Ava gave her a quick, hard hug. “I know. But you do now.”
Emily nodded, willing the tears back for the sake of her eyeliner as well as her friend. “Thank you, Ava. For…for everything.”
Ava nodded back, her eyes as bright as Emily’s as she self-consciously sniffed. “Go get ’em, girl.”
Emily tottered slightly in the heels Ava had chosen for her—a pair at the back of her wardrobe that she never wore because they were a bit too high. Her head was still swirling from the second gin, although not in a bad way. She felt pleasantly fuzzy, loose-limbed instead of all coiled tension and nerves, expectant and excited and happy.
Jace whistled under his breath as she came outside, the air damp, the sky grey, but at least it wasn’t raining.
“Look at you,” he said as he hopped out of the truck and went around to open the passenger door.
“I feel like Cinderella.”
“Not a bad feeling, then.”
“But a bit ridiculous,” Emily felt compelled to point out as she clambered rather ungracefully into the truck.
“Nothing ridiculous about it,” Jace answered affably. “And all I have to say is, Owen is one lucky bloke.”
Emily blushed and said nothing. “I suppose you know where he lives?” she asked as Jace turned out of Willoughby Manor’s lane. “He did give me his address—”
“I know it.” He slanted her a glinting look. “Owen lives on the other side of the village. The other side of the tracks, as it were.”
“Oh.” She didn’t know what to say to that.
“He’s got a pretty cool place, though, don’t worry.”
The truck bumped along a darkened and deserted high street—seven p.m. on a Saturday night in Wychwood and not much was happening, except at the two pubs. Then he was winding through several narrow residential streets of semi-detached houses before emerging on a road that led to the open countryside at the top of the village. A couple of industrial-looking garages were on the right-hand side of the road, and when Jace pulled into the car park in front of them, Emily gave him a startled look.
“First one on the right. Ring the buzzer.”
“He lives here?”
“Yep.”
Emily stared at the deserted-looking garages dubiously. “Are you sure…”
“Of course I’m sure. But I’ll stay here until he opens the door, just to show you I’m not having you on. Go.” Gently he nudged her shoulder. “And have fun.”
Emily climbed out of the truck, pulling her coat more tightly around her. Here at the top of the village, the wind blew a bit more briskly. Under the gloomy skies she could see the rest of Wychwood tumbling down a hill, and then the manor on the far side. She glanced back at Jace and he gave her a cheery thumbs-up.
Her heels clicking on the uneven pavement, Emily walked up to the first garage. A metal door on rollers was shuttered tight, and a staircase led up to the first floor, and what Emily supposed was the front door. This all felt very odd. Was this really Owen’s house? He lived in a garage?
Her shoes made a clinking sound as she climbed the stairs, and then, taking a deep breath, pressed the buzzer.
“Here goes nothing,” she muttered as her heart started to thud. Or, really, here went everything…
Chapter Fourteen
A few seconds later Owen flung open the door, and Emily blinked at him in surprise. He cleaned up nicely, was her first thought. Very nicely. Instead of his usual rugby shirt and old jeans, he was wearing a well-starched button-down in a bright blue that matched his eyes, and a pair of dark grey trousers. His hair was slightly damp, curls springing up by his ears, and his eyes twinkled as he smiled at her.
“You made it.”
“I did.”
“Come in.” He moved aside, sweeping an arm out, and Emily took a step inside, drawing her breath in sharply as she took in the home before her. “Oh, wow.”
“You like it?”
“It’s amazing,” she said honestly. They were standing on a mezzanine balcony that ran along three sides of the garage, a huge skylight above them letting in the last of the evening light.
“Follow me,” Owen said grandly, and she did, along the balcony, past a sleeping loft that had a king-sized bed that made her blush and look away, and then down a twisting, spiral staircase to the main living space below.
It was all open—a huge granite island in the kitchen, an even bigger sofa across from it, facing a wood burner where a fire crackled merrily. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with battered paperbacks, and something that smelled delicious was cooking on top of the massive Aga. The space was cluttered and cosy and the opposite of Emily’s cottage, and yet just as with the kitchen of Willoughby Manor, she found she loved it. She wanted to curl up in a corner of the sofa and go to asleep, even as every sense and nerve was whizzing with life. As Owen moved past her, she breathed in the scent of his aftershave, something citrusy and clean that made her senses swim all the more.
“May I take your coat?”
“Yes, please.”
He slid his hands over her shoulders as Emily shrugged out of her coat, and it took what felt like all her strength not to shiver under such a basic touch. Goodness, but she was affected by this man. Was attracted to him. She’d never, ever experienced anything like it.
“Wow,” Owen said softly, and Emily blushed and ducked her head as she saw his admiring glance.
“This is all Ava. She insisted I have something of a makeover.”
“You don’t need a makeover, but you do look beautiful. As always.”
“So gallant.” A giggle slipped out of her, sort of like a burp. She covered her mouth before giving a wry laugh. “Sorry. I’m nervous. And I’ve drunk too much gin.”
“Have you?” Owen cocked an eyebrow, amused. “Well, that’s probably a good thing, as I can’t ply you with alcohol. I don’t keep any
