Page 86 of Tattered Edges

“Where are you going?” Rory asked, locking his arms tight around me.

“I need to take a shower.”

“Ah. Should I go with you?”

“What? No!” I laughed. “I can’t think about sex right now. I’m meeting your parents tomorrow. Two people you love and respect in equal measure. Two people who love and supportyoumore than anyone else in the whole world.

“I have one chance to make a good first impression. One. Yeah. No. We can’t have sex right now.”

“Maybe in twenty minutes then?” he teased as I found my way onto my feet.

I gasped and smacked his arm, shaking my head as I started for the bedroom.

He couldn’t see my face, but I hid my smile anyway.

Fifteen minutes later, when he joined me in the shower,the mastergot to work.

It wasn’t long before his parents were the last thing on my mind.

Isleptatmyplace that night so I could wake up and pack what I needed for our night away before work. Fresh from the shower, still wrapped in only a towel, I was tossing items into my toiletry bag when it hit me.

It was the first week in March, and my period was late.

I froze, my mind sucking up all my brain power as I did a quick bit of math to make sure I had it right.

Twenty-eight days. It wasn’t always exactly on time, but I was pretty regular. The longest I’d gone between cycles was thirty-three days.

Abandoning my toiletries, I went hunting for my phone, still plugged in beside my bed. I pulled up the calendar app and counted again.

Thirty-two days.

Four days late.

Four days wasn’t enough to panic.

Four days wasn’t even my record.

Except—the last time my period was late, I was preparing to moveacross an ocean. And the time before that, I was stressing myself out writing my dissertation.

In neither of those situations was I having a gratuitous amount of sex.

I turned on my heel and lowered myself onto the edge of my bed as I tried to take deep breaths. Rory and I were about seventy/thirty when it came to having sex with a condom—but he’dnevernot pulled out. We were careful. At least, I thought we were. Not to mention, it’s not actually possible to get pregnant every day.

I set aside my phone, shook away the thought, and returned to the bathroom. I packed what I needed, optimistic my period would arrive any day now.

Did I want to have sexy time with my man in a cute, boutique hotel, on the countryside in Oxfordshire that night? Yes, I absolutely did.

Did I want my period to show up and ruin any hopes of said sexy time? Also, yes.

In any case, I didn’t have the capacity to freak out about meeting Mr. and Mrs. Collins for the first timeandworry over my abnormal cycle. I could panic over my period if it didn’t make an appearance by the time we got back.

Besides—if heightened emotions could affect whether or not my period arrived on time, who was to say it always had to be the most negative emotions? I had a leak-free roof, new locks for my flat, a new door for the shop, and my boiler was working like a charm. The Blackstones seemed to have given up their attempts to get me to leave, and things at the bookstore were finally starting to turn around. We were hostingthreebook clubs in the coming weeks, and our social media following was growing faster than I thought realistic.

Then there was Rory—the very best part.

The last three weeks had been some of the happiest I could ever remember, which was why that night was so important.

Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I understood Rory was nonchalant about the whole thing because he’d already chosen me. He was a grown man, and he didn’t need his parents’ approval of the woman he was keeping in his bed. I respected that about him. Admired him, even. Not to mention, his parents had proven to be supportive of the choices that made him happy, trusting his judgement.

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