“You don’t?” Emily said in surprise. She slipped onto a stool at the big island and watched him at the stove. “And yet you own a pub.”
“Ironic, I know.” He shot a quick, glinting smile that made everything in her fizz. Again. “My dad was an alcoholic. I had a few bouts with the bottle myself, when I was a lot younger. And so I swore I’d never touch a drop, and I haven’t.”
“Wow.” She shook her head slowly, absorbing all the information. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
“So am I.”
“You mentioned before that he’d died…?”
“Yes, when I was seventeen. A fight in a pub. They took it outside and he ended up bleeding to death from a stab wound.” He grimaced. “Sorry, I know how grim it sounds. But I figured this was about getting to know each other, so…”
“I’m glad you told me.” But even so, Emily was shaken. It seemed that everyone had hard history. Everyone was trailing their emotional baggage, battered and heavy. It had been arrogant for her to think she was the only one, or that no one could understand what she’d been going through. Foolish to feel she couldn’t let people in. And yet even as she began to grasp that realisation, she still felt the urge to back away from this. From everything, because it was big and new and still scary. Old habits died hard, it seemed.
“Yeah, well.” Owen propped his hip against the island as he gave her a frank look. “You told me some stuff, so I thought I’d reciprocate. We are trying to get to know each other, aren’t we?”
“Yes.”
“So hit me with something else while I get you a drink. I’ve got tonic, no gin, non-alcoholic beer, fizzy apple and pear… What’s your poison?”
“None of them seem like poison. I’ll take fizzy apple and pear, please.” She was no longer feeling quite so tipsy, but there was a pleasantly drowsy sensation stealing through her veins like honey.
“Right, so what do I not know about you?” Owen asked as he poured her drink and handed it to her.
“What do you know about me?” Emily parried back, not meaning it seriously, but Owen took it as such.
“Well, let’s see.” He planted his elbows on the island as he gazed her full in the face, gaze bright yet heavy-lidded, lips curved in a smile that somehow seemed sensuous. That lazy, honeyed feeling inside her increased, even as she felt electrified. How she could feel both at once, Emily had no idea, but she did. Oh, she did.
“What do I know about you?” Owen mused. “I know you’re careful. Considerate. Thorough.”
“Which is good, if I were applying for a job.” Goodness, but she sounded boring.
“Hey, I’m just getting started.” He straightened, folding his arms as he gave her a considering look that made her feel as if he were touching her. She willed herself to keep his gaze, even though she felt it right down to her toes. “You’re kind but you’re afraid to show it. You like routine because it makes you feel safe. You love your mum but sometimes you feel like hating her.”
“Don’t—” The word came out of Emily in a whisper. She felt as if he’d flayed her alive with his words, as if she was standing naked and wounded before him, and he knew it.
“And I know you’re lovely and gorgeous and you don’t believe that either,” Owen continued steadily. Emily shook her head helplessly.
“I thought you were going to say you knew my favourite colour was blue.”
He raised his eyebrows, a smile tugging at his mouth. “Is it?”
“Yes, actually.” She let out a trembling laugh, everything still so exposed. “But you didn’t know that, and you knew all the other stuff?”
“You never actually said.”
“I didn’t say any of the other stuff, either.”
“I know.” His tone was so gentle that Emily didn’t know whether to smile or cringe. She’d been here for ten minutes and she already felt completely out of her depth. But she always had with this man, from the moment she’d met him, and somehow it had all been okay.
“I don’t actually know what you want from me.” She blurted out the words.
“I don’t want anything from you. I just want to get to know you.”
“But why?”
“Because I like you. Because I’m attracted to you, and I’m pretty sure you’re attracted to me, if that kiss was anything to go by.”
That kiss. Just the memory of it had her blushing and squirming, everything fizzing inside her again. “Still,” she managed.
“Isn’t that enough?”
It was more than she’d ever had before. A lot more. Emily’s lips curved into a small, slow smile as she realised she could stop questioning for once. Stop doubting. Why not just enjoy what they had here? “Yes,” she said. “I suppose it is, actually.”
Owen grinned, and then she was grinning too, and then he clapped his hands together. “Right. Let’s eat.”
“What is it that smells so delicious?”
“Welsh-Italian fusion cooking,” he quipped. “Or actually, my throw-everything-in-a-pot casserole.”
He brought the pot to the table and Emily brought her glass. It had been set for two, complete with crystal glasses and linen napkins, as elegant as she could possibly please.
“This is lovely, Owen,” she said quietly. “Thank you.”
He glanced up as he placed the pot on the table, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Well, I did want to make an effort. I asked Ava about the table settings, and also what colour shirt I should wear.” He laughed self-consciously, a slight blush touching his cheeks that made Emily both soften and yearn. She could really, really start to care about this man. “But we’ll see if my casserole lives up to its name.”
“I’m sure it will.”
Emily wasn’t used to small talk, or dates, or sitting at a table in candlelight feeling fuzzy and relaxed in a way that had nothing to do
