That One Moment (Lost in London #2) (15 page)

I eye the four keepsake boxes wistfully as Theo makes his way back up to the flat insinuating in no uncertain terms that it would be wise if I stayed down here for a bit longer. Living with Theo and Leslie has been good for me, but it’s not ideal. I basically bear witness to them falling even more in love with each other every day as they tackle happy family life, fussy baby and all. It’s a lot of fighting and making up and me taking long walks to give them space. I definitely need to find a place of my own…and soon. But I’ll feel a lot more confident with myself if I can get through Doc’s challenge first. His approval means so much to me.

Seizing hold of my brief moment of bravery, I shoot Vi a text. To my surprise, she agrees to my request even though it’s already after nine. I quickly get all my supplies ready and wait on bated breath for her arrival.

Thirty minutes later, I’m standing outside the shop thinking about how nice a cigarette would taste right now when she comes striding up. Her blonde hair is tied up on top of her head in an adorable messy bun. She’s wearing black leggings, ballet flats, and a deep V-neck, black shirt that reveals a colourful neon yellow tank beneath it. She looks cosy, like she had been planning on a quiet night in.

“Where’s Bruce?” I ask, pushing myself away from the side of the building.

“Left him at the flat,” she says, eyeing me like she’s trying to figure out my motive. “I don’t have to lug him everywhere, ya know.”

I eye her seriously. “Probably safer if you do.”

She frowns at my protective suggestion and says, “So what are we doing? Your text was rather cryptic.”

I grin and hold the door open for her to walk past me. My hand brushes the small of her back as I guide her through the shop entry. The urge I feel to touch her more is heady, but I push it away as quickly as it arrives. She steps in and looks back at me in confusion. I gesture to the large wooden workshop counter and her eyes alight in realisation.

“Are these the same boxes?” She hustles over and picks one up, opening it and looking inside with a surprised smile that I take a mental snapshot of.

“They just need to be finished,” I offer.

“Where did you get them?”

I give her a sheepish look. “I made them.”

Her jaw drops. “You made them? But you never said anything before!”

Shrugging, I reply, “I thought maybe you could help me finish them and we could talk.”

“Oh yes, I’d love to!” She begins tugging at her top, attempting to knot it around her waist. “We can continue with your countdown while we work.”

“Actually, I’d prefer we skip the countdown tonight.” I walk over and grab a pair of rubber gloves off the counter. “I just thought…I don’t know. I feel like a wanker for not knowing much about you, so I thought maybe we could spend the night talking…like I’m not some complete fuck-up with a dark and twisted past.”

I glance up just as her bright blue eyes darken. “Hayden, I’ve never looked at you like that…Not once.”

Her severe expression winds me up. I nod awkwardly and hand her the gloves. “All right, tonight I’m going to teach you how to stain. Think you’re man enough for the job?”

She watches me for a moment, evidently letting my self-deprecation slide. “Manlier than most bubbly blondes I’d say.”

I frown at her peculiar reply. Not entirely sure of how to respond, I make quick work of showing her how we dip the cloth into the stain, rub it on heavily, and then wipe it off. I’ve already applied a thin strip of painter’s tape across the top of each box for the design element I’ll add later.

I set her up with her own supplies and she sits down on the stainless steel stool next to me. Her loose shirt keeps getting in her way, so she stops what she’s doing and peels off the offensive material.

I try to look away, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m transfixed. Now wearing only her small tank, her creamy alabaster skin is on full display and her cleavage is drawing me to her. My body reacts reflexively to the lush softness of her skin.

She catches me eyeing her. “So, what do you need these extra boxes for?” I ask, dragging my possessive gaze away from her and back to the box in my hands.

“My brothers,” she replies, applying the first stroke of stain. “The one I got Sunday will be for my dad.”

“What are you putting inside them, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She looks over at me with a fleeting look of embarrassment. “Erm, it’s just something I stumbled upon earlier this year. It took me a while to get it all sorted. But now that I have, I want to make it a special gift.”

My brows lift as I angle toward her. “Do I get to know what the gift is?”

