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He’d only stayed in Graves Glen for a semester, just a handful of months, but the place had always stuck with him. He’d liked it there. Moreover, he’d liked himself there.
It was, Wells quickly realized, much like what he’d hoped running a pub would be like. Friendly smiles thrown his way, hearty handshakes on the way out. And dammit all, he was good at it.
And when her eyes briefly met his, her cheek dimpling with a Go fuck yourself smile, Wells realized he had never been attracted to any woman more in his life. Well, that was bloody inconvenient.
he’d been thinking about her, and now, having her this close felt like a special form of torture.
She looked like something out of legend, a siren, a sorceress, the kind of woman men happily went to their dooms for.
“I hate when you make me like you, Esquire.”
And part of it was probably the fact that he was, he suspected, falling quite desperately in love with her and would do whatever she wanted him to.
Bringing her face to mind, he squeezed the stone tight and thought one word. Home.
Wherever the two of them were together, that was home.
