Can't Help Falling (6 page)

“Peter, please.” She looked up at him, hurt on her face. “Don't I deserve more than that after three years?”

Was he being too hasty? Was the reason he was here tonight to mend some kind of bridge with Sabine? He ran a hand through his hair. “You're right. I'm sorry. How are you?”

“I'm good.” She looked up with the limpid gaze that had caused many a male rower twice her size to turn to jelly in her presence. “I've heard you're trying to save SpringBoard.”

He was momentarily speechless. That wasn't what he'd expected her to say. “Yeah.”

“I want to help.”

“Sabine, I don't think that's a good idea.” Working with his ex-girlfriend trying to save his dead cousin's charity? That had all sorts of shades of disaster painted around it.

“Anita was my friend too. This isn't about you. I can help.”

She was right. He wasn't being fair. He still forgot he wasn't the only one who had loved Anita. He sighed. “Okay. I'll let you know—”

“Sorry to interrupt.” Jackson didn't look sorry at all. Peter might've
hugged the guy if his arms hadn't been laden with coats. “Do you mind taking these upstairs? We're out of room here. Al says there should be some space in her wardrobe. Otherwise just leave them on her bed. Her room's first on the right.”

Peter took them. “Sure thing.”

“I don't think we've met. Jackson Gregory.” Jackson poured on the charm as he held out his hand to Sabine. At which point Peter knew he'd been sent over by Allie with orders to extricate him. The guy was so besotted with his fiancée, he didn't give strange girls the time of day unless there was a good reason.

Sabine held out her hand. “Sabine Montclair.”

“Not the Sabine Montclair nominated for sportswoman of the year?”

Peter did a double take halfway into his exit. He hadn't known about that. It had been one of her dreams for as long as he could remember. He tamped down the urge to give his ex-girlfriend a hug, but she deserved the accolade as much as anyone he knew. Sabine may not have been the girl for him, but he still wanted great things for her.

Sabine's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped a little. She clearly hadn't expected it either. Then a radiant smile spread across her face. “Yes. It was a huge surprise.” Peter gave it about thirty seconds before Allie returned to stake her claim. It was now or never if he wanted to escape.

Stepping back, he squeezed through the crowd and headed for the stairs. Lifting the coats so they didn't drag on the floor and trip him up, he turned on the landing and walked to where the first door on the right stood open.

He dropped the coats on the bed, grabbed one of the hangers that Allie had left on the cover, and hooked a red wool coat over it.

Turning, he paused at the sight of a large, ornately carved wardrobe. A smile played on his lips. The last time he'd seen one of these, it had been under far more interesting conditions.

No doubt he'd never see the girl again. A pity since she'd intrigued him far more than he'd have liked to admit. Who climbed into a wardrobe in an antiques shop? And, the question that bugged him most, what had she meant with her comment about his not being a Narnia fan? And how did the teacup he'd been looking for for a decade fit into it all?

He'd almost prayed that they'd cross paths again but had stopped himself. It felt too trivial, too crazy. God had better things to be doing with His time than that. If He was going to do Peter any favors, he'd prefer it involved fixing his shoulder.

Swinging open the wardrobe door, Peter pushed a few hangers aside to make room for the coat, then shoved it in. It was a squeeze, but there might be room for a couple more.

He turned and walked back to the bed and picked up a designer-looking beige trench coat to go next. Settling it on a hanger, he turned.
“Argh!”

The garment slipped from his hands and fell onto the floor like a sandcastle collapsing under a wave. He blinked. Once. Twice. Just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

There she sat. The Narnian wood nymph. Perched on the edge of the wardrobe, boot-clad feet on the floor, clothing swinging around her head, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

T
HE POOR GUY LOOKED LIKE
he'd seen a ghost. Not that Emelia could blame him. Having someone fall out of a wardrobe once was strange. Finding them in a second one was just lunacy.

