When I’d drummed up enough courage to open my eyes against the splitting headache I was currently dying from, the first thing I saw was a wall of dark gray. It looked completely unfamiliar to me, and I tried to remember where the hell I was. Looking down at the blankets that covered me, I took in the plaid black, gray, and white pattern. I blinked several times, trying to orientate myself to my surroundings.

A muffled sound caused me to sit up suddenly, at a speed that was entirely too fast and caused me to mumble a swear word.

“Fuck what?”

I turned my head, took in Ames, who was sitting on the floor at the foot of the bed I laid in. It was all too much to process: the unfamiliar room, the fact that Ames was mere feet from me, and the headache that felt like a marching band was trampling across my skull.

“Um…” I pressed a hand to my forehead, and swallowed the bile that climbed up my throat. “Did I puke?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Ames replied. “How are you feeling?”

Great question. How did I feel? “Like I drank all the alcohol in your bar.”

“Pub. And you’re likely not far off.”

I made a face of stretching my lips over my teeth that I was sure was entirely unattractive. “That bad?”

“Horrid, actually. Hungry?”

My stomach felt full of boiling acid and I knew I’d need to get something in there to soak up some of the alcohol I’d been unwise in consuming. “God, I could go for biscuits and gravy.”

He looked at me with a funny look on his face. “Really?”

I shook my head at him. “Not your kinds of biscuits. Those are crackers, or cookies, or whatever. Um,” I pushed my hair behind my ear as I tried to think of how to explain it better, “like, scones? That you split in half and butter? And then pour white, peppery gravy over.”

He looked at me like I was speaking gibberish, which—though we both spoke English—I knew my American sayings were probably a lot like hearing another language to him.

“Or toast? Some eggs?”

He nodded and pushed to standing, towering over me as I sat on the bed.

“Is this your bed?”

“Yes.”

“Did you sleep…” I moved my hand across the bed, over the empty and undisturbed side.

“No, I slept on the floor.” He motioned to a folded blanket on the chair beside the bed.

“Oh.” I swallowed as I stared up at him, feeling the buzz of being so close to him again, remembering how he’d placed his hand under my chin and had lifted my mouth just so. The last time we’d spoken, before I’d started drinking, had been the moment right before he’d kissed me. And we hadn’t talked since.

If I thought too much about why I started drinking, I’d think about Colin and the memory card full of my last photos of him, and then I’d be sad all over again, and I didn’t imagine being sad and hungover would be all that delightful. “Thanks,” I said, pulling his blanket up to my chest, even though I was fully clothed. “I imagine I was kind of a pain in the ass last night.”

“Just a bit,” he said, his face stoic but not unfriendly. He stared at me a moment longer, not saying anything, and I could feel my cheeks burning. Then he walked abruptly toward the door before stopping just short of it and looking over at me. “Do you…” he shoved a hand in his hair before shoving it in the pocket of his fleece sweats. “I…” He looked at me briefly, his face contorted as he struggled to find his words. And then he opened the door and stepped out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Ames had kindly put my backpack on his desk, so I was able to dig through and find my mini brush and run it through the tornado that was my hair. I cringed a bit, imagining what Ames had seen when he’d looked at me. My compact mirror proved what I feared—mascara was smeared at least a half inch under my eyelids, and I had what looked like twin black eyes with how my makeup had settled in my sleep. I rubbed a tissue over it, trying to salvage what little of my makeup I could, and braided my hair into one long plait that I hung over my shoulder. There was nothing to be done about my clothes, wrinkled as they were.

But I plastered a brave smile on regardless and opened the door a crack, peeking out into a hallway that was empty, but not silent. Music spilled from a room at the end of the hallway, and light spilled across the glossy wood floors. I waited a second before I heard Ames’ distinctive voice, and made my way as quietly as possible down the hallway.

Just outside the doorway, I heard Lotte laugh, and steeled myself. I mentally kicked myself, for about the fifteenth time that morning, for looking as unkempt as I did. But I sucked it up and stepped around the opening, seeing Ames, first, who was at the stove, his back to me. At the table was Lotte, reading a newspaper, wearing gray leggings and an oversized pink sweater, bouncing her bare feet on the tile along to the beat as she pored over a newspaper. I wondered if she’d seen my antics the night before.

