AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I’m panicking a little. I don’t want him thinking his sister has been gossiping about him. But as my face reddens with the discomfort, my brain isn’t working quickly enough to express that.
But he seems to be smirking at me. Clearly, my flustered state amuses him. “You just… what?” he presses.
“Sylvie didn’t tell me why you were back,” I finally get out. “Just that you were going through some stuff. I suppose that’s what I mean.”
Finn looks at me for a long moment. It is a strange look, as though he is trying to figure out something. But then he nods and turns away. Ten or so minutes pass. Him scrolling through his phone, me sipping my tea, making an extra effort to look in the opposite direction so he doesn’t think I’m prying.
Pushing himself off the stool, he walks over to the sink. He throws the remainder of his coffee away, washes his cup, and then turns back to me. “Well, I suppose we ought to get going.”
“Going?” I say, looking a little bewildered.
“The hardware store.” He looks back at me, that smirk dancing on his lips again. “You know, for paint?”
“Oh. Right. Yes,” I reply, now feeling like a complete idiot for not coming to that conclusion.
The hardware store is situated on the main street. It’s the first time I’ve actually been into the town of Sharon Springs, and it’s more than a surprise. Sylvie has told me so many times how small her town is, but imagining it in my head and actually being here are two very different things. While the street is wider, with the main arterial road running through the middle, it is about the same size as a side street back in London.
“There’s Sylvie’s workplace,” Finn says, throwing a thumb toward the other side of the street.
I look over at the small beautician’s and see Sylvie waving through the window. I smile broadly and wave back. “Your sister is always so happy,” I say absently.
“Yes,” Finn sighs, “you get used to it.” And then he gets out of the pickup truck.
When we enter the hardware store, a bell above the door tinkles. I look up at the sound and smile. It’s like the old shops we used to have years ago in England. Most shop doors are electric now, but the tinkling bell is charming, and I feel like I’ve gone back in time. That feeling remains as I look about me. Unlike modern stores, this place looks like it was refurbished in the 1800s. The old man standing behind the counter only adds to the whole feel. He’s tall and thin and looks like he’s part of the interior.
“Hello, Mr. Shilliday,” Finn says.
“Finn Brecken!” the old man declares. “My good heavens. Is that really you?”
“It is indeed,” Finn replies.
Mr. Shilliday looks delighted to see Finn, and as I come to stand at the counter, he looks down at me and smiles. “And is this Mrs. Brecken? We have yet to meet her, even though you’ve been married for a while,” Mr. Shilliday continues.
I suddenly gawp. Partly because I had no idea Finn is married, partly because there is no way I am his wife, and I feel the need to say so.
“Oh, no. Absolutely not,” I declare. “I am not at all Finn’s wife. I’m not married. I hardly know him. In fact, we only just met the other day.”
The two men are looking at me like I’ve just grown an extra head. Mr. Shilliday in an intriguing fashion, and Finn with a smirk dancing on his face. Clearly, I have made an utter fool of myself. Again. Maybe I should just catch the next flight back to London.
“So, you’re not Finn’s wife,” Mr. Shilliday says, a smile dancing at the corner of his mouth. I know he’s mocking me, and I can feel my face getting redder.
“We’re here for some paint, Mr. Shilliday,” Finn says.
Whether Finn feels sorry for me and wants to take the attention off me, or he’s just eager to buy paint, I don’t know. Nor do I care. I’m just glad Mr. Shilliday is now looking back at Finn instead of me. The fact that Finn is married now swirls around my head. If that is the case, where is his wife? Why is he back home with his parents without her? It occurs to me at this moment that his marriage may be the “stuff” Sylvie made mention of last night.
“I see,” Mr. Shilliday says. “Doing a little decorating, are we?”
“We are. This is Emma…” Finn pauses then as he looks at me. “What is your last name?”
“Bolton,” I say.
Yes, it’s not a very Italian-sounding name, is it? That’s because it’s not. When Mum and Dad divorced, Mum reverted to her maiden name, and after Dad more or less abandoned us as his children, Mum suggested we might want to do the same. Which Kerry and I did, hence my very un-Italian-sounding name.
Finn nods, returns to looking at Mr. Shilliday, and continues, “This is Emma Bolton, Mr. Shilliday. She’s a friend of Sylvie’s and is staying with us for a while.”
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Bolton,” Mr. Shilliday says to me. “And I see you’re a little far from home. London, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” I say with a smile.
