Chapter Twenty-Three

Nick was asses to elbows with humanity in Manchester waiting to get into a metal tube so he could finally fly back over the Atlantic. His seat was cramped, the old lady next to him wouldn’t stop talking, and he’d forgotten to put his headache medication in his carry-on. That meant no sweet oblivion called sleep while he waited for his flight to be called—especially not with Mrs. Damerschmidt of Rahway, New Jersey, telling him every little detail of her grandson’s mastery of the alphabet at only eleven months.

“The boy is a prodigy. You say A and he picks up the block and stuffs it straight in his mouth. It’s too big for him to swallow so you don’t have to worry about that, but it does get a little messy. Our little booger doesn’t like to give back those wood blocks once they’re in his mouth. You don’t think he could be harmed by the paint chips on the block, do you?”

She looked at him expectantly.

“I don’t think they use lead-based paint on kids’ toys anymore,” he said, more on autopilot than any actual frame of reference beyond who in the hell would still use poisoned paint.

“Oh good, that makes me feel so much better,” she said, heaving a relieved sigh. “You really are the nicest. I can’t tell you how nice it was to sit down in my seat and realize that you were American. I’ve missed hearing home, you know what I mean?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Home. The word didn’t come with an automatic image of his Virginia lake house anymore, and that was a problem.

“And the manners, your mama must be so proud. Listen to me prattling on like you’re a boy when you probably have a boy of your own.”

A towheaded baby with big blue eyes flashed in his mind. “No, ma’am.”

“Well, you need to get working on that. I’m sure your mother tells you that all the time.” She pivoted in her seat to better face him, glancing down at the dog collar he’d placed on the small table between their chairs. “Now, what is that thing you keep messing with? It looks like a dog collar, but there’s more to it.”

“It’s a little something I’ve been working on.” And he’d finally be able to give it his full attention now that he wouldn’t be distracted by Brooke or Bowhaven or the earl.

“Come now, you can’t keep a secret from me. I’m a stranger; you’ll never see me again, so there’s no harm in telling me everything.”

“It’s nothing that deep, just a voice-activated dog collar. It measures a dog’s anxiety level via their pulse and, when needed, plays back a prerecorded message that’s supposed to calm the dog down.”

Mrs. Damerschmidt nodded. “But it makes the pooch go wild.”

“Afraid so.”

“They seem like such simple creatures, but they always know, don’t they?”

“Ma’am?”

Her face got a soft, faraway look to it. “Well, I had a french bulldog named Rufus a few years ago before he got hit by a bus.” She made the sign of the cross. “Poor guy was always more curious than smart. Well, he knew my husband’s car, his footsteps, even his breathing pattern for when he finally fell asleep and it was safe for Rufus to jump on the bed and snuggle in without fear of getting told to get down and go to his own doggie bed. He wouldn’t have been fooled with a fake. Even silly dogs know the real thing when they feel it. It’s love. Human or canine, we know it when we know it, know what I mean?”

Did he? His gut clenched at an image of Brooke smiling at him at the Fox. The sound of her unexpected laugh. The way that even as she was acting like Lady Lemons, some of her natural spit and vinegar came through. Her determination to make Bowhaven a better place whether it wanted to be or not. Did he know love? His chest ached. He did. And he’d walked away. Not that he had a choice. She’d told him to go, and he had.

Something must have shown on his face because she patted his arm. “What’s her name and what did you do to mess it all up?”

“What makes you think it was me?” Him? Defensive? Never.

“I know I look every one of my sixty-six years, buddy. Don’t even try to pee on my leg and tell me it’s raining. I stole that from the TV judge. I love that line. Use it on my Jerry all the time. Now, fess up.”

And because they were about to get on a plane and go thirty thousand feet in the air over the Atlantic Ocean with hours to go in a cabin where the lights were dimmed and the sound of soft snoring the only noise, he did. He started with the emails and the texts to meeting Lady Lemons at the airport to the zombie wedding ball and everything in between. By the time he ended, Mrs. Damerschmidt was shaking her head.

“You need serious help,” she said, flinging the insult while managing to not make it sound like one. “My Jerry does, too. I think it has something to do with that Y chromosome you’ve got in common.”

“How is this my fault?” Nick asked.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Don’t get caught up on fault. Think about outcomes. Is this the one you wanted?”

“Absolutely. I never wanted to be on that dreary island in the first place.”

“Funny way of showing it by getting on an airplane and going there,” Mrs. Damerschmidt said, sarcasm dripping off each word.

“She wore me down.” All those texts. The emails. The sheer determination to get her way.