Ames turned then, and stopped short upon seeing me. His gaze darted between me and Lotte before he said, “Good morning,” as if he hadn’t just seen me minutes before. But his eyes were warm, and he gave me a small, encouraging smile.

Lotte turned, and her smile filled her face. “Oh, hey Mila.” Then she blinked and looked between Ames and me before returning her attention to her newspaper. “Sleep well?”

I couldn’t remember the night before—just slices of things here and there. Lotte wasn’t, not surprising, in whatever vestiges of my memory I still had. I didn’t know if she knew why I was there—or what assumptions she made from that fact.

Looking toward Ames for reassurance, I waited for him to explain. But he didn’t rescue me, didn’t offer any explanation for my disheveled appearance in his house. He just watched me, waiting for me to explain myself.

“I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Lotte.” Lotte mirrored her brother-in-law’s look toward me. “I’m not sure if you know why I slept over.” I gestured a hand over my unkempt clothes, looking one last desperate moment at Ames.

“Oh, right.” She nodded and gave me a smile that I was sure was meant to reassure me, but the words out of her mouth did the exact opposite. “You shagged.” She waggled her finger between us.

Ames coughed, and I was sure my face paled to an unnatural color. I opened my mouth, but Ames stepped beside me, and his hand came to my lower back. “Come on, Lotte. Don’t torture her any further.”

I found it shocking, the way the heat from his gentle touch spread across my back. I turned to face him just as he turned to face me, and his hand lifted and brushed the hair that had fallen across my face. That was one of my favorite things he did, touching me like that.

“Oh, gross.” Lotte made a face and dropped her newspaper. “Did you shag her, in that state, Ames? I thought you had more respect than that.” She stuck her tongue out like she’d just tasted something disgusting.

“Knock it off, Lots.” Ames hadn’t stopped looking at me. “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry.” I gave him a smile, and he smiled back, all soft, and for a moment I questioned whether or not I was in a dream.

“Have a seat. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

Sitting beside Lotte, it was like I realized for the first time that she was the sister of Ames’ wife. I’d always thought Lotte beautiful, but a thought pushed its way to the forefront of my mind—if she was this beautiful, how beautiful had Ames’ wife been? “Ames is cooking us breakfast.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “Such a nice thing, he doesn’t normally do.” She squared her sights on me. “So, I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

Ames stiffened a little, but cracked another egg in a bowl and didn’t look at us at all.

Lotte folded up the newspaper and pushed it away. “Tea?”

I shook my head. “Still acclimating to tea,” I said.

“It always helps my hangover.”

I pushed my hair from my face, feeling very much like a slob in her presence. “Well, luckily for me, I don’t have the kind of headache I’m sure I deserve.”

“Oh, that kind of night?” She propped her chin on her hand. “I’d love to hear about it, but I’m afraid you can’t indulge my curiosity if you can’t actually remember it.”

“I can.” Ames finally spoke. He handed me a plate of scrambled eggs and salt and pepper shakers. “Seeing as you racked up one hell of a bar tab, I think I’m qualified to talk about how you behaved.”

Wincing, I wrung my hands over and over in my lap. “I’m afraid to ask just how high it got.”

“Well, since I now know you can hold your booze, you can imagine how much was enough to knock you down.”

I took the first bite of eggs and my stomach growled impatiently. “Did I give you my credit card?” I hated that I’d been so drunk to not remember any of this. But, on the same token, I found myself completely at ease, eating breakfast with Ames and Lotte.

“No. You actually dumped your purse—two times, in fact—and gave us all the dosh you had.”

I tried to remember how much cash I’d pulled out of the last ATM I’d visited, but I couldn’t recall how much I’d had left. “Well, I hope it was enough.”

Lotte took a big sip of her tea. “I heard Jennie accuse you of giving her free refills. Like, all of them.” She waggled her eyebrows as she looked at Ames.

