He was inside her now, running through her veins, beating inside her heart.
Sadie was right! She wanted to know Will—likes, dislikes...all about him. This wasn’t only Anthony’s mission now, but hers too. She wanted to draw Will close, dig into his shadows, help him find his light—which he might discern any second if she didn’t stop staring at him like this and reply to what he had said like a normal, non-misty-eyed person!
She smiled. ‘I’m glad because it doesn’t get much better than this: hot sun, cold beer...’ she glanced up at the riot of violet blossoms above them ‘...incredible jacarandas!’
He tipped his glass towards her, his gaze soft, his smile fond. ‘Incredible company.’
Oh, no! No, no, no! One thing to be feeling him inside her, noticing him: the perfect fit of his shirt, the way the breeze was lifting his hair, wafting the light fresh smell of his cologne about, quite another for him to be noticing her. Flirting!
Not that she didn’t like the idea of it because, heaven knew, she did—Will was super gorgeous! But this wasn’t just some cute guy making eyes at her, shooting tingles up her spine. This was Anthony’s son! She had to work with him, launch a hotel with him. And all that feeling-him-under-her-skin business aside, he was patently a bit of a mess—with regard to Anthony especially—signs and tells the whole time he was talking, things she couldn’t ask him about because she didn’t know him well enough yet. And maybe he was right, maybe he wouldn’t melt down again over liking Lisbon, or her—hopefully not her—but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t combust over something else, and that something might very well be her ideas for the hotel, their impact on his precious timeframe.
So, however lovely it was to be feeling this sweet electricity shuttling back and forth between them, however tempting it was to flirt back, she mustn’t. There were bumps ahead, a million possible hurts waiting for her if she wasn’t careful. She needed to nip it in the bud right now. Tactfully, of course.
She raised her eyebrows at him. ‘Oh, stop it! You’re just sucking up now, trying to get on my good side.’
‘Of course I am.’ He smiled a lopsided smile. ‘I’ve been on your other side, and I didn’t like it much.’
Her heart squeezed. Damn him and his silver tongue! On the other hand, hadn’t he just handed her an opportunity to show him where she stood?
She smiled. ‘Well, you’re on the right side now: we’re friends again! In fact, I think we should drink to it.’ She raised her glass towards him, trying to keep her voice casual. ‘Friends?’
Something moved behind his gaze, and then he was leaning forwards, touching his glass to hers. ‘Friends.’ For an eternal, heart-thudding, tingle-inducing second his eyes held hers and then he was setting his glass back down, scanning the square. ‘So where are we, exactly?’
On safer ground, thank goodness! She gulped down a mouthful of beer to chase the Will-induced dryness from her mouth then parked her glass. ‘I don’t know exactly, but the old building behind you seems to be called Carmo Convent, and the kiosk where we got the beers is called Carmo Kiosk, so I’m guessing...Carmo Square?’
He broke a smile. ‘Detective Quinn!’ And then his smile was fading. ‘Dad would have known, wouldn’t he?’
Her heart missed. Was Will actually starting a conversation about his father? To what end? His gaze was almost wistful, definitely tentative. One thing for sure, if she didn’t seize the moment, it might slip away.
She nodded. ‘Yes, undoubtedly...’
Anthony, who had loved Lisbon openly but had struggled to show real love to this smart, kind, messed-up guy sitting opposite. She felt hot tears welling and looked away to hide it, running her eyes over the graceful arched structure in the middle of the square. Maybe it had been a fountain. No sign of water now, though. Just a group of lively teenagers sitting chatting on the shallow steps around its base. Did they have fathers who loved them, who showed it openly, like Dad had with her?
Don’t!
She inhaled to reset, then turned back to Will, drawing up the good stuff with a smile. ‘Your dad would have known what that structure over there was, and he’d have known the history of the convent too.’
‘You loved him, didn’t you?’
Soft blue gaze. Intent.
She felt tears prickling again. ‘Yes, I did...’ She wanted to add in spite of everything, but maybe there were enough eggshells under her feet already. ‘I mean, he took me in, gave me a home.’
He nodded slightly, and then he was picking up his drink, settling back in his chair. ‘Our dads were at uni together, right?’