The older woman nodded knowingly. “A good woman will do that until you see the truth.”

“And what truth is that?” This was getting ridiculous.

“You tell me.”

The truth? All he knew now was that everyone had secrets. His grandfather had kept his locked away in a room with old letters and photos of a family he’d torn apart. Brooke? She’d had hers, too. She wanted to repay Bowhaven for coming to her rescue when she’d been at her lowest by doing whatever it took to save the village—even if that meant convincing a stubborn American to get on a plane to England. Discovering his mom’s secret had left him raw. The woman in the letters loved him, he never doubted that, but she’d hid the truth about his father, about what happened. He was the only one without any secrets. He was who he was. A man alone and who was absolutely 100 percent okay with that. He didn’t need a family. Or a village. Or Brooke. He would be just fine on his own as always.

He opened his mouth to tell Mrs. Damerschmidt exactly that, but it wasn’t what came out. Instead, it was his own secret that he’d kept from himself.

“That I was looking for home,” he said, the words coming out like a revelation he’d known in his gut all along. “That I was looking for people who would love me. That I was looking for a place where I’d be wanted.”

“Sounds to me like you found it, too. And on top of that, you found someone who loves you like my Jerry loves me…like I love him.” She held up her left hand and the tiny sliver of a diamond shone in the light from the small overhead bulb. “Forty years.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Falling in love is a horrible thing to have happen to a person. It’s ugly and scary and it makes you want to run as fast as your feet will take you some days. But it’s worth it—if you have the balls to go out and claim it.” She tapped a finger on the dog collar spread out on his tray table. “Even Rufus knew that.”

He swiped the collar off his table and stuffed it into his pocket. “You’re wrong.”

She had to be. Otherwise he’d made one of those I’ve-wrecked-everything mistakes his grandfather had told him about. The old man couldn’t be right. Not about this.

Mrs. Damerschmidt turned in her seat to face front. “Keep telling yourself that fairy tale and maybe you’ll start to believe it.”

Nick kept his mouth shut. A voice over the intercom announced his flight back to America was about to board. He should be standing up, getting his carry-on bag, and prepping for boarding. Instead, he was sitting there feeling a little like a man who’d just been sucker punched by the sinking realization that the older woman was right. The dog collar poked him in the thigh. It didn’t really fit in his pocket, but he couldn’t stand to look at it another second. Stupid thing would probably never work anyway. Mrs. Damerschmidt was probably right—even pooches knew when love was right in front of their snouts. He tried to imagine how the sound of Brooke’s voice could be even half as good as having her with him. It didn’t even come close. Realization sank into him, making his bones heavy with certainty.

Canine or human, we know love when we know it. Even jerks like Nick Vane.

Nick started in his seat. “I’ve gotta get back to Bowhaven.”

Mrs. Damerschmidt cracked her eyes open and grinned at him. “That’s my boy. Go get her back.”

…

Turned out Brooke’s naked bum didn’t have to wait until the next week for national exposure. Thanks to the beauty of the internet, her arse was available in 300-dpi online by teatime two days later. Some twat had even giffed it so that all the photos flowed together in one twenty-second video.

“Brilliant,” she muttered to herself as she placed her mobile down on the pub’s bar so she didn’t fling it across the room. “Just bloody brilliant.”

“Problems, poppet?” her dad asked, setting a perfectly brewed cup of tea in front of her like manna from heaven.

“A multitude.” All of which were not suitable for discussion with one’s father, especially not at the Fox when half the village was here toasting their newfound fame as a filming location. Luckily they were all too busy chatting amongst themselves to pay attention to her and her dad for the moment.

Her dad took off his glasses and used the hem of his shirt to rub the already clean lenses. “Is it about Nick?”

Was it about Nick? Yes. No. Maybe. Absolutely, because if she hadn’t fallen in love with the man child, then she wouldn’t have forgotten to close the window curtains and the pervy photographer wouldn’t have been able to get a shot of her shagging her boss’s son.

“What makes you think it would be him?” The question didn’t sound convincing even to her own ears.

Phillip put on his glasses, which now had a visible smear on the right lens, and poured his own cup of tea. “Because I have eyes and a brain and I know my girl.”

“Then you know she can’t get anything right.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind.”

She curled her hands around the warm mug and blinked away the emotion wetting her eyes. It was lovely of him to say so, but he was her dad, so of course he had to say that. She knew the truth. She had overreached. Again. She tried so hard to make things work the way she thought they should that she never saw the errors most folks would have spotted right away.