Out of my periphery, Ames turned and gave Lotte a look that had absolutely no effect on her.

“Jennie has no room to talk. She’s the one who kept giving Mila alcohol.”

I held up my hand. “I’m a big girl, and I’m responsible for my decisions—terrible as they were last night. Don’t blame Jennie.”

Ames carried two plates to the table and handed one to Lotte as he sat. “That’s well and good, but Jennie should know better than to keep serving a person as pissed as you were last night.”

I winced, and was so embarrassed once again. “I don’t usually get that drunk.”

“It’s not like you’re the first person to get trashed at the pub this year, not even this week.”

Ames pointed at Lotte with his fork. “You’re right. I believe that honor belongs to you, love.”

Love. That word summoned a memory—Ames calling me it. I knew it was a casual term of endearment, but the word made me feel all tingly and warm—like when he’d touched my lower back.

“These are great eggs,” I said, and shoveled another forkful into my mouth.

Ames didn’t reply, just chewed as one side of his mouth lifted. I loved the look in his eyes, like he was laughing with me at the exchange. He was so serious all the time, so intensely quiet. To see him like this, in his home, joking with Lotte was refreshing. So refreshing that I wasn’t eager to leave this moment.

“Ames.”

All three of our heads swiveled to the man in the doorway, who took up the entire frame. He was dark, with several days’ scruff over his chin.

“There’s a delivery downstairs.”

Without a word, Ames stood and pushed his chair back. His hand grazed over my shoulder as he left the room and Lotte stood, gesturing to the seat beside me. “Sit, Dad. This is Mila.”

The man paused, peering at me from where he stood in the doorway. “Mila.”

I nodded and took his outstretched hand, which swallowed mine entirely. He had to have been six-foot-five, and seemed like at some point he’d been muscular. But there was a sense of sadness about him, a wallowing in the way he shifted into his seat, more slowly than a man of his age should move.

“I’m Asher.” He sighed as he adjusted himself in the chair and Lotte handed him a plate she’d loaded up with food. “Lotte’s father.”

“So nice to meet you,” I said, and twisted the napkin in my lap as nerves worked their way through my fingers. I’d figured out that Lotte was fine with her brother-in-law seeing someone else—if you could even call it that, but I didn’t know what the father of Ames’ deceased wife would think.

“You’re American?”

“Yep.” I exchanged glances with Lotte, who seemed terribly interested in what I had to say. “I’m here another three weeks.”

“For work, or for a bit of fun?” His voice was deep and gruff, and it made me think of a drill sergeant in how he commanded attention by just the tone of his voice.

“A bit of the former and a lot of the latter.”

His expression softened and his lips spread. “That’s good. Seen anything you fancy?”

I thought of Ames, but decided it best that I not specify that. “Well, I’ve gotten lost a few times. Some of those times were somewhat on purpose, though.” I chewed on the toast as I thought. “I’ve danced at Lotte’s beautiful studio.” She smiled proudly at me, but didn’t add anything. “Oh! I saw Big Ben. Actually, I tried to.”

“Mila got knocked over on Westminster Bridge.”

His brown eyes went wide and he tilted his head to look at me. “Oh?”

“Yes. Luckily, Ames was there to save me. He and Sam pulled me over the railing.”

He closed his eyes and then coughed. “Ames didn’t say anything about that. How peculiar.”

“It’s not like Ames to brag about anything, much less possibly saving someone’s life,” Lotte said gently. “But they did. And then they brought her here.”

“And I haven’t left since.” I grinned at Lotte who grinned back. “It’s a lovely pub,” I told him. “The name is so unique.”

Asher chewed thoughtfully. “But it’s really not. It was my wife’s idea, actually.” Lotte handed him a cup of tea, which he sipped and then sighed. “Are you a God-fearing Christian, Mila?”

I wasn’t sure if my answering gulp was audible, but it seemed like it could’ve been heard from miles away.

“Aw, Dad. No need to send her running for the hills.”

Asher held up a hand toward Lotte. “Charlotte, I’m not giving her a sermon here. I’m simply asking a question.”

“Sorry. He’s kind of intense.” Lotte laughed.