She'd held her breath when someone had first opened the door. Almost choked on it when she'd gotten a glimpse of his profile. The only reason Peter hadn't seen her was because he hadn't looked down. She'd hoped with all the desperation of Lucy trying to find Narnia a second time that there was only one coat. But when he hadn't closed the door, she'd known he'd be back and there was no chance he was going to miss a person folded into the bottom of the wardrobe again.

So she'd made a split-second decision to salvage what little dignity she had left and make herself known before she was found.

And so, here they were. She half in and half out of the wardrobe. And he staring at her, opening and closing his mouth like he'd lost the ability to speak.

Emelia took the advantage of surprise to study him a bit more. His hair was as flaming ginger as she remembered, his eyes as green, and his height still as imposing. So she cataloged the smattering of freckles across his face, his wide mouth, his
athletic build, and his ugly sweater. Oh, his so-ugly sweater. Green with blue and red diamonds. It had better have some serious sentimental value, because there was no reason anyone should have been wearing it otherwise.

He had a nice face. Not one that would be called up for a
GQ
advertisement anytime soon, unlike Allie's guy, whose name she'd forgotten, but it was nice.

He still hadn't said anything. Instead, he'd kind of sagged onto the bed, still just staring.

Wow. Now this really was getting awkward. It looked as if the ball was in her court. “Hi. Um, sorry if I scared you.” She pushed herself up as she spoke. Tried to subtly stretch her legs out.

“You're real.” There was a kind of childlike wonder in his voice that wrapped around her heart. “I mean, of course you're real, I just . . .” He flapped one hand around. “Sorry. I'm just not used to finding cute girls in wardrobes.”

She laughed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “If it helps, I'm not used to being found in wardrobes either.”

He seemed to regather himself at her words. Rising to his feet, he stood just under a head taller than her in her flat boots. Which would put him at about six foot three to her five foot nine. “I have a model of the
Dawn Treader
. I built it with my grandfather.”

What? “Um, that's nice?”

He slid a smile at her that made her feel like she needed to sit back down for a few seconds. “It took us six months. It was like a gazillion pieces. You can't tell a guy who spent six months of his childhood building the
Dawn Treader
that he's not a Narnia fan.”

Oh, that. “So you're practically Drinian.” She threw out the name of the captain of the ship to test him. If he was such
a fan, what was with the Susan/Lucy question? Only those whose knowledge of Narnia began at
The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
and ended at
Prince Caspian
would ever want to be a Susan.

“I like to think I'm slightly less cynical than he was, but just as loyal.” Peter tilted his head. “So, do I at least get to know the name of the girl who's almost given me two heart attacks?”

She wanted to offer her name, but something held her back. Once she gave him her name, it would be personal. She'd be more than the crazy wardrobe girl. She wasn't here to do personal. Well, not this kind of personal. She was here for atonement. That couldn't be derailed by some cute English guy, especially not one who had already been exposed to her particular brand of crazy twice and didn't seem to think she belonged in the closest psych ward.

The moment stalled.

“Great, you've found Emelia.” Allie bustled into the room with another coat slung over her arm. She looked at Emelia. “Please don't judge him by the sweater. I promise he's cooler than he looks.”

Emelia couldn't stop the grin that spread up her cheeks. “It would be hard not to be.”

Peter looked back and forth between her and Allie. “She was lost?” She spent every day surrounded by accents, but for some reason, his tugged at something in her every time.

Allie shook her head. “Not lost. Just new. Emelia's recently moved to Oxford. I promised I'd introduce her to a few people.”

He gave her a wink and held out his hand. “Well, I guess we should meet officially then. Peter Carlisle.”

She held out her hand, aware of Allie watching their every move. “Emelia Mason.”

His hand enveloped hers, and his gaze captured hers. Warm, secure. “Nice to meet you, Emelia Mason.” Something about the way he smiled sent her heart beating in a way that a host of A-list celebrities with their million-watt grins hadn't managed.

It was nice to meet him too. Which made it a very big problem.

