Page 11

CHAPTER 10

S ebastian woke considerably earlier than usual, the lingering energy of last night’s storm-lit conversation with Tessa still humming beneath his skin. He’d revealed more in those quiet text messages than he had to anyone in years, and instead of feeling exposed, he felt oddly energized. As if admitting his childhood fascination with history had been like finally taking off shoes that were two sizes too small.

His father would have been appalled by such strategic carelessness, but then again, his father had never had to deal with ghosts. Or Tessa Lawson, for that matter.

As Sebastian dressed for the day—deliberately selecting charcoal rather than his usual severe black suit—he couldn’t shake the ridiculous nervous energy that had him checking his phone repeatedly like a schoolboy waiting for exam results.

Over morning coffee, he found exactly what he’d been hoping for: an email from his researcher with the subject line “Red Lion Employment Records - FOUND HER.”

Sebastian’s pulse quickened as he read the attached report. Rebecca Ainsley. Weekend service, The Red Lion Public House. April 1941 to December 1943.

Will’s letter had been addressed to Rebecca, and here she was—not a figment of imagination, but a real person with documented employment history. Someone who’d returned to the very place where Will had died, as if drawn by invisible threads of memory.

The research notes revealed that Rebecca hadn’t simply worked briefly at The Red Lion—she’d stayed for nearly three years, eventually rising to assistant manager. This was a woman who’d made a deliberate choice to remain, to build a life in the place that held her most painful memories.

A woman who’d stayed, possibly waiting for someone who would never come home.

Sebastian was texting Tessa before he’d even finished his coffee.

Sebastian: Found her. Rebecca Ainsley, employed at The Red Lion 1941–1943. Coming over now if that’s all right.

By the time he arrived at The Red Lion, he could see Tessa through the front windows, moving behind the bar with unconscious grace. A smile formed on his lips before he could suppress it—an involuntary response that should have been concerning but somehow felt entirely natural.

The familiar bell chimed as he entered, and Tessa looked up with an expression of welcome that made something warm unfurl in his chest.

“The coffee just finished brewing,” she said, already reaching for a clean mug. “You take it black with one sugar, if I remember correctly?”

“You remembered,” he said, accepting the perfectly prepared coffee. “I’m impressed. Most people can’t be bothered with details like that.”

“Most people aren’t trying to solve an eighty-year-old love story with you,” she replied with a smile that made his pulse quicken. “So—Rebecca?”

“Employment records from the borough archive,” Sebastian said, setting his leather folder on the bar with satisfaction. “My researcher found her this morning. She started here in April 1941, initially weekend shifts, promoted to assistant manager by the following year.”

Tessa leaned closer to examine the documents, and Sebastian caught the scent of lavender soap and something warm that was becoming dangerously familiar. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek, catching the morning light.

“Seven months after Will disappeared,” she observed thoughtfully. “She came back looking for him, didn’t she?”

“Almost certainly,” Sebastian replied, distracted by her proximity and the way her finger traced the research notes. “The timing can’t be coincidental. She knew he’d vanished, and this was his last known workplace.”

“Working here for nearly three years,” Tessa mused. “I wonder if she was hoping he’d return? Or maybe trying to find out what happened to him?”

“It’s possible,” Sebastian said, though concentrating on historical analysis was becoming difficult when he could see the gold flecks in her eyes. “Three years is a long time to stay somewhere if you’re not getting the answers you’re looking for.”

Tessa tucked that persistent strand behind her ear, but it immediately fell forward again. Sebastian found himself reaching out instinctively to brush it back—then caught himself mid-gesture, fingers hovering just above her cheek.

Tessa looked up at exactly that moment, their eyes meeting across the small space. The world seemed to pause, suspended in one of those crystalline moments where everything felt possible and terrifying and inevitable. Her lips were slightly parted, her breath coming just fast enough to suggest she felt the same electric tension.

Sebastian’s fingers were still poised near her face, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. All he would have to do was move his hand those last few inches...

Then the pub’s front door banged open like a small explosion.

“Bloody hell, it’s absolutely arctic in here!” Harry Crighton’s Scottish brogue shattered the moment. “Have you two noticed there’s a supernatural draft following you about?”

Sebastian jerked his hand back, heat crawling up his neck. Tessa shifted backward with equally obvious haste, color flooding her cheeks.

“Oh! Harry,” Tessa said, practically jumping away from Sebastian.

“Looks like I’m interrupting something,” Harry said with a knowing grin. “Though Will seems to approve - it’s absolutely arctic in here. Ghost must be excited about the romance.”

“Will’s getting excited about Rebecca,” Tessa said, pulling her cardigan tighter around herself. “He’s been making the pub feel like the Arctic Circle whenever we make progress.”

“Romantic ghost,” Harry mused. “At least he has good timing. Unlike me, apparently.” His grin suggested he understood exactly what he’d interrupted.

“Sebastian found Rebecca Ainsley in the employment records,” Tessa said, gesturing toward the scattered papers. “She came back to work here after Will disappeared.”

Harry studied the documents thoughtfully. “So she returned to the place where he’d worked, even after he was gone? That’s either very romantic or very stubborn.”

“Both, probably,” Sebastian said, attempting professional composure. “We’re still piecing together the complete story.”

“You two make quite the research team,” Harry observed with a knowing smile. “Very...thorough.”

Sebastian avoided Harry’s too-perceptive gaze and straightened in his chair.

“By the way,” Harry continued casually, “did Tessa mention Oliver’s news? He’s just purchased that country estate Alice wanted. Seventeenth-century manor, original features, even has its own lake. Complete historical restoration planned.”

Sebastian felt a familiar competitive twinge. Of course Oliver was buying historical estates now.

“Has he indeed,” Sebastian replied, voice carefully neutral.

“Perfect for their expanding family,” Harry added cheerfully. “Alice is expecting their second, and the estate has a proper library. Original shelving and everything.”

“A library,” Sebastian repeated, jaw tightening slightly. “How...comprehensive of him.”

Tessa glanced at Sebastian with curious eyes, clearly noting his reaction.

“Well,” Sebastian said, rising abruptly, “I should get back to the office. Board meeting at eleven.”

Tessa’s expression flickered with disappointment. “Of course. Thank you for the breakthrough with Rebecca.”

Sebastian paused near the bar, aware he was leaving too abruptly but unable to articulate why Oliver’s perfect historical estate had gotten under his skin.

“I’ll keep researching,” he said, voice softer. “There has to be more about Rebecca somewhere.”

“I really appreciate everything you’re doing,” Tessa replied quietly, that persistent strand of hair escaping again.

This time, Sebastian didn’t reach for it. Not with Harry looking very interested in their every interaction.

“I’ll be in touch,” he said, and left before he could complicate things further.

Outside, settling into his Aston Martin, Sebastian reflected wryly that his father would be appalled by his current priorities. Raymond Westfield had never wasted time on historical research or ghostly justice. He certainly wouldn’t have understood getting emotionally invested in people who’d been dead for decades.

But as Sebastian drove away from The Red Lion, he realized he wasn’t particularly concerned about his father’s theoretical disapproval anymore. Not when a forgotten young man was counting on them for justice. Not when Tessa Lawson was beginning to look at him with something warmer than professional necessity.

And definitely not when that long-buried part of himself—the boy who’d sketched artifacts at the British Museum—was finally stirring back to life.