“I hardly leave the flat, Charlotte. I like to talk to interesting people.”

I took a deep breath, feeling like I was under the firing squad despite what Asher had told Lotte. “I think faith is complicated, and deeply personal.” The answer didn’t seem to satisfy them, because they both waited for me to continue. “I don’t go to a church and I don’t tithe, but I believe that there’s a reason for everything, even if I don’t always agree with it.” It was hard to say, without hesitation, that I believed in a God who could give my brother a potentially-fatal condition, the same God who pulled the rug out from under my boyfriend for that same condition.

“Why’s that, if you don’t mind my asking?”

I had to be careful about my wording. “My brother has a condition.” I pointed to my chest. “With his heart. He’s been in and out of hospitals all his life.” I decided that was all I wanted to explain today—there was no need to get into Colin’s own experience with the same condition. “And I’ve watched him struggle our entire twenty-seven years on earth with it.”

“If you think I don’t understand, you’re wrong.” He looked fondly at Lotte, who reached her hand across the worn table and clasped his wrist. “I lost the love of my life and my firstborn over the course of just a few months. And I am still struggling with understanding the why of it all.”

“Ames has told me a bit about your losses. I’m so sorry.” I set my fork down, my stomach churning from the turn in conversation. “I understand loss too.”

“Tell me, has your brother’s condition changed anything for you? Caused you to look at things differently, perhaps?”

His condition was the very reason I was who I was—a woman my parents didn’t understand, a woman who did things to the beat of her own drum, things my brother couldn’t do. “Yes.”

“The greatest thing death has taught me is the value of life.” Then he chuckled, but he didn’t sound particularly amused. “I’m still struggling with that.”

“You’re doing great, Dad.” Lotte squeezed his arm again before pulling away. Then she looked pointedly at me, and it was as if I could hear her thoughts. Remember what I told you in the studio?

“Anyway, Free Refills was born from my wife’s faith. Where I faltered, Rayna was steadfast.” He coughed again and Lotte nudged his teacup closer to him. “Every time she felt her spirit being emptied, she had trust it would be filled again. And it always was.” His smile was sad, soft, and Lotte seemed lost in the contents of her teacup. “Her faith was limitless, and she believed that if you were in need, your need would be met.” He leaned on the table, facing me. “There’s a passage in the Bible about a widow providing bread for Elijah, despite her low stock of flour and oil. Somehow, the jar of flour and jug of oil refilled themselves until the famine plaguing them receded.” He waved his hand. “Free Refills.”

Things were starting to click after I heard that explanation. “Your wife sounds like she was an inspirational woman.”

“She was.” He brought his toast to his mouth but paused before biting it. “Despite not sharing a cell of DNA, Ames is like her. Good, in a way that’s deeper than the surface—in a way that no one else can see. And he doesn’t need or even want acknowledgement for the acts of service he does, but by God does he deserve it.”

I felt like I’d seen glimpses of it myself, under his quiet and calm exterior. But he still kept so much of himself hidden, that hearing all of this from his in-laws made me want to dig in deeper, to figure out more about him. I had a yearning for knowledge that I’d never had before.

“He is good.” I looked at Lotte for a moment, before sucking up the courage I needed to say what I wanted to say. “I have to admit, I drank way too much in your pub last night. I was probably a huge hassle, but Ames let me sleep in his bed and took the floor.” I wasn’t sure why I felt compelled to explain my presence, but after hearing what Asher had said about Ames, I felt like assuring him that Ames hadn’t brought some random hookup into his house.

“Really?” Asher sat back and then put a hand to his chin as he rubbed it thoughtfully. “He slept on the floor?”

I nodded.

“No funny business?”

I shook my head.

He pursed his lips. “Well, then. That explains why he seems so worn out today.” He winked, and then he laughed, a sound so loud that it startled me. Lotte joined his laughing, and by the time Ames had reappeared, he was staring at all of us like we were all crazy. Which, I wasn’t entirely sure we weren’t. And as the laughing subsided, something about the expression on Ames face made me suddenly feel like I was intruding.