She shrugs. “It’s not so much a gift I suppose. Just…I found a series of poems my mum wrote and some other trinkets. I think they’d all make the best surprise gifts.”

“That’s a lovely idea. How does she feel about you giving away her poems?”

She looks back at her project and murmurs, “She died when I was young.”

My heart clenches. “Vi, I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“I was only four. I don’t really remember much. But we shared a birthday, so I’ve always felt a connection to her on some level.”

I look at her thoughtfully. “So what are the poems about?”

“They were written in Swedish, so it took me a while to find a translator. But they’re quite cool. They’re all about motherhood. It’s odd, but I felt like I got a glimpse inside her heart when I finally got them translated into English. Some of them are really beautiful, some tragic, some funny. It was surreal. I really connected to them…To her. My dad and brothers don’t even know they exist. The book was tucked away with all of her cookbooks, so it’s no wonder they never saw it.”

“It’s going to be incredible when you give them their gifts.” I give her a smile and ask, “So, what about you? Do you like to cook?” I can easily picture her in the kitchen looking just as she does now with a towel tossed over her shoulder. The image elicits a tiny smirk.

Her brow furrows as she catches my playful expression. “I do. I love it. I did all the cooking growing up and my brothers can eat, let me tell you.”

“I’m sure,” I chuckle good-naturedly. “What was it like living with a bunch of athletes?” My curiosity over her lifestyle is definitely piqued. I grew up watching football on the telly and my entire family is Manchester United fans through and through.

She shrugs. “I don’t know any different.”

“You played too, I assume?”

She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. I traveled with my dad and brothers instead.” Suddenly, she stops what she’s doing and looks up at the ceiling as if she’s having an epiphany. “You know what I just realised? Without even knowing it, I grew up as a mum. I submerged myself in their world and their schedules so much that playing football myself didn’t even occur to me!”

I frown. “Surely there were some things you did for yourself.”

She looks at me seriously as if she’s just been whacked in the face by a sad truth. “Not a lot. I didn’t even have many mates. Really, the first proper thing I’ve done was get my own flat last year. That’s pathetic.” She shakes her head in frustration.

“It’s not pathetic to be close to your family. Growing up traveling with them sounds amazing. I’m sure being in a house with your brothers and dad was a life experience all in its own.”

“You have no idea,” she chuckles in a secretive, knowing way. “Are you, Theo, and Daphney close?”

I pause and try to determine the best way to answer without turning the conversation around on me again. “We used to be. Then we weren’t. Now we are again.”

Her face screws up in confusion. “Mind embellishing a bit?”

“Tonight isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s supposed to be about you, and you’re treading into day three material here.” I squint at her speculatively.

She laughs and her smile lights up her eyes. “It’s a give and take, Hayden. It’s called conversation for a reason. This isn’t an interview. Go on then, we’ll get to day three eventually anyway.”

She turns back to her box and swipes her cloth over the excess stain, her tongue flicking out as she applies more effort to a particular seam.

“Day three was a rather painful experience that Theo and I discussed in great detail during my stint in rehab. Theo has a tendency to blame himself for everything, from Marisa’s death, to my attempt, and all the darkness in the cracks. Perhaps it’s an older brother thing. Regardless, it took a great deal of opening up for him to relieve himself of that lot.”

“Why would he blame himself for your attempt?”

“A few days before the charity gala last year, he and I…Well, we exchanged some very painful words right here in this shop. I was completely pissed out of my mind and had caught wind that he was bringing Leslie to the event. It just set me off.”

“Why is that?” she asks, her brow quizzical.

“I felt he didn’t have the right to be happy because no one else in our family was. It had been three years since Marisa’s death and I was in no way moving on from my guilt. So Theo bringing a date to the gala felt like a slap in the face. Like he didn’t care. About Marisa. About our family. About me. I took it all wrong, which I know now was ludicrous.”

Vi frowns and shakes her head. “I don’t think any feelings you had back then were ludicrous. You guys were all living in the wake of a very tragic accident. There’s no way to know how long it takes you to get over something like that. I’m sure everyone processes at their own pace.”