“I should have known better. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve overreached.” The words poured out, all the ones she’d kept stored away in a dark cupboard. “Manchester should have taught me better than to try to rise above my station. I’m a publican’s daughter. Not village council. Not a city girl. Not an earl’s heir’s girlfriend material.”

He added milk to his tea and stirred. “And what’s wrong with being a publican’s daughter, might I ask?”

“Nothing.” Way to go, Brooke. Nice how you made your dad feel like shite there.

“I should think not. And as far as the rest of it, your time will come. From what I hear, it’s already here. I understand Brian Kaye asked you to run for council.”

“That’ll change after he sees the latest photos.” Her cheeks flamed hotter than the mug in her hands.

“What photos?”

Oh God. How was she going to explain this? She took a fortifying drink of her tea and decided to get on with it in the most British way possible—by just going forth and not making a big fuss about it. So that’s what she did. And by the time she’d finished, she and her dad were both looking into their empty mugs, avoiding eye contact for fear of seeing each other’s embarrassed reactions. Finally, though, she couldn’t take it a moment longer and peeked. Her dad wasn’t looking at the dregs of his tea, though, he was staring straight at her, looking as fired up as Phillip Chapman-Powell had ever looked. The only other time she could remember was when one of the other pigeon fanciers tried to get his best flyer, Cecil, disqualified from a race.

“The pictures won’t matter,” he declared, his voice firm.

Wouldn’t it be nice to think so. “They’ll say I’m just a slag.”

“Some might, but if they do, they’re a bunch of stupid twats,” he said, one corner of his mouth curling upward in a crooked smile. “However, those who know you will set them straight. Nick, for instance.”

“He’s gone back to America for good.” For such a big thing, the words came out tiny and small—a squeak of an announcement.

“Oh, poppet,” her dad said with a hefty sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Her chin wobbled, but she lifted it a tad higher anyway. “I’m not. If it hadn’t been for him and my reaction to him, none of this would have happened. I should have known better—especially after everything that happened with Reggie. When I came back here with my tail tucked between my legs and everyone took me in, it was more than I expected.” She took in a shaky breath whilst looking around to make sure no one was leaning in for a listen. Luckily, they weren’t. “I just wanted to pay everyone back for the kindness, to help Bowhaven like it helped me. That’s why I took the job with the earl when no one else would. That’s why I pushed so hard for the village to make changes. That’s why I fought against falling for him, for Nick. And it happened anyway and now he’s leaving because none of this matters to him. Bowhaven doesn’t matter to him. I don’t matter to him. He said he doesn’t believe in fairytale endings.”

She sucked in a ragged breath and blinked back the tears she refused to give in to. She’d never considered herself a princess type, looking for a knight to fight by her side. But the hole in her chest proved just how much she’d been keeping secrets from herself.

“Is that what I’ve put my faith in?” she asked. “Make believe? Is that what I should have learned from the horrible mess with Reggie? That happily ever afters are only for kids’ books?”

Emotion clogged her throat and no more came out, but really, what was left to be said? All she’d been doing for the past few years was trying to create a happily ever after. First with Reggie the toad. Then by bringing back Bowhaven. Then with Nick. All of it had failed. Maybe it was time she took the lesson to heart, grew up, and closed the book on fairy tales forever.

“This is your home and it always will be.” Her dad covered her hands with his, the callouses—signs of a life of proud hard work, not fanciful ideas—hard against her skin, and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “People may not always enjoy the way you push, but they respect you for it—a lot more than some tabloid photographer spying in windows. We know what you’ve done for us by nudging the earl. People in this village are set in their ways, it’s true, but they know what you have to offer, and you’re a shoo-in for the council. And as for Mr. Vane…” His voice turned hard at the earl’s heir’s name. “Well, if Mr. Vane can’t see what a lucky man he is in having you, well, then he’s a right git and he can just go buy his pints somewhere else.”

Brooke didn’t know what to say—or really if she even could say something. That was just about the most emotional and hopeful speech her father had ever given. It was most un-Yorkshire-like in its lack of taciturn acceptance of the worst in life that she didn’t know what to say. The arrival of Brian Kaye armed with a sheaf of papers saved her and her dad from confronting the moment that they would both cherish—even though they’d never speak of it again in their lives.

“There you are, Brooke,” Brian said, laying the papers down on the bar. “I’ve got the forms you need to fill out before you can run for election.”

And poof! There went that soft, fuzzy feeling. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

Brian’s smile faltered. “Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”

“I think you might,” Brooke said, girding herself for what would come next. “There are some pictures and—”

Brian stopped her with a wave of his hand. “Doesn’t matter. We know all about them, and if we catch another photographer in the area, you can be sure we’ll dispatch them with haste.”

