Roots of Romance by Ania Whiteley

Author:Ania Whiteley [Whiteley, Ania]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-10-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

The next day, Heath left early to visit Parker - I asked Mrs Butterworth if I could go, but she said Parker would be mortified if we made a commotion and preferred to pretend the accident never happened. No fussing, she said, so I resigned myself to gardening throughout the day and then a fresh bottle of Chardonnay in the evening. I brought the glass outside the cottage alongside my book and made myself comfortable, hoping to get into a new thriller that I bought the other day in Sagebourne’s Waterstones.

But as I was reading about the detective in the book and trying to connect the dots, I caught Heath about to get into the manor house and waved enthusiastically. Heath noticed me (it was impossible not to notice me, to be honest, sprawled in front of the cottage) and turned around to come towards me.

“Is Parker okay?” I asked as soon as he was within my reach.

“Yes, he will be out of the hospital today, but I have given him a couple of weeks off. I know it was just dehydration, but still. He should rest.”

“Sounds sensible.”

“He disagrees.”

“Of course he does,” my lips quivered in a smile, and Heath’s shoulders relaxed. “You can give him my best wishes when you speak to him next and tell him I will keep an eye on Buttons. He has been found, by the way.”

“Now that will be a relief,” Heath concluded with a ghost of a smile. Silence fell upon us, and I studied him for a moment. He was in his tailored suit pants, but he rolled the sleeves of his shirt, and his features were relaxed.

“Do you… errr, want some wine?” I pointed at the Chardonnay.

“Is it actually wine or some demon’s piss posing as wine?” He looked at my cheap supermarket bottle suspiciously.

“You won’t find out until you try,” I sat back and took a sip from my glass as a challenge before withdrawing to the cottage to bring another glass. Heath had already sat down, staring at the wine as if it was poison.

I poured him some, and clinked my glass with his, “Happy Friday.”

“Cheers,” he took the smallest sip possible and immediately gave me a disgruntled look. “Definitely demon’s piss posing as wine,” he gave his judgement.

“It won’t kill you,” I rolled my eyes.

“It might,” he seethed.

“It’s not that bad,” I teased. “You are being dramatic.”

“Hardly.” And just like that, Heath and I found ourselves sharing a bottle of wine, the evening full of light still despite it being nearly nine o’clock. I wondered whether I should talk to him about the kiss, but the topic somehow turned to our childhood, specifically the summer when Sienna and I decided it was our life's mission to annoy her brothers. Jasper wasn’t an easy target because he seemed to enjoy the pranks, but Heath was a teenager at the time, lanky and awkward and wanting nothing to do with his little sister and her friend.

“I barely remember our pranks,” I confessed.

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