She felt a little jolt of surprise. But of course he would know this, must know about her mum too, her whole history. All the things they’d never talked about, and now here they were, getting into it, which was weird but also nice.
She let a smile rise. ‘Yeah. They shared a flat for a couple of years. Different degrees though. My dad did History and Politics.’
‘And then he went into the Civil Service?’ Will’s eyes took quick measure then lit with a smile. ‘Don’t look so surprised. Dad filled me in before you—’ And then his expression was changing, clouding. He leaned in again, setting his beer down. ‘I’m sorry about your dad, Quinn. It must have been so hard for you, not having anyone...’
Stirring her pain, making it flow. No relatives on Mum’s side because Mum had been orphaned as a child, had come to Britain from Nigeria to study architecture. No relatives on Dad’s side either because he was an only child born to older parents—Grandad and Grandma—who had both died before she was twelve. All those years, just the two of them, because Dad wouldn’t date anyone, no matter how much she’d nagged him. He’d used to say he had his hands full enough with her and that, in any case, Mum was the only one for him. Then, at fifty-one, he’d discovered the lump at the side of his neck...
‘Hey...’ She felt Will’s hand sliding over hers, squeezing gently. ‘I’m sorry. I was just... I didn’t mean to upset you.’
She blinked, found her eyes were wet. ‘You didn’t.’ She wiped her face with her free hand, smiling to reassure him because he looked so concerned. ‘Kindness just stirs up the sediment, that’s all. Brings things back.’
He nodded. Deep light in his gaze. Understanding.
But of course he understood. He’d lost his brother, hadn’t he? Judy by default. And Anthony... It was what she had thought he was lining up to talk about—Anthony, and the grief they shared—but he seemed to have put them on a different path. Not that it mattered. Any path with Will was a good one.
Incredible that they were sitting here talking like this, after years of only existing on each other’s periphery, when only a single piece of the past could be said to properly belong to them. A moment in time. Her stomach clenched. A moment she had let die, possibly to their cost. And now they were skating close to it with this talk of Dad’s passing, weren’t they? She bit the edge of her lip. If she took him back to that precious moment in her doorway, opened up about it, thanked him for his kindness, then maybe he would open up in return, keep this sweet momentum going.
She blinked herself back into his gaze. ‘To be honest, I don’t mind at all that you brought it up because I don’t have anyone to talk to about that time.’ She let a beat pass. ‘Not anyone who was actually there, I mean...’
Movement in his eyes. Recognition. He knew what she was talking about.
She turned her hand over inside his, squeezing so he’d feel how much it had meant. ‘You were very kind to me, Will. Sweet.’ He was blinking, making a burn start in her throat, behind her eyes, but she wasn’t stopping. He needed to know this. ‘I’ve never forgotten the way you reached out to me that day, and I’m sorry I couldn’t find it in me to respond, but that’s because it was hard for me. I was so grateful to Anthony, and to you, but Dad was my everything. Losing him, having to leave my home for yours, feeling everything strange around me was unreal. Even though I knew it was coming down the track, I still couldn’t believe how quickly my life changed, that I was truly alone in the world.’
‘Quinn—’ he was frowning, shaking his head now ‘—you don’t have to be sorry. I didn’t take offence, lose sleep over it. I got it.’ His hand squeezed hers and then he was taking it back, picking up his glass. ‘You forget. At eighteen I was well-acquainted with grief.’
And at thirty-one he was getting edgy, his eyes darting, going past her, as if now that he’d brought up the subject of his teenage grief, he wished he hadn’t. Was he worried she was going to press him, push him to talk? She wanted to, because getting to know him was suddenly all she could think about, but not if he wasn’t ready, if it was going to cause him pain.
She touched a finger to her own glass, keeping her voice gentle. ‘I wasn’t forgetting anything, especially that. I just wanted you to know that what you said that day meant the world even though I couldn’t show it.’
He put his glass back down, seeming to settle. ‘I’m glad then.’ He gave a small smile, but in the next moment it was gone. ‘I have an apology of my own to make, actually.’
Her pulse picked up. ‘Oh?’
