Page 5 of Tattered Edges

“Miss Nielsen, lovely to see you. I hope your trip wasn’t too cumbersome.”

“It’s good to see you, too. My trip was fine. Thanks for meeting me.”

“No bother. I wanted to deliver the keys myself. Let me help with your luggage.”

All three of us grabbed a bag, and Mr. Johnson led the way to my new home. The front door opened to reveal a flight of stairs. I was located on the third floor. We were all a little breathless as we entered the flat and discarded my luggage just beyond the door. I was quick to tip my driver, and we exchangedthank yousbefore he took his leave.

“So, this is it,” I said, taking a quick look around.

Even at a glance, I could tell the space was sophisticated and refurbished. It was also quite a bit bigger than my previous apartment.

“Yes. This is it. And these are yours,” Mr. Johnson replied, handing over the keys. “Sorry to be in a bit of a rush, but I want to give you the chance to settle in. That’s the complete set for all the locks. You should be able to access the bookstore, as well. As previously discussed, Victoria Smith is also in possession of keys to the store.”

I nodded, appreciative of the reminder of the woman’s name. She’d been working at the bookstore for more than a decade. I knew there was no way I’d be able to manage the store without her, and I made a mental note to not forget her name again.

“Here’s my card. It has the address of my office, so you have it on hand. I trust you can find your way over tomorrow for our meeting at nine A.M.?”

My stomach twisted nervously thinking about our appointment. There was still a little paperwork to sort out, but that wasn’t what made me anxious. It was the prospect of finally meeting my family face to face.

“Absolutely. I’ll be there.”

“Cheers. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

I agreed, thanking him once more for everything he’d done to help me. When he left, he closed the door behind him, and I took a deep breath as I turned to face the flat.

Mr. Johnson had informed me it had been years since anyone had occupied the space full time. As I understood it, Sawyer used it more like an office than an apartment. That said, it had been left as he’d had it. Curious as to what I might learn about the man upon looking around, I slowly made my way further into the unit.

The first room beyond the door was the kitchen. It was small but practical, the cabinets painted white with a pretty marble-looking backsplash to match. The appliances looked new and hardly used, and there was a tea kettle abandoned on the stovetop.

Across from the kitchen was a small dining area. A bench seat was built into the wall, with pale brown, suede covered cushions. In front of it was a table complete with four extra chairs for a generous amount of seating. In the corner, built into the wall, was an open-faced cubby full of booze. I made a mental note to check out his liquor of choice later.

High above the bench seat was a mounted bookshelf that extended across the length of the flat. As it reached the living room, it connected to a bigger custom, shelving unit, which housed more books and a television along with three large drawers for extra storage along the bottom. The shelves were painted a dark gray-blue color, and it stood out against the contrast of the beige walls.

Opposite the entertainment center was a comfy, mid-century style, forest green velvet covered sofa with a chase seat on one end. The glass coffee table had a dead plant in the middle of it. There was a huge, textured, beige area rug in the room, covering the old hardwood floors, making the space warmer. All the light pouring into the area came from the windows on the far side of the room.

Finally, in the corner, beside the faux-wall separating the kitchen from the living room, was a wooden desk. On it was a picture frame. My feet carried me in its direction before my brain could convince me otherwise. In the frame I found a photo of a family of four. I picked it up, wishing to admire it closer.

The boy and girl in the photograph appeared to be teenagers, which meant the captured moment was more than a decade old. The woman who stood behind them was pure class. But it was the man with the gray eyes from whom I couldn’t look away.

My mother’s eyes were brown. So dark, her pupils got lost in her irises all the time.

But mine—mine were pale and gray.

My knees suddenly a little weak, and my chest a bit tight, I pulled out the chair and lowered myself into it. My tears were completely unexpected, and the grief that washed over me was as confusing as it was unavoidable.

I didn’t know the man in the photo. If I passed him on the street, I wouldn’t have thought twice about it. He was a stranger—but he was also my father.

He’d given me his eyes.

I’d packed up my entire life and moved to London forme.

Sawyer Blackstone had given me the excuse. He’d gifted me a home. He’d offered me a job. He’d left me a family. But he was gone. I knew when I arrived, the father I never knew would remain as such. Except, it wasn’t until I was staring at the image of him that I felt the pain of my loss. Nothimso much as the possibility of him. The dreamandreality of him. I felt silly crying over the sight of the man, but once I started I couldn’t stop.

I didn’t know why he chose me. I didn’t understand why he chose to leave me an inheritance so significant and personal. I was never going to comprehend his decision, no matter how many times I read his letter. However, I knew one thing for sure.

He was certain I was his daughter. So much so, he changed his will for me. It didn’t matter that I was a stranger—and I now understood what the conviction of his sentiment felt like.

I set aside the photo and looked around at his flat as I tried to gain control of my emotions.

---