I half smile at her comment. “You sound like Doc, my therapist. I was so rat-arsed that I shoved Theo into one of his works in progress and it busted all to pieces. He exploded on me, telling me what a royal fuck-up I was and that I was going to end up dead in a ditch…He even took a swing at me with a two-by-four. It was bloody awful.”

“God, were you hurt?”

Shaking my head, I answer, “No. I don’t think he was really trying to hit me. I think he was just trying to snap me out of my stupor. But I was too pissed and too depressed. No one could get through to me. After that I just spiraled further downward.

“I showed up to the charity gala two days later for the sole purpose of fucking with him and the life he was starting with Leslie. Based on the couple of times I had spoken to Leslie, I knew he hadn’t told her about Marisa. I even flat out asked her when I was really pissed one night. The secretiveness of it all struck a nerve with me. Like what I did was some horrid, dark secret. I felt so incredibly insignificant to my family, it was in that moment I decided everyone would be better off without me.

“It’s crazy to think about now…because Leslie ended up being the one who saved my life. She’s the one who found me and called the paramedics. After all of my horridness toward Theo…toward her…she was the one to walk in and pull me up from rock bottom.” I pause as my eyes tear up over the affection I feel for Leslie. “I have an intense connection with Leslie because of all of that. It’s something I think only her and I fully understand. But it’s special. It’s…meaningful.”

Vi closes her mouth and nods in agreement. “I can’t even imagine. Leslie’s never mentioned a word of any of that.”

“She won’t. She’s loyal and loving in ways that I never knew before I met her. She will always be an important part of my life, which is why I’m so grateful she’s marrying my brother. Calling her family will put a nice label on what I feel for her.” I pause and laugh quietly to myself. “My affection for her is only a fraction of what Theo feels for her. It’s why he’s rushed her into getting married so fast after they had Marisa.”

“They are pretty disgusting to watch, aren’t they?” Vi giggles, but her face drops just as quickly. “I’m glad she was there, Hayden.”

I nod and frown, attempting to blink away my impending emotions. Then I turn back to the box I’m working on. “He’s found his happy ending and I’m grateful I get to be here to witness it. It took a lot of therapy with Theo to make him believe that I had made up my mind about killing myself prior to our row. But we’ve overcome our differences. Now he’s like a proper mate.”

She huffs out a laugh and I turn to catch her smiling. “What?” I ask, curious where her mind just drifted off to.

“I think Booker is my best mate. He’s my youngest brother and…I don’t know…He’s the only one I can talk to openly without pause, ya know?”

I nod because I do understand, but I am curious. “You don’t have any close girlfriends?”

She shakes her head. “Not really. The few I had in school were only interested in my brothers. Plus I always felt uncomfortable around other girls. Except Leslie, surprisingly. I’ve always got on with her.”

“Leslie’s not the typical girlie girl,” I confirm.

“No…She’s the opposite of a bubbly blonde,” she laughs awkwardly, peeling off her gloves and brushing back the few blonde wisps cascading around her face.

I stop what I’m doing and turn more fully to face her. “All right, that’s the second time you’ve mentioned that…What’s going on?”

She frowns and reaches over for a new box. “You tell me.” Her brow arches at me in challenge.

“What do you mean?” I’m honestly completely in the dark, having no idea what she’s going on about.

She looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “That’s how you described me on Sunday when we were walking back to my flat. It kind of stuck with me I suppose.”

Frowning, I attempt to recall what I said.

“‘A blonde, bubbly distraction’ were your exact words, I believe,” she provides for me.

My features turn grave as realisation dawns on me. “I think you’re missing a couple words.”

She shakes her head and for the first time, I see a look of distress on her face. This bothers me immensely because my characterisation of her was simply a defense mechanism. At that point in time I was trying to get her out of my mind.

Fuck me, I’m a bloody prat.

Her stiff posture causes an ache in my chest. Without thinking, I stand up, strip my gloves off, and stride right over to her. She doesn’t turn to look at me, so I wrench her stool around to face me. When her eyes remain cast downward, I tilt her chin up in an attempt to make her see my sincerity. “I believe I said bright and beautiful if I’m not mistaken.”