So instead of letting either of us take that step, breaking the invisible barrier between us and crossing into more, I move back.
I notice the surprise on his face, Owen probably having pinpointed me as game for a good time. He wouldn’t be wrong, and perhaps if he were anyone else, anyone less, maybe I would forget about returning my car and hail a cab with him right now. But that isn’t the case.
“I’ll see you around.” Despite wanting to say “come inside,” I hold off. Because I can already see that, despite the bravado he puts on in front of everyone, in front of women, he wants it. I can see it in his eyes. He wants the one thing that people spend their whole lives searching for, the one thing that manages to elude so many.
Love.
Owen Bower can deny it all he wants, but it’s clear. He wants to be loved.
And that’s something I can’t give him, can’t give anyone right now.
So, for that reason solely, I turn and walk inside. Alone.
The weeks post my return to London continue to slip by. It’s coming up on six weeks since my return, Stana herself having been home for nearly a month.
Today she’s moving in with Ali, and the entire cavalry has come to help. Well, everyone except Emilia. I’ve yet to see Owen again solo since our movie, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been on my mind.
“So, tell me again why Em isn’t here?” I call out to Stana as I attempt to organize her spice rack. Some would say this is a pointless exercise, but some would be wrong. Who knows, you could mix up curry powder and cinnamon, then what are you gonna do, have curry-flavored porridge? Exactly, my time is put to good use.
I lift up a dark brown powder before dumping it into one of the labeled bottles I picked up along the way.
“Her new flatmate is moving in today. She wanted to help but apparently the girl didn’t have keys yet, so Em decided to stay and help her out.”
I nod, my attention still stuck on if I’ve just put the curry powder in the cinnamon box. Fuck. I sniff it, hoping to differentiate between the two.
Curry powder! Fuck yes, I’m a spice genius.
“I give up,” Owen says, walking out of Stana’s bedroom. He’s been helping build their new bed, but from the look on his face, it isn’t going too well.
“It’s practically all in German. How is a bloke supposed to read all that?” He huffs, his usually tan face slightly flushed.
“It’s Swedish,” I call from the kitchen, trying to swap the mixed-up labels.
Owen’s attention turns toward me.
“Uh, you’ve got something.” He motions to my nose. I attempt to see what he’s pointing out, but no one can actually see their nose.
I look at him expectantly, waiting for a clue as to what he’s saying.
Grinning, he walks over, and his thumb brushes across my nose, dark orange powder coating the back of it.
“Thanks,” I tell him, feeling my ears heat at the action. Dumb, absolutely ridiculous, Lottie.
I internally chastise myself for having a reaction to something so small. I pray he doesn’t notice because the last thing I need right now is getting tangled up in a friendship-to-romance gone wrong. It may have worked for Stana, but I’m not on that path.
“I’m gonna check on Ali,” Stana says to us before clearing the room.
“You know, they’re showing the first three Star Wars films this weekend at the theater near my house. Any interest?”
Owen’s question catches me off guard. In the few weeks I’ve known him, we’ve had fun banter back and forth, strictly friendly, but aside from our movie run-in, there have been no solo hangouts.
“I may not have seen those films before, but I’m guessing that will take at least six hours of my afternoon?”
His shoulders shake. “It may or may not be longer than that.”
I rub my hands together in an attempt to remove the excess powders on them. I’ll probably have an allergy attack on my way home tonight from all the shit flying up my nose in this kitchen.
“I think six hours of my life might be too much of a commitment,” I reply. “But I reckon I could give you two.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
I smile and continue to place everything in order, sporadically having to redo Owen’s work, yet I can’t bring myself to care. A sense of comfortability overtakes our interactions as the hours slip by, neither of us seeming to mind.
I leave Stana’s a few hours later, a small smile on my face that doesn’t want to leave. Despite the fact my stomach started feeling uneasy toward the end of the day, I can’t seem to stop smiling. It should worry me the comfort I find from spending time with Owen, the ease of our conversation. I’ve only been single again for less than two months, but if I’m honest with myself, my relationship with Beck began to break down months before that.
I’m not one to stick my head in the sand and go off with the fairies, but I changed my entire life for a man and the thought that he could be unfaithful was just too horrible to imagine. So instead I spent six months in Edinburgh feeling utterly lonely and attempting to salvage something that belonged straight in the bin.
It takes a lot to rattle me, but wow, did Beck manage it. He fucking shook my entire foundation, then tried to escape unscathed. I never understood the expression “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” until the moment my suspicions were confirmed. Some will call me a psycho, but I don’t really give a shit.
I exit the Tube at Notting Hill and begin my final small walk home. I pass the pastel buildings as my feet move along the paved streets, weaving among tourists
