Page 69 of Tattered Edges

I hesitated long enough to remember there was nothingsimpleabout our story. Moreover, any revisionist version of history would have been strictly hypothetical and likely not as ideal as I’d imagine it to be.

I nodded.

“I said I was surprised my brother left you Tattered Edges, but I shouldn’t have been, and I’ll tell you why. He loved that place. Had since we were children, when our mother dreamed it into existence. At first, I thought perhaps he’d left it to you as a gamble. Neither Archie nor Eloise have ever had quite the same attachment to the place as him. I figured Sawyer was taking his chances with you. He didn’t know what you would decide to do with the place—but you were its best hope of survival.

“Except, now that I’ve had some time to think about it, I don’t believe that’s entirely accurate. My brother was quite sentimental. He wouldn’t havegambledwith something so significant. I believe he left you the shop as a sign of his regret—regret for having never known you. He meant it as a declaration of sorts. Whatever you decided to do with Tattered Edges, it was rightfully yours—as his first born.”

I wanted to believe her.

I wanted to take comfort in what she’d said.

Regardless of what anyone said or thought, the closest I’d ever get to the truth would come by way of a compilation of perspectives from those who knew him and the letter I happened to still have tucked inside of my mother’s book, inside my purse. How I chose to think of him based on the information provided was just that—my choice.

“I wish I had the chance to meet him,” I confessed.

“I wish the same. But I’m so outrageously glad we haven’t missed our chance.”

Of all the things she’d said, this brought me the greatest comfort.

I had an Aunt Iris.

She was beautiful, successful, and kind.

Best of all, she wanted to know me.

“Pardon the interruption,” our server said apologetically. “Is everything alright with your first course? If it’s not to your satisfaction, can I offer you something else?”

“Oh, no, we’re fine, thanks,” Iris insisted. “We’ve got a lifetime of catching up to do, and we haven’t even thought about our food. I assure you, I’m famished. I plan on eating every bite.”

“Very well, ma’am,” he replied with a slight bow. “Enjoy.”

She winked at me as he left, and I smiled, finally reaching for my fork.

IrisandItookour time that night, dragging out each course as we engaged in conversation. I was disappointed her trip was so short, but as we said our goodbyes, we exchanged contact information. She promised she would be back as soon as she could make it work, and I had an open invitation to visit her in Paris anytime I wanted.

I planned on taking her up on that. I hoped to meet my cousins, Henri and Théo, who sounded like fine young men, as well as my Uncle Antonie.

We parted with a hug, her heading up to her room while I returned to St. Andrew’s Hill in the same car service Iris had arranged to pick me up. It was after ten when I arrived at the pub. It was closed for business, but Rory was still inside cleaning up for the night. When he came down to let me in, he asked if I wanted to stay for a drink, but I declined, needing a few minutes alone after my dinner.

Once I let myself into his place, I shed my coat and pulled my mother’s book and my father’s letter out of my purse. I then sat on the couch and replayed the night over in my head.

It was still hard to believe my mother was ever capable of being so in love. Sawyer wrote in his letter that I’d been conceived from love, but until I heard Iris tell me the story of how my parents met, I hadn’t thought much of it. My father hadn’t gone into detail about their romance, likely assuming I knew some version of the truth—assuming I’d readAll the Shades of Summer.

Staring down at the book, there was a small part of me that thought I should crack it open and start reading. But there was a bigger part of me—the restof me—that wasn’t brave enough to do it.

Admitting as much to myself was like a dagger through the heart.

I had no room to judge Sawyer Blackstone for his cowardice. None at all.

“Sawyer?”

I gasped, startled out of my thoughts by the sound of his voice.

Rory was standing in front of me, the scowl pinching his eyebrows together showcasing his confusion. I hadn’t heard him come in.

“Are you alright?”

“I…” I started to answer, then stopped when I realized I wasn’t sure. The urge to cry I’d felt at dinner was back again—only this time, there wasn’t a crowded room of people to prevent me from succumbing to my tears. “She’s great,” I began, speaking around the knot suddenly lodged in my throat. “My Aunt Iris. I finally met someone in my family who doesn’t hate the very idea of me. And I should be happy. And Iam. Really. But I can’t help but be a little sad, too.”

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