Page 10 of Paper Roses

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve imagined him liking me and been disabused. It’s total wish fulfilment on my part, and I know it.

The waiter deposits our drinks and scurries away, and I sigh when Jed looks at me and raises his eyebrow. He’s not giving up on this.

“It’s a long story,” I say rather inanely.

“We have all the time you need.”

“What time does this place close?” I glance around the busy café, seeking distraction.

“Two in the morning. Plenty of time to talk about your wedding. Who’s the lucky man?” He seems to fumble that last question.

“Well, there’s the thing…”

He regards me patiently. That steady calmness is one of his best qualities. You feel safe with him. I run my hand through my hair.

His gaze sharpens. “Artie, what’s the matter?” He hesitates and then adds fiercely, “Are you in some kind of trouble? If you are, I want you to tell me and I will sort it out for you.”

I gape at him. “How did you get from a wedding to trouble?”

He rolls his eyes, but his cheeks are flushed. “It’s not such a big reach in our profession. Especially if you employ Raff and Joe.” He offers his hand, and I put my own in his without thinking. It should be startling to hold hands with my gorgeous boss, but somehow, it’s as natural as taking my next breath—smooth and right. “Tell me,” he stresses. “I know you’re troubled.” He gestures at my face with his free hand. “Your face gives you away every time.”

I groan. “And that’s my curse in life.” I feel his hand slip away from mine with sadness and then square my shoulders. “I need to get married.”

“Needto?” His gaze is laser focused, and I shift uneasily under it. I bet he was a good policeman, because he’s patient and steady until he gets his own way.

Before I can answer him, movement from behind him catches my eye. “Moira is gesturing to you.”

He looks back and Moira holds up a landline phone. “For you,” she calls.

Jed groans. “It’ll be her dad. I haven’t been in touch for ages, and I haven’t replied to his texts. Do you mind?”

“Of course not.”

I watch him stride over to the counter and say something to Moira that makes her laugh. He takes the phone and begins talking, a smile pulling at that full mouth of his. I indulge myself in my favourite hobby—watching Jed Walker while he’s not aware.

He’s a stunning man. Six foot two with broad shoulders, narrow hips, and a long, muscled body. He grew a short beard a few months ago and his brown-blond hair is a little longer than usual, hitting his neck in shaggy waves. It suits him, softening his craggy face with its stubborn, square chin and the determined jut of his jaw. It’s not a pretty face. There’s a scar through one eyebrow courtesy of someone wielding a broken bottle when he’d been a beat bobby. His nose is crooked, as it’s been broken a few times, but it’s a handsome one that compels a second glance.

The trouble is I didn’t stop at a second glance. I sigh and take a sip of my drink. I came to work for him when I was eighteen. At first, I’d been wary of the big bloke with the deep voice and sarcastic wit, but I steadily became aware that the wit was never cruel and although his voice was deep, he never shouted, no matter the provocation.

He’s the kindest man you could hope to meet and impossibly loyal. If you have him at your back, then you’re safe. Safety was something I hadn’t felt for years, so it was no wonder I harboured a crush on him that steadily burned brighter and brighter. And now it’s a conflagration of emotions that I don’t care to acknowledge, because they’reutterlyhopeless.

He taps the counter idly while listening to his friend on the phone. The glint of gold on his ring finger steadies me like it usually does. There is no chance for me with Jed. I know it assurely as I know my own name and my disinclination towards karaoke and ice skating. Jed might be a widower, but in his heart he will always be married to Mick.

He’d been a widower for three years when I’d met him. He’d been hollow-eyed and desperately unhappy, but no longer mad with grief. I would see sparks of life, of happiness, but he’d douse them again and again. Relationships were never allowed to form. Oh, he’ll sleep with men—they’re a constant progression through his bedroom. But no one sticks, because he stays loyal to Mick.

I often wonder what Mick was like. I’ve heard lots of funny stories about him from Margot, who’s been at the agency longer than Jed. Mick was obviously a character who was larger than life, and I’m sure that’s why Jed finds it so difficult to let go.

I grimace. It also explains why Jed’s never cast an eye at me. There is no way on this earth and a few other planets that Jed would look at quiet, mousy me when he was in love with a man like Mick.

Jed hangs up the phone. As he walks back to me, I plaster on a smile.

“I wouldn’t bother trying to fool me,” he says cheerfully as he comes near.

I sigh. Jed can be annoyingly perceptive and annoyingly oblivious. Earlier, he’d said he could see all my emotions. I’d almost fallen off my seat laughing, because he’s never once seen that I’m in love with him.

“Oh dear, is it that bad?” he asks, sliding into his seat. I inhale the scent of his Durand cologne. It’s musky and fresh and makes my head spin, and I’d once spent an embarrassing hour sniffing it in Harvey Nicks.

His mouth quirks, and I try to remember what he just said.

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