Page 53 of Cosy & Chill
Roisin and her tall tales, for one.
Everything that had happened between him and Leo, for another.
Their plans for the store.
And the glimpse he’d had into Leo’s past that he wasn’t sure he should ask about.
He was grateful for some time to himself, but with all the thoughts cartwheeling in his head, the house didn’t feel as peaceful as it had at the weekend. Finn wanted to call and check on Leo, pace the living room, and look out of windows. Having orders to ship and work to finish, he forced himself to sit and knit.
Roisin returned as the church clock struck three, and the streetlights began to battle the gloom.
She wasn’t alone.
Two burly men heaved a large, wrapped rectangle past the living room door, all the way to the top of the house. They clattered back down the stairs, giving Finn little more than a head tip in passing, and returned moments later with more items.
Finn didn’t know what was going on. He hadtoldRoisin to focus on the shop, but the crazy woman did as she pleased.
Banging and ripping sounds came from upstairs and Finn, though he wanted to go and look, decided to stay clear until the men were done with whatever Roisin had told them to do. He wondered whether to offer them coffee or tea, but before the thought was fully formed the men came back down the stairs and disappeared from his sight. A van’s engine started a moment later, and within a couple of minutes even that was gone, and the only remaining sounds were Finn’s breath and a soft hum of traffic noise from the High Street.
Finn started up the stairs, convinced that all the noise had come from his workroom.
He was right.
Instead of the rickety pasting table he’d picked up cheap at the DIY store, a magnificent oak table now occupied the centre of the room. It stood on sturdy, carved legs and the tabletop, a thick slab of oak that left Finn staring, sported matching scrollwork at the corners and less intricate carvings along the edges. Heavily padded green baize covered two thirds of the tabletop, just the thing to lay out pieces of knitwear before sewing them together. The remaining third of the table offered a writing space with grooves carved into the wood for pens, pins, measuring tapes and notepads.
All Finn could do was stare.
“What do ye think?” Roisin asked eventually. “Is that more like it?”
Finn could see himself sitting at the table, working away on designs. It was a gorgeous piece and—
Then it hit Finn.
“We can’t afford that.” His voice scaled upwards in panic. “Roisin, that table is an antique! We don’t have a fraction of the money we’d need to pay for it!”
“Don’ worry yersel’,” she soothed, patting Finn’s shoulder. “The table used to belong to a tailor in Jermyn Street who owed me money. When he went out of business I ended up with the table. I’ve had it in storage ever since, so using it to furnish yer workroom isn’t an issue.”
Before Finn could argue, ask questions, or express any of the thoughts banging around in his head, Roisin was gone, and Finn was once more alone in the house.
As a means to end an argument, it was effective.
It was also deeply annoying.
Finn was on his fourth glass of wine when Leo rolled in, looking as confused and unhappy as Finn felt. Finn hadn’t bothered with dinner after Roisin’s abrupt departure, settling instead for a stack of sandwiches and a box of wine from the small supermarket at the corner. Now he sprawled on the sofa, less panicked than he’d been earlier, but still without a clue what to do about Roisin or his new workroom.
He should’ve taken pleasure in the beautifully outfitted space, but all he felt was anxiety.
He moved to make room on the sofa and Leo took the hint and plopped down beside him. He smelled of smog, exhaust fumes, and beer, and he reached for Finn’s half-full wineglass and drained it in one.
“What a fucking day!” he breathed out and slumped against Finn’s side. “By the looks of you, yours wasn’t any better, was it?”
That spurred Finn into action. He bounced off the sofa and pulled Leo after him. “Come and look at this,” he demanded and towed him up two flights of stairs.
Leo stared at the table, much as Finn supposed he’d stared when he’d come in after Roisin’s workmen. “Gorgeous,” he pronounced and trailed his fingers reverently over scrollwork and grooves. “Utterly. Stunning.”
“She can bring her furniture movers right back and take it away. What savings I have are meant to help me set up a store, make it appealing for customers, and buy stock. Not an antique worktable that won’t benefit anyone but me.”
“How much?” Leo asked quietly.
