening to my left shows a small, cramped office, and to my right opens up into a slightly bigger space that looks like a staff break room, and around a corner are the stairs.
“I’ll give you a key to the external door if you decide to stay. Save you from coming and going through the pub.” Ellis points at the old wooden door to which he’s referring, adding, “It leads into the alley that runs alongside the pub. Left will take you out onto the main road, right will take you to the terrace at the back.”
“That would be great, thank you.”
We head up the stairs in silence, and I try and fail not to stare at his broad shoulders or the way his back tapers down to his narrow waist and long legs.
Needing to hear his voice, I push for more conversation. “And thanks again for agreeing to let me the room. I really didn’t fancy a night at the manor. I think I might’ve gone for the back seat of my car before taking my chances there.”
All I get in response is a grunt of agreement and the view of those shoulders as they stiffen.
This is all wrong. He’s meant to feel it. It’s not supposed to be this way.
Silence grows thick and cloying between us, and my mind rushes to find the words to break it, coming up empty.
He leads me to a wide landing with unfinished wooden floorboards and stops outside a closed door.
“This is your room.” He takes a key from his pocket and slips it into the lock. “It has a private bathroom and a small kitchenette.”
“Sounds perfect.”
He huffs in response, then pushes the door open and motions for me to go inside. As I walk by him I almost, almost, falter. Being so close to him, being unable to reach out and touch him, to tell him who I am, who we are, is a pure and excruciating torture.
I do it. Barely.
He flicks the light switch and illuminates a wide-open living room painted white with sun-bleached wood flooring, and a large sky-blue sofa facing an open fireplace, the mantle of which looks to have been made from a log that once washed up on a shore.
Darker blue drapes frame floor-to-ceiling windows and a small, white gloss kitchenette with the same wooden worktops, nestles in the opposite corner.
It’s simple, functional and modestly beautiful.
A large painting of Lily Bay’s coastline has pride of place on the wall above the fire. The colours are vibrant and full of life.
“This is perfect. Thanks for letting me stay.”
I stand at the windows looking out at the high street below, trying to affect an air of nonchalance and likely failing.
When I receive no response, I turn to face Ellis, hoping like hell he isn’t going to change his mind about me staying here.
The look on his face strips me bare.
Ellis isn’t watching me; he’s picking me apart piece by piece. His dark blue eyes hold an intensity that catches my breath. His gaze is a touch—a caress. The contact, although not physical, is everything I needed. There is no doubt Ellis can feel this thing between us. No uncertainty at all. It’s written all over his face as I stand there and let him take in every part of me as if the very act of doing so will give him the answers to all the questions swimming in his gaze.
What would it feel like to hold you? To pull you to me and confess everything?
“I swear I know you,” Ellis said at length, his deep voice raspy, almost as if he hasn’t used it in years. “There’s something familiar about you. Have you been to Lily Bay before?”
“Not until today.”
Ellis takes an unconscious step towards me, and my heart skitters in my chest.
“What about Elmly? I went to college there. Maybe that’s where I know you from?”
A smile curves at the corner of my lips. He feels this. He knows, and yet he doesn’t.
“No, I’ve never been to Elmly, either. Is it close to here?”
Ellis doesn’t answer my question. Instead, he seems to momentarily realise how intensely he’s studying me and abruptly breaks eye-contact, striding towards a door on the opposite wall.
“The bedroom is in here, and the bathroom is attached. I, uh, haven’t bought any supplies as I wasn’t expecting to rent this place out yet, but I’ll make sure to get some towels and other things you’ll need tomorrow. I’ve left some of mine there for tonight if that’s okay?”
“That’s kind of you, but there’s no need to go to any extra trouble. I can get anything I need when the shops open tomorrow.”
“No… I, uh, what I mean is…” He lifts his head to look at me, sincerity clear in his gaze. “It’s the least I can do. I was a bit of an arse earlier, and it’s not your fault. It’s just been a—”
“Long day?”
He huffs out a weary laugh. “I was going with weird, but, yeah, long works, too.”
He steps away from the bedroom door, falters for a second, then straightens his shoulders and strides confidently towards me, his hand lifting as he approaches.
“How about we start again?” He stops in front of me, and I almost buckle with relief. “Hi Macsen, I’m Ellis. It’s nice to meet you.”
His accompanying quiet smile is full of unassuming charm.
“Hi, Ellis.” My hand slips into his and the years of searching fall away. Only here and now remains. ‘It’s been too long,’ I want to say. ‘I’ve missed you so much.’
“Thanks for letting me stay.”
Chapter 4
Ellis
Macsen Evans took my breath away and replaced it with something I didn’t know I was missing.
Instead of leaving me breathless, it was as if this was the first time I’d ever allowed oxygen into my lungs. The first time I’d ever really breathed.
Every inhalation before him was a delusion—a weak representation of what it was like to live.
I was positive I knew him from somewhere. With his classic good looks, it could easily have been off TV or out of a music video. He had that whole sophisticated model-slash-actor vibe going on, from his perfectly trimmed scruff to his finger-combed wavy hair. Even standing before me wearing basic dark jeans and a plain t-shirt—a tight, white t-shirt that sculpted itself to every ridge and bump of his lean, muscled frame and owned it—he looked as if he just stepped off a runway.
But it wasn’t his striking good looks that had me spinning.
It was more than that.
It was a feeling. A sense of rightness I’d never once experienced in my twenty-eight years.
It felt as if the entire day—hell, my entire life—had led me right here to this moment, standing alone with him in the small guest suite of my pub.