Page 48 of Tattered Edges

When he shifted his attention back in my direction, those blue eyes looking directly into mine, I stifled a groan and clapped my hands over my face.

Clearly, I was overwhelmed by the situation at hand.

I needed to get it together, before I did something stupid.

“Hey, chin up,” he said, reaching over to give my shoulder a squeeze.

His touch made my stomach clench in excitement. He did it so rarely, it had a heightened effect when it happened. I sealed my eyes closed tight, willing myself to be reasonable, then lifted my face out of my hands and freed a sigh.

“No one was hurt, nothing irreplaceable was stolen, and I know someone who can come have a look at your door.”

That last part made me giggle, and I felt a little of my stress melt away. “Of course, you do.”

I watched as a smirk curled the corner of his mouth, and my breath caught knowing that almost-smile was for me.

I wanted so badly to kiss him.

Before I could act on it, there was a knock at the door. We both looked over to see two uniformed police officers come in out of the rain.

Help had arrived, and just in time.

Rory

Thenextmorning,athis dining room table—with a fresh mug of coffee and the newspaper on his tablet—Rory found himself re-reading the same paragraph over and over again. After his third attempt, he abandoned the content and let his mind focus on what was distracting him.

Sawyer.

He wouldn’t soon forget the look on her face when he found her amidst the mess of the bookstore’s break-in.

He didn’t like to see her frightened.

The police hadn’t been much help, but he didn’t blame them. They had next to nothing to go on. The shop didn’t have any security cameras, and Sawyer couldn’t think of anyone who might have wanted to do her wrong. They took her statement, assured her they’d review CCTV footage, and would get back to her should they find anything remotely expository.

Rory wasn’t holding his breath.

When the police left, he had offered to stay and help clean up a bit. She declined, aware of his shift at the pub and insisting she had taken up enough of his time. He left her so as not to be a pest, helping to secure the door behind him—but even after walking away, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the matter.

Much like Sawyer, Rory couldn’t think of a reason why anyone would break-in to the bookshop simply to make a mess and leave. He still believed whoever had done it was looking for something in particular. Whether or not they’d found it remained to be seen. The only other explanation was one that left him quite unsettled.

It was possible Sawyer herself had been targeted—though what message was to be received was unknown.

He suspected Archie. He couldn’t exactly justify the accusation, so he hadn’t spoken it aloud, but the name reverberated in his thoughts.

As far as Rory knew, he and Sawyer hadn’t been in contact for weeks. None of the Blackstones seemed to want anything to do with her, a truth he knew bothered her even if she pretended it didn’t. Whether or not Archie’s silence could be accredited to indifference or mounting resentment Rory couldn’t say.

All in all, he was certain of nothing, and it irked him. He felt useless in a time of need.

It was after he’d drunk the dredges of his coffee that he got an idea. With The King’s Steed closed on Mondays, there was no reason why he couldn’t act on it immediately, so he got up, got showered, and prepared to leave the flat.

A couple of hours later, with his tool kit in one hand and his recent purchases in his other, Rory walked into Tattered Edges. The door was open, as it had been the day before, still in need of repair.

“Rory. Hello, there. I can’t remember the last time you stepped foot through that door. What brings you in?” greeted Victoria from behind the register.

He dipped his chin in silent greeting and was about to ask after Sawyer when he spotted her.

Like almost every time he saw her, she was wearing a jumper. This one was pale blue and had a pattern knit across her chest. It didn’t swallow her, like some she owned, but hinted at the feminine body it covered. It also brought out the tint of blue in her pale, gray eyes. Her hair was loose, and she raked her fingers through it as she looked up from her computer—perched in her lap as she sat with her legs folded beneath her on the couch. She glanced his way, and he couldn’t help but to notice the way her face seemed to soften at the sight of him.

“Hi,” she murmured as she set aside her laptop and began to stand. “What are you doing here?” she echoed.

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