For one of the few times in her life, Brooke was speechless. All she could do was blink, which got pretty awkward very quickly. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Now that’s something no one will ever believe if I were to tell it.” Brian laughed at his own joke and nudged the papers closer to her. “I’ll leave these here, but be sure to get them to the council office by the end of the week.”

After giving her an encouraging wink and a pen from beneath the bar, her dad went back to pouring pints for the villagers who, thanks to the rash of calls from movie and TV production folks, were more optimistic about their economic prospects since she could remember. Looking around, Brooke realized there was something there that hadn’t been there a few months ago—hope, a belief that things were going to get better. She glanced down at the election paperwork, excitement starting to build in her chest because she’d be a part of turning that corner. She couldn’t wait to tell Ni— She gritted her teeth and stopped herself before she could continue.

He whose name shouldn’t be mentioned was gone. He wasn’t coming back. She needed to shove his memory into the cupboard under the stairs and leave it there to rot as if her last name was Dursley. Biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep from letting the tears pooling in the corners of her eyes fall, she promised herself that she’d do just that.

…

Nick stepped out of the car chauffeured by Mr. Harleson onto the high street with a hope and a prayer and not much else, but it would be enough. It had to be. He passed the shops that closed promptly at five o’clock and headed toward the Fox. She’d be there. If she wasn’t, he’d find her.

The door to the Fox opened easily, but walking through it proved harder. The place was jam-packed full of people here to celebrate another movie coming to town. The earl had told him about it during the drive into Bowhaven from the airport. Seemed Dallinger Park was going to be the next Downton Abbey. One of the crew on the zombie movie had a friend scouting for the perfect location for a prestige historical drama slated for a six-season run, and they wanted to shoot the entire thing on location in Bowhaven.

He finally spotted Brooke at the other end of the bar, Daisy and Riley standing on either side of her like bookends. Neither of them gave him friendly looks as he approached. That was okay. He wasn’t here for them.

Brooke barely glanced up at him before focusing her attention back on the pint glass of ale in front of her, and off to the side a stack of papers with election application written across the top. “I thought you were back in America.”

Okay, not the greeting he was hoping for but definitely the one he deserved. “I was supposed to, but I couldn’t leave.”

The pint glass stopped halfway to her mouth, and she set it back down without looking at him. “Why not?” Now she did turn and give him an arctic blast from those blue eyes of hers. “There’s nothing here for you.”

Ouch. That hit like a sledgehammer to the pinkie toe. But he wasn’t going down without a fight. “You couldn’t be more wrong.”

He reached in his pocket and pulled out the dog collar that had been squashed in there for the entire drive back to Bowhaven and slammed it down on the bar in front of Brooke. It wasn’t just the woman he loved looking at the length of red and white nylon outfitted with a mini sensor and mini speakers. Everyone crowded into the pub was watching like this was the reality show they hadn’t realized they’d been waiting their whole lives to see. If being the center of the village’s attention bothered Brooke, she didn’t show it. That was his girl. Gutsy and determined right down to the end.

She crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze to a fine glare. “What is that?”

“The voice-activated dog collar.”

Both blond eyebrows went up in question. “Is someone in this pub a dog?”

He nodded. “I am.”

“Finally,” she said, her lips curling into a less-than-friendly smile. “We agree on something.”

Ouch again, except this time the sledgehammer had moved north and grazed his balls. The woman had a helluva game when it came to aiming a verbal punch. Still, he hadn’t come this far to tuck tail and run now—never again.

“Do you know how long I’ve been working on this collar?” He fingered the material, knowing without looking where every twist and turn was. “I’ve spent years trying to figure out how to make it so that if Fido got anxious or sad because his owner was gone, he would be reassured by the sound of the owner’s voice that it was going to be okay. That they’d be home.”

“And of course your clever mind finally figured out the solution,” she interrupted, her voice not as steady as it had been before. The tremble was faint, but it was there. “That’s brilliant. Now, if you don’t mind, I have work to do.”

“No, I didn’t figure it out.” He released the collar and took another step closer to her until he could feel the heat from her body and smell the flowery scent of her shampoo. All at once, his heartbeat steadied and the world came into focus. And at the center? Brooke. Always Brooke. “I tried everything I could think of, but I couldn’t get it to work. Every time the dog heard the owner’s voice, it just made the whole thing worse because the dog knew the person it loved most of all wasn’t there.”

