Page 37 of Tattered Edges

At first, I wasn’t sure if I was getting cold because I was overthinking it or if I was legitimately cold. I layered another sweater on top of the one I was already wearing and then kept myself moving by tossing together a quick, warm dinner.

By nine-thirty, I was wearing three sweaters, a pair of fleece-lined leggings, sweatpants, and the thickest socks I owned.

A few minutes after ten, snuggled under my comforter on the couch, I was so cold I couldn’t fall asleep. I felt sure if I could just slip into unconsciousness, I’d sleep through the night, no matter how cold it got—but when I began shivering and contemplating sleeping in my coat, I had to admit I was being ridiculous.

I didn’t have Rory’s phone number, which meant another trip next door. As I pulled on my short, sheepskin-lined Ugg boots and donned my coat, I hoped to find him at home.

On Tuesdays, the Parlour wasn’t open, and The King’s Steed closed at nine. I assumed he wouldn’t be at work, but I didn’t know the man’s social calendar. It wasn’t until I rang his buzzer that the thought occurred to me that if he was home, there was a chance he wasn’t alone. He’d never mentioned having a woman in his life, but that didn’t mean his bed was always void of company.

I was spiraling down the rabbit hole of undesirable thoughts, imagining the kind of woman Rory wouldn’t say no to when suddenly he was standing in front of me. Unlike the first time he’d answered his door, he was fully dressed. He had on black jeans and a forest-green, crew neck sweater, the sleeves pulled up over his forearms. Even at the very end of the day, his hair was perfectly coifed, all but begging for someone to run her fingers through it.

I wanted to be that someone. I’d settle for just once, if only to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Sawyer?”

Until he spoke my name, I didn’t notice the way he was staring at me with one eyebrow furrowed, the other quirked in confusion.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re at my doorstep bundled up like a marshmallow, or must I guess?”

I grimaced.

A marshmallow.

Not the daring, sexy woman from the bar.

Not the smart, cute, American next door.

A marshmallow.

Yup.

There went all my desirability credits right down the drain.

Shoving aside my defeat, I confessed, “Yeah. Hi. I, uh, I’m sorry to bother you, but I need your help.”

Rory

Shelookedridiculous,paddedin layers and shivering on his doorstep.

The sight of her should have invoked feelings of pity. Except, rather than pathetic, he found the woman to be aggravatingly adorable. Her helplessness seemed to add to her charm rather than subtract from it.

He didn’t understand it any more than he liked it.

“So, a couple of hours ago, my heat stopped working,” she explained, bouncing from one foot to the other as she hugged her arms around her middle. “Apparently, the boiler for my building has a habit of going out sometimes. I thought I could stick it out until morning, but I’m so cold. Anyway, Victoria said Sawyer—Mr. Blackstone—he used to fidget with it a bit and he could get it working again. I was hoping, maybe, you might know how to fidget with it and get it working again, too.”

Rory didn’t have to stop to think about it. He wasn’t an engineer, but he knew the basics of boiler mechanics. Even if he didn’t, the way she was hopping around would have incentivized any novice with a heart to at least try.

With his shoes still on his feet, he didn’t bother heading back up to his flat. He stepped out to join her, closed his door behind him, and nodded, signaling Sawyer to lead the way.

“Uh, I think it’s on the roof. Are you sure you don’t want to grab a jacket?”

“Either I can fix it, or I can’t. It won’t take long to figure out which. If it requires tools, I won’t be able to help. You’ll need a technician. I’m a pub owner, not a registered gas safe engineer.”

“Good point. Okay,” she said before hurrying toward her door. Rory followed after her in silence. When they entered her flat and began climbing to the fourth floor, Sawyer admitted, “I haven’t actually ventured up to the roof. Deductive reasoning leads me to believe the hatch door in the upstairs hallway will get us there.”

“Sounds right. Assuming you don’t have an attic.”

She did, in fact, not have an attic, and the hatch in the hallway granted them access to the roof. As soon as they were back out in the cold, Rory tugged at the sleeves of his jumper, covering his forearms as he journeyed to the boiler closet. It looked just like his, and it took him less than five minutes to discover the boiler was low on pressure, likely due to a leak—a problem he was not equipped to solve.

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