Chapter Two
ROMILLY
In the quiethours before the sun rises, I can never resist a good bath.
And as much as I love my sister, privacy isn’t always easy to come by around her. Thankfully, our impromptu sleepovers at my place are never more than weekly, but I sometimes wonder what Zara’s reaction would be if she tiptoed to the bathroom at four in the morning and found me in the tub, under my blanket of bubbles and hot water injected with essential oils. Candles are currently lit around the rim of the tub, and my favorite paperback of secret, romantic poetry is in my free hand.
Zara would probably do a cartwheel if she saw me right now. She’d overreact and take this as the evidence she’s been wanting that I’m not as resistant to relationships as I put on.
I scan the page in front of me as the water laps over my chest and stomach. The flickering, scented flames thicken the air around me, and I try to push away the longing thoughts that enter my mind as I read.
Beneath the quiet moon, your touch ignites me,
A fire in my veins that burns and lights me.
And thenhisface flashes behind my eyes. That tall stranger from church with the tattoos, the Australian accent, the blond hair and blue eyes. And that voice.
His intense stare as he held up that noodle.Look what I’ve done to you.
My thoughts dance around at a dizzying speed from the memory.
No.
I’m usually so good at keeping men out of my thoughts, and it’s not often I find a man attractive enough to make me reconsider why I avoid thinking about them in the first place. While this guy was probably the finest man I’ve ever seen, there was also something more than attraction between us. I know I couldn’t have imagined that unspoken chemistry we had because it was so strong, it practically strangled me with its presence.
Even though I was covered in soup, I wanted to keep standing there, keep talking to him, keep staring at that grin of his—half charm, half trouble—as well as those blue eyes carrying mischief the way a cloud carries a storm.
And being as lonely as I am, sitting in a bathtub reading love poetry definitely isn’t helping.
Heart pounding, I force myself to try to think of something else. Just because I’m finally living on my own again doesn’t mean I have an excuse to start daydreaming. I’m independent, like I’ve always wanted to be, and I’ve been so good lately. My thoughts have finally been in check. And thenhehad to go and ruin it by asking me out, because now here I am imagining what would have happened if I said yes.
Besides, I tell myself,just imagine what future Romilly would think if she knew you were entertaining such things. She’d be disappointed. You’re living your dream as a doggroomer and shop owner. You don’t need anything else to manage, and the last thing you want is to get hurt again.
After soaking for another thirty minutes, I pull the plug in the tub and let the water drain, then grab my folded towel from the wooden stool perched beside me. I dry off and, with a sigh, hide the book in my toiletry bag.
When I’m dressed in a pair of baggy jeans, a cream knit sweater, and leather jacket, I complete my weekly silk press on my naturally curly hair and apply a light layer of makeup. I’m singing during worship at church today, so I might as well get ready now.
I make my way down the creaky hall, careful not to wake my sister. If my brother, Aiden, were here, he’d probably sleep just fine, but Zara will pop out of bed like a toaster pastry at the sound of rain falling. I plan to let her sleep in since it’s practically her love language, and since she has a key, she has no problem letting herself out.
It’s going to be so strange when she goes off to college next year. Unlike most of our friends, my sister and I decided to start a dog grooming business instead of going to college, but once it failed after a few years, and we were both forced to move back home, she decided college was the path for her after all. Since I couldn’t stop grooming if I tried, I was desperate to make my new, solo shop work out. And it did. The moment I started making enough to be out of my parents’ house and back on my own, I found this place. And though this tiny, historical cottage isn’t perfect, it’s charming and it’s mine. Now that I’m twenty-seven, it seems appropriate for me to finallystayon my own.
I start up the stove and make my favorite breakfast, oatmeal topped with cinnamon, sliced apples, and bananas. I take it to the table and settle in, careful not to step on the flicking tail of my sleeping cat, Jasper, who is in a cozy, curled-up ball beside the chair I settle into. He’s wearing a green knit sweater I boughthim from my favorite boutique, and like always, seeing him in it makes me smile.
Crossing my legs, I dip my spoon into the bowl of oatmeal. It will be time to head to practice before the service soon, but while I eat, I always try to read at least one verse. And today’s doesn’t at all seem like a coincidence.
“So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh.”
–Galatians 5:18
I wince.Okay, God. I hear you loud and clear. No more fantasizing about the hot newcomer.
“You smell nice.”
I start in my chair when I realize Zara is standing right next to me. She folds her arms across her pink satin pajama top. A few strands of her hair escape her matching pink bonnet. “Stop doing that.”
Her eyes round in fake innocence. “Stop doing what?”
“You know what.” I fix her with a glare. “Stop appearing out of nowhere and trying to scare me every time you’re here.”