“And the fact that a creature would feel like that was a revelation to you?” She let out an angry, hurt chuckle but didn’t move out of his reach.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, letting his fingertips linger. Her answering shiver of anticipation gave him the strength to continue.

“It was once I realized just how it felt to know that the one person I loved most in the world was out there—somewhere—but I couldn’t see her smile or feel the silk of her hair as it slid through my fingertips.”

She blinked once, twice, three times, flexing her jaw the whole time, before saying in a soft voice, “Well, congratulations on cracking the case. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

But she didn’t make a move to go.

“I’m staying.”

“How fabulous for you,” she said, her voice cracking with emotion. “I’m sure the earl will be relieved.”

“I don’t give two shits about how he feels about the situation,” he said, the words coming out in a rush. “Wait. That’s not true. I do care, but he’s not why I’m staying, and neither is Bowhaven or the title. I’m staying because of you.” He paused at her quick intake of breath and the flicker of hope in her eyes. This was it. This was when it counted. He could turn and run now and never look back or he could stay, pledge himself to this woman and stop running, forever. As if he had a choice. His fate had been decided the day Lady Lemons had demanded he make an appearance at Dallinger Park. “I don’t want to be that dog constantly searching for the person it loves most when I know exactly where you are. So I’m staying. I’m putting it all on the line in front of God and everyone to tell you that I need you. I love you. I can’t imagine spending the next moment, let alone the rest of my life, away from you. The six-month split I agreed to, it won’t work because six minutes away from you is too long. I’ll be here even if you don’t love me back just so I can be near you, because there’s no place in the world I’d rather be than anywhere you are.”

“And what if I leave?” she asked, her voice so soft, he could barely hear it over the breath everyone in the pub was holding.

God, he didn’t want to do this. All those self-preserving reflexes told him to cut and run. But he couldn’t. Being with Brooke was more important than his ego, or his zip code, or anything short of breathing—and even that was up for debate.

He didn’t have to think about it. “I’d follow.”

“And driving on the wrong side of the road?” Her voice shook ever so slightly, but that stubborn Lady Lemons chin tilt of hers was in full effect.

“I’ll learn.” How hard could roundabouts be?

One side of her mouth curled into a smile. It was all he needed for the fear making his chest tight to loosen its grip.

“Vinegar on chips?” she asked, standing and moving a step closer.

“Already down with it.”

The urge to touch her again, to pull her close, to dip his head down and kiss her for everything he was worth was nearly overwhelming, but he fought it. This had to be Brooke’s call. He wouldn’t push. He’d beg, if need be, but nobody pushed Lady Lemons around.

She glanced around at the villagers watching and then turned back to him, the first flicker of hope in her eyes. “Naked people on regular TV?”

“The shock has worn off.” Almost. Puritan roots and all that.

“Beans on toast for breakfast?”

“Give me a few more years.” An American could only take so much in the beginning. “If there’s anyone who could bring me around, it’s you.”

She crossed her arms and gave him the same look she’d had on her face when he got off the flight. “I won’t be made a fool of.”

“That’s okay, because I’m more than willing to do that or anything else to show you just how much I love you, Brooke.” He rammed his fingers through his hair, tension twisting his stomach tight. He couldn’t turn back now, though. It was time to let go of his secrets, too. “I’ve spent my whole life sprinting away from people before they could leave me, but I’m done running. I’m finally home because anywhere you are is home.”

Then to prove his point about being willing to do just about anything, he hit play on his phone. The music filled the nearly silent pub, the song instantaneously recognizable. As soon as the lead singer got to the part about walking five hundred miles to be by his girl’s side, Nick began to sing along, his voice gaining strength with each word, each promise, each pledge of devotion. By the time it got to the final verse, the pub was pregnant with anticipation. With every set of eyes on them, Brooke’s chin trembled and her eyes grew watery as the final notes faded out.

Still, she didn’t say anything. Not a single word. His throat burned. His chest ached. “Brooke, I—”

She held up her hand, pressing it against his chest over his fast-beating heart. “Shut up.”

Panic at the thought of losing her roared in his ears. “If you’ll just listen to—”

Smiling, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Shut up, you pushy American, and kiss me because I love you, too.”

Nick didn’t have to be told twice. He dipped his head down and took her mouth in a kiss that said everything he hadn’t been able to find the words for, all the tomorrows and the tomorrows after that as the villagers let out a rowdy cheer behind them.

“Bossy, aren’t you, Lady Lemons?” he asked after breaking the kiss.

She grinned. “Always and forever.”

And that sounded like the perfect ending to him.