“Come on, Rupert. Nothing good can come of us standing in her driveway at this hour. There’ll be plenty of time to sort this out tomorrow,” Silas said as he herded the older man toward his vehicle.

As he left, he tipped his hat to Bryony. “Let me know if you need anything, young lady.”

Bryony gave him a tight smile and nodded her thanks. When the two men were gone, Bryony’s grandmother hugged her.

“I’m glad you’re home. I worry when you travel. Especially to a city like New York.”

If Rafael had expected the older woman to turn on him in anger he was wrong. Instead she gently enfolded him in a hug and patted his cheek.

“Welcome back, young man. I’m glad you found your way back here.”

With that, she walked down a narrow stone path in the grass that led to the adjoining yard.

“Will she be okay?” Rafael asked with a frown. “Should we take her home?”

Bryony sighed. “She lives next door. Just a few steps from my front door.”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.”

“Yeah, I know, you don’t remember.”

This time her tone lacked the patience and understanding she’d exhibited until now. There was an undercurrent of hurt that cut into him and pricked his conscience.

Hell. He’d once have argued that he didn’t have a conscience when it came to business. Business was business. Nothing personal. Only now…it was definitely personal.

“Come on,” she said. “We need to get all this luggage inside.”

He put his hand on her arm. “You go in. I’ll bring in the luggage. Don’t argue. Go get something to drink or eat if you’re hungry. I’ll be in in just a moment.”

She shrugged and walked to the steps leading onto the porch. A moment later, she disappeared into the house, leaving Rafael standing in the driveway staring at his surroundings with keen eyes.

So this is where he’d spent so many days and nights. This is where his life had supposedly undergone such a drastic change. He didn’t feel anything other than that he was distinctly out of his comfort zone and in way over his head.

He carried the luggage in two trips to the front porch and then propped her door open and began lugging the bags into the living room.

As he stepped in, he stared around, absorbing the look and feel of the place Bryony called home. It reflected her personality to a T. Sunny, cheerful, a little cluttered, as if she were always in too much of a hurry to keep it spotless. It looked lived-in, nothing like his sterile apartment, which a cleaning lady made spotless every day regardless of whether he was in residence or not.