Page 44 of Tattered Edges

It was also an invitation I was growing quite fond of.

This was going to be the fourth game in the month since I arrived in London I’d watch from Rory’s couch. I’d even prepared a homemade snack to take this week. A snack I still needed to toss into a Tupperware container before I could leave. It wasn’t pot stickers or sausage rolls, or anything that required near as much talent in the kitchen as Maya had, but it was made with care anyhow.

With this in mind, I raced down the stairs, headed for the baking sheet filled with the still-warm savory cereal snack mix I’d tossed together earlier. Once I had it packed and ready to go, I grabbed my keys, my phone, and my umbrella, hoping I wasn’t as late as I felt.

Once at his doorstep, I rang his bell, but I didn’t wait for him to answer. Rory’s outer door unlocked, I headed inside and hurried to the third floor. He was waiting for me in the doorway of his flat. Rather than a scowl, he greeted me with a single quirked eyebrow.

“Cutting it close,” he observed.

“I know,” I replied, a little breathless. I then held up my Tupperware and announced, “But I brought snacks.”

“Of course, you did,” he said, reaching for the dish. “Let me guess—it’s crunchy and salty.”

Grinning, I replied, “The best snacks always are.”

“So you say.” He stepped aside and nodded toward his flat’s interior. “Come on. It’ll start any moment now.”

I discarded my dripping umbrella on his landing before crossing the threshold. Maya and Graham were already settled in front of the television, Daisy stretched out across her belly on the floor with crayons and a coloring book in which she was happily scribbling. Oscar, the other bartender I met my first night in London, was there, too. He’d been around for the last match, as well. Unlike Graham, who was a bit of a friendly imposter, Oscar cheered on our boys in red, like Rory and me. He was also just as engaging and pleasant away from the bar as he was behind it.

“Hi, everyone,” I greeted with a blanket wave, headed for the leather sofa.

I received a warm welcome all around, even from Daisy, before Rory asked, “Something to drink before I sit?”

I glanced at the coffee table, where I saw mini sandwiches I was sure Maya brought, three glasses of beer, and a serving of white wine. I then turned to find Rory behind the couch and replied, “I’ll have a beer, thanks.”

He dipped his chin in acknowledgment, and I let my eyes linger on him for an extra second or two. He was wearing his club shirt and a pair of jeans. It was always the same on game day, and I wondered if he was a little superstitious about it.

“Sawyer, I love your sweater,” commented Maya, incentivizing me to redirect my attention.

“Thanks. It’s one of my favorites. I think I’ve had it since I was in college—the first time. It’s held up pretty well.”

“I’d say so. It certainly hasn’t gone out of style.”

Coming from a woman like Maya, that statement meant a lot. She was always so well put together, even when dressed casually. Daisy had adorable style, too, which I was sure could be wholly attributed to her mother.

“If it ever does, I doubt I’ll let it go. I’ve got a thing for sweaters. My best friend thinks my collection unreasonable, especially after so many years in California, where the sweater-weather window isn’t long.”

“You’ll certainly get the chance to wear them now. It’s only February. We’ve still got a decent bit of winter left.”

“Aye, here we go!” hollered Oscar as the match began.

I shifted my attention once more, this time toward the television. As soon as the ball was in play, Rory was lowering himself onto the couch between Oscar and me. He handed me my requested beer and placed the open container of snack mix I’d brought on the table. He also helped himself to a handful.

A few minutes later, when he reached for more, I found myself hiding my smile in my beer.

He liked it, and that felt like a win.

By the time the game was over, that wasn’t the only win in which I could revel. Manchester United had won by a single goal, breaking the tie within the last ten minutes of the match. We all agreed it had been a good game.

“I plan on celebrating the win with a pint downstairs. Who’s coming?” asked Oscar.

“You’ll have to count us out, unfortunately. We’ve got dinner plans later, and this one is going to need a nap before we go,” replied Maya, scooping her toddler up off the floor.

“Alright. What about you?”

“Sure,” I agreed, with no plans to stop me. “I just need to run home first. I’ve got a leak in my roof. I want to make sure the pot collecting rainwater isn’t on the verge of overflowing.”

Rory, who was in the kitchen, discarding our empty glasses into his sink said snarkily, “Well, that’s just grand, isn’t it? A leak?”

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