“And I might’ve seen you wearin’ it.” He grins. “So, you spent a bit of time at university?”
“You might say that.”
“On the mainland?”
“Mostly.”
“Where else?”
“Um, nowhere important… I did my master’s at…” I turn my head and whisper the response to the countertop.
He leans over and tilts his head so that his ear is closer. “Didn’t quite catch that.” He smiles. He knows I did it on purpose.
“I, um… studied at, um… Oxford.”
“Shit.”
Here comes the speech.You have no direction. You’ve wasted your potential—
“You’re really fuckin’ smart, aren’t you?”
“No.”
He grunts a laugh. “Yeah. You are. Like one of those Rhodes Scholars.”
“Oh, um…Well…”
“Fuckin’ hell. You were an actual Rhodes Scholar?”
“It was a long time ago.”
“Christ, Elsie.”
I nibble on my lip. How do I get out of this conversation? “Well, I… I studied history there, and I enjoyed visiting all the museums and seeing all the artifacts, of course. And I suppose that’s where I gained my appreciation for vintage pieces. Porcelain, jewelry… And clothes. Obviously…” I smooth down the Peter Pan collar of my dress and grimace. “Although perhaps it’s time for a change…”
“You don’t need to change a damn thing. You’re lettin’ the words you overheard take up too much space in your head.”
“But everything I wear is so…dated.”
“There’s nothin’ wrong with the way you dress. You’re…” His head dips, and now, it’s his turn to mutter at the countertop. “You’re a bluebird day, you are.”
I don’t know quite what to say. That’s one of the strangest compliments I’ve ever received—if thatisa compliment. “Th-thanks?”
Sawyer’s cheeks flame under his beard, and his eyes refuse to look anywhere but his half-empty coffee cup. “So, uh… why are you workin’ at the clinic then?”
“I needed a job, and you may be shocked to learn that there aren’t too many options around here for people who know the ins and outs of Lord Byron’s jaunts around Europe.”
“The…poet? You like him?”
“God no! He was so horrible to his daughter. Her letters to him are heartbreaking—” I clamp my hand over my mouth to stop the inevitable rant I’m about to go on. Inching my fingers down, I uncover my lips just long enough to flash him a sheepish smile and say, “Sorry.”
Sawyer shakes his head. “Don’t ever be sorry for havin’ somethin’ you’re passionate about. I like the fire you get in your eyes.”
“Wait until I’ve had a few glasses of wine. You’ll regret encouraging me.” I grin. “Do you like antiques?”
“I’ve picked up a few bits and pieces over the years. Some people might call ’em junk, but they’re sturdy. The reason I asked…”
Waiting, I lift my eyebrow as I sip my coffee.
