He shook his head. “Like you said, you planted a seed, nothing more. It wouldn’t have grown if you hadn’t been right about how they feel about each other. And obviously there is something between them. We just need to let them sort it out amongst themselves.”

Lying in bed that night, I worried about Viola. I worried Lucas had rejected her and I’d opened the door for that to happen to her. There was a big part of me that wanted to meddle, to fix the problem, since I felt responsible. But, ultimately, I knew I had to take Roane’s advice and stay out of it.

However, that didn’t mean I had to stay out of every long-standing issue that plagued the village.

Twenty-One

By the last week in July, the countdown was on.

Five more weeks. That’s how long I had left before I was supposed to return to the States. Since that phone call with Greer, Roane and I hadn’t talked about the future. It was easier just to immerse ourselves in one another and be blissfully fucking happy. Despite my suspicions that Roane was in love with me, I still felt a niggle of insecurity and wasn’t ready to make a huge life decision about staying in England until I was one hundred percent certain that he loved me.

By one hundred percent sure, I meant until he told me he loved me.

Besides, I still wasn’t sure I could leave Greer behind . . . or my mom. I didn’t know what to do about my mother, and I didn’t like thinking about it because it hurt so damn much.

It was a gray day in Alnster, but I was already used to the temperamental weather and kind of glad for it. Summer in Chicago was hot and humid all the time, but moody British weather meant I got a break from the warm climate when I least expected it.

I was sitting behind the counter of the bookstore, working on a manuscript for one of my clients. As much as I’d wanted my freelance editing work to take off, running the bookstore full-time put a kink in those plans. I was pretty much on the same schedule with my editing as I had been in Chicago.

A few tourists had come into the store over the course of the morning, but it was a quiet afternoon, allowing me time to work. Yet I knew when Maggie Foster stepped into the store that my attention was about to be pulled elsewhere. For weeks I’d wanted to talk to Maggie about her daughter, but I just didn’t know how to stick my nose into business that was so personal.

Probably because my nose didn’t belong there.

At all.

“Maggie.” I clicked save on the manuscript and closed my laptop. “How can I help?”