“D
id he really spend six months building a model of the
Dawn Treader
?” Emelia directed her question to Allie, giving Peter a second to try to get some air. He had a name. And for some reason, his heart pounded like he'd just sprinted a mile.

“Oh, is that how long that took?” Allie didn't look in the slightest bit put out by the weird question as she grabbed a hanger out of the wardrobe and hooked the coat over it. “I don't know if that's true. But I can tell you he certainly has a model of the boat that he gets very anxious about if someone as much as breathes heavily near it.”

“Hey now.” That was an overexaggeration if there ever was one. Between the digs at his attire, the Sabine situation, and this, he was beginning to think Allie was more foe than friend.

“Who's your favorite character in the book?” Emelia was still studying him as if she was setting a test and waiting for him to fail.

“
There was a boy called Eustace Clarence Scrubb, and he almost deserved it.
” Peter quoted the first line of
The Voyage of the Dawn Treader
without even thinking about it. Admittedly, the boy was a certified pain in the backside at the beginning, but he was also the character who underwent the biggest transformation over its pages.

“Huh. Interesting.”
Emelia pulled some kind of upside-down fish-mouth thing as she turned his answer over in her mind. Peter waited for an indication as to whether he had passed or failed whatever the test was, but she gave away nothing. Instead, she plucked another hanger out of the wardrobe and picked another coat off the bed, mirroring Allie's smooth movements.

“Who's yours?”

Emelia thought for a second, her head tilted.
“To defeat the darkness out there, you must defeat the darkness inside yourself.”
She took a couple of steps and shoved the final coat into the already full wardrobe.

The words came from the magician Coriakin. Peter tucked away the knowledge that Emelia felt a kinship with the magician who had once been a star but had fallen from grace.

Allie turned from closing the wardrobe doors. “Okay, you two. Are we done trading lines or do we need a few more minutes to hide in here? Want me to bring up snacks and some drinks to tide you over a bit longer?”

Emelia looked startled. As he was sure he did too.

Allie looked at Emelia. “You're hiding from having to try to infiltrate a room full of strangers. Which is fair enough because I hate those as much as the next person, but that's going to change because I'm going to introduce you around now.” Allie pointed her finger at Peter. “And he's hiding from his ex-girlfriend. Who I tried to set him up with. My bad. But I can't help him with that short of tying my sheets together so he can shimmy out my window. Which could be quite fun.”

Peter blinked as Allie threw him under the bus. Hold on, she was the one who'd sent him up here with the coats . . .

“I'm
quite good with tying knots,” Emelia offered.

The three of them all stilled for a second as they processed her words.

“I mean . . .” The girl blushed to the tips of her hair as her words trailed off.

Peter's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the screen.
Victor
flashed up at him. Silencing the call, he slid the phone back in his pocket. He was done being his brother's keeper for tonight. Victor would be turning twenty-nine this year. Time for him to get it together. He was the oldest in the rowing squad and still acted like some eighteen-year-old kid getting his first taste of freedom.

His phone started vibrating again.

“Looks like someone really wants to talk to you.” Emelia tilted her head at him.

His finger itched to just turn his phone off, but he couldn't do it. He huffed out a breath. “I'm sorry. I should probably take it.” Swiping to answer, he walked out into the hallway as he put his phone to his ear. “This had better be good.”

“It'shh always good, little bro.” His brother's slurred voice came over the line. Charming. Drunk before nine. “I just wanted to let you know, I took your carsh. But I'll bring it back tonight.”

“You took my car?”

“Just for a couple of hours. I'll drive it back shoon. No problem.”

Uh, yes problem. Very big problem. “Victor, you can't drive.”

“I'm fine. Right as rain.”

“Where are you?”

“Mazza's place.”

Had they all lost their minds? They had training most of the day tomorrow. Starting at six. Not to mention a big five-kilometer erg test first thing on Monday.

Peter heard the sound of shuffling, then someone else on the line. “Coach?”