Page 42 of Tattered Edges

I turned at the sound of Hattie’s voice and found her eyeing the bottle in my hands with interest.

“Ah,” she hummed with a broad smirk. “You took my advice, I see. He’ll like that, I guarantee it. Though, I doubt you’ll gift your way into his affections. He’s a tougher nut than that.”

“Oh, I—that’s not what this is,” I stammered, unexpectedly embarrassed.

Even as I said the words, I doubted my own intensions. I wasn’t trying tobuymy way to his heart. The thought never even crossed my mind. Except, now that she’d mentioned it, I wondered if subconsciously I was doing exactly that.

Needing to convince myself, I explained, “He helped me again. Only this time, he went above and beyond in his neighborly duties. I thought this would be an appropriate opportunity to go above and beyond myself.”

“Mmm, I see,” she replied with a dip of her chin.

I wasn’t sure whether or not she believed me, but she didn’t press the issue.

“Well, you’d better leave it with me. He’s not here.”

“Oh. If he’s upstairs, I could go around back.”

“He’s not home either, I’m afraid. He went to have dinner with his parents. It’s a bit of a trek to the country, and we aren’t expecting him back tonight. But leave it with me. I’ll be sure he gets it.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly, I handed her the bottle. I could have held onto it and delivered it in person at another time, but it felt like if I did that, what she said about my intentions would be true. Disappointed as I was that I’d missed him, I didn’t want to make it into a big deal.

“Thanks.”

“Sure. Why don’t you have a seat while I go put this in the back. I’ll put in an order for you, too. What’ll you have?”

I opened my mouth to tell the woman I didn’t have plans of staying, but then I stopped myself. Thinking back on my chat with Rory, I recalled how he’d told me Hattie knew my father. With nowhere else to be, I replied, “I’ll have a dirty gin martini and some crisps, please.”

“Coming right up.”

I shrugged my way out of my jacket and took a seat at a table for two in a corner near the front windows. It wasn’t quite five in the evening, but the pub was already starting to draw a crowd. There were a couple of people at the bar that looked like they’d come from the office, and a group gathered at a table who appeared as though they were just out, enjoying the afternoon.

“One dirty martini, and a bowl of crisps,” announced Hattie when she approached the table a couple minutes later with my order. “I hope you don’t mind if I join you for a bit,” she added, taking the seat opposite me. “I’ve been hoping for the chance to chat. If I recall, there’s a story behind how a woman named Sawyer came to own a bookstore that used to be owned by a man named Sawyer. Now, you’re here, I’m here—and I do love a good story.”

Reaching for the toothpick full of olives, I replied, “How about a trade? I’ll tell you about the woman if you tell me about the man.”

Her eyes brightened as she agreed, “Deal.”

Seeing as this wasn’t the first time I’d told my story, it came out with ease. Hattie listened intently, responding at all the appropriate moments, and asking questions that were beginning to sound familiar. However, it was the way she looked at me when I was finished that took me aback. Her eyes were swimming in tears she did her best to blink away.

“It really is a shame the two of you never met. If he was here, I’d give him a stern talking to for being a right git. He would have adored you, but he never gave himself the chance—and you—well, you are a treasure. I’m quite sure of it.”

“I don’t know that I deserve such praise, but thanks,” I muttered, lifting my martini to my lips.

It wasn't as good as Rory's—but it went down easy enough.

Hattie smiled. “I’m old enough to remember when your father first inherited the bookstore. By then, he and our Henry had been best mates for years. Henry was always here, as he was next in line to take over the pub; and Sawyer was next door as much for the same reason. He loved Tattered Edges because it was his mother’s joy and because he always had a fondness and appreciation for literature. The written word was fodder for his soul.

“But I also think he loved it because it was right next door to the pub. Sawyer was a family man, most of the time. After he became a father, you wouldn’t find him here in the evening. At least not often. Usually, he’d walk over before dinner. He and Henry would have a pint together and play a round of chess or two. There was no one they liked playing with more than each other. And boy did they squabble.

“The two couldn’t have been more different, but that’s always been the magic of the pub. It was Henry’s home, but it was Sawyer’s third place, which made it almost like home. And in spite of all that made them opposites, in here it didn’t matter. He grew up believing that. Once he passed through those doors, he could be his true self; and next door he could get lost in a world of endless possibilities. This corner of London was priceless to him.

“All that to say—I know Sawyer would never have wanted the bookstore to fall into the wrong hands. I think he knew his other children couldn’t care less for the place. He took a gamble on you, but you were his last hope.

“If he knew you were the type of woman who would drop everything and move across the world to ensure the legacy of the store lived on—well, he would have been beside himself with pride.”

At first, I didn’t know what to say. My chest had grown tight as she spoke, and when she mentioned my father’s pride, it was my turn to get a little teary. Hypothetical as the sentiment might have been, it was inexplicably validating.

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