“You weren’t especially good with me on Saturday,” I said. “According to you I was only interested in taking pretty pictures and would know nothing about legal documents.” I enjoyed the blank expression he pasted on his face that was broken by a smile.
“Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect all of the time. Is this your apartment?” He slowed the car in front of the nineteen-thirties detached houses that had been converted into apartments. I was renting at the moment, unsure of where or what to buy, and work had been too busy to actually think too much about it. The lull in my diary would give me chance to see a few properties or at least look online at what the market was like at the moment.
“I’m on the second floor. You can park outside—I have a permit on me,” I said, gesturing to a space that was conveniently empty. He did a bit of reverse parking that would’ve been beyond my skills even if I could drive and I felt my legs wobble as I got out of the car. The overwhelming urge to sob hit me again and I forced it back, plastering that smile back on my face.
“Okay princess, let’s get you inside.” An arm wrapped around my waist and guided me to the door. I fumbled for my keys and then struggled to find the fine motor skills to get the key in the lock. Owen’s other hand took them from me and he opened the door. “You’re exhausted,” he said. “You keep trying to stop from crying because you’re too fucking tired.”
I reached the bottom of the stairs and clung onto the rail. “I just need a good night’s sleep…” Words ceased to exist as large arms scooped me up and I found myself nestled into Owen’s large chest as he took the narrow stairs two at a time. “And I could’ve managed to get up the stairs myself. I don’t need looking after.”
He placed me down carefully and unlocked the door with the keys he still held. “Let’s talk about that when your legs are a bit steadier.”
I let out a frustrated growl. My legs weren’t steady and I couldn’t attribute their spaghetti status to the day I’d had, or the last few weeks. I was kidding myself if I thought it had nothing to do with the man who was holding open the door to my apartment.
“Let me order pizza for both of us. Then I’ll let you rest. Max says you’re not allowed in work tomorrow and the only case you have at the moment is mine,” Owen said.
My feet froze into the ground. “What the fuck? Max can’t do that! I need to do my time recording and shit, just get on top of things. And how come you ended up being the messenger?”
Owen shrugged, using a hand to steer me into my apartment. I headed straight for the fridge where I knew I had a bottle of prosecco. He followed me, taking a glass from next to the sink and filling it with water. “Drink. Before you hit the booze, have water.”
I glared at him but took the glass. “Messenger?”
“I offered. While you were in with Claire and the baby I sat in the waiting room with your brothers—except Callum. They were talking about how you were burning out and they were worried about you. Max said you needed to take time off but if he suggested it, you’d probably yell at him and ignore him anyway,” Owen said, digging around in my cupboards and finding a glass for himself. “I said I’d mention it when I brought you home. Do you still want pizza or Chinese? I noticed a takeaway around the corner.”
I dragged my ass to my sofa and sat down, watching him move around the small kitchen as if he had always been there. “Pizza. Please.” I wanted to rage against my brothers and Owen and shout at how embarrassing they were to bring a stranger into all of this—all of what? I didn’t need time off work unless it had a purpose and there was something to gain such as a trip abroad or a visit to see friends. I was tired, but that was understandable.
Then the broad bespectacled beast of a man came and sat down next to me, his warmth radiating from him and surrounding me like a plush blanket. He didn’t touch me and I figured that was killing him as I’d seen how tactile he naturally was.
“I hate that they see me as being weak,” I said, my stare resolutely fixed on the glass of water both my hands clutched. “And I shouldn’t be having this conversation with you.”
“Why not me?”
“Because I hardly know you. You’re a client. You’ve been dragged into enough shit today to probably last you at least the next six months without watching soap operas or reality TV.”
“I can’t say I watch either and you dragged me along to see your new born niece which isn’t a fucking issue, Payton. Everyone needs more moments like that, when it’s just pure happiness, even if it’s just as a stranger,” he said. “I’m going to get the pizza. While I’m gone, don’t wallow in your self-pity. Straighten your apartment up; get changed; play some decent music really loud. I’ll take the keys so if you don’t hear me knock, I won’t wake up the neighbours.”
My head wanted to pick holes in his words and tell him was being cruel and that he was wrong, but instead of needing to hit out, I felt relief rip a hole in me. “Thin crust. Ham and peppers on a barbecue base. Lots of onions.” I stood, my legs no longer soggy noodles.
He hit me with a broad smile. “Got it, princess. Back in a bit.”
For the first time in recent memory I followed someone else’s instructions. I put music on loud, thankful for the thick walls that separated me from my neighbours and started to tidy, chucking clothes in the laundry, old post in the recycling bin and pots into the dishwasher. I needed to clean properly, but not this evening. By the time I’d finished tidying and quickly showered, tying my hair up in a messy bun and finding a pair of skinny jeans and baggy jumper that had once been Ava’s, there was the sound of footsteps in my entrance hall and a loud call of “pizza” ringing above the music.
“Feel any better?” Owen said. “It looks better in here.”
“It was bad. I’m sorry you had to see it,” I said. Tidying wasn’t my forte. I was always presentable and my work was impeccable; I could organise the fuck out of a case and someone else’s life but I struggled with my own.
He shrugged, putting down three large pizza boxes on my coffee table that I had given a quick wipe. “I’ve seen a lot worse. Feel better now you’ve done it?”
“When did therapy become your second profession?”
Those dimples appeared as he smiled. “I sell books. That’s like selling therapy.”
“About the kiss,” I said, knowing I needed to bring it up else I’d be thinking about what to say until the next time I saw him.
“It was good, wasn’t it?” he said, opening one of the pizza boxes and taking a slice.
It had been good. I’d acted impulsively, which I did frequently outside of work, but how he’d felt against me was something I wanted to feel again and again. It had been like throwing myself against a brick wall that was warm and safe and exciting all in one. “But it can’t happen again.”
“Because you’re not dating,” he said, taking another slice of pizza, the first one demolished. “I get it. That’s fine.”
