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CHAPTER 20

C hapter 20

Sebastian’s breakthrough came in the dusty reading room of the London Metropolitan Archives on a rain-soaked Saturday morning. He’d spent days methodically combing through Blitz-era collections, searching for any mention of Rebecca Ainsley or Rebecca Williams—names that might connect to Will Donovan.

An archivist delivered another stack of materials when Sebastian noticed a slim, faded volume: Voices from the Darkness: Civilian Accounts of the London Blitz . Published in 1950, it contained firsthand testimonies from ordinary Londoners.

He almost overlooked it, but something made him add it to his pile. Hours later, fighting eye strain, Sebastian turned a page and froze. There, in a chapter titled “Those We Lost,” was an account by Rebecca Williams, age 20.

I had known William for only three months when the bombs began falling on London. He worked at The Red Lion pub as a cellarman, always smiling despite the long hours. We would walk together on his evenings off, talking about what we might do when the war ended. The night of September 7th, I was staying with my aunt in Hampstead. William was working late at the pub. I never saw him again...

This was it. Rebecca Williams—not Rebecca Ainsley. A young woman who had loved Will and lost him to the Blitz.

Sebastian immediately requested photocopies, then called Tessa. When her voicemail answered, he left a clipped message: “I found her. Rebecca Williams. Call me when you can.”

By six-thirty, Sebastian arrived at The Red Lion carrying the photocopies and original volume. But he’d also brought apple-cinnamon pastries from across town and mulled cider from Covent Garden—treats Tessa had mentioned loving weeks ago.

The bell chimed as he entered. Tessa looked up from behind the bar, her expression shifting to something warmer.

“You found her,” she said, stepping around the bar with that graceful movement he’d noticed from day one.

“Rebecca Williams. She wrote about Will in a collection of Blitz testimonies.” Sebastian set everything down carefully. “What’s all this?” she asked, noticing the pastries and cider.

“Sustenance,” he replied, aiming for casual. “You mentioned once that you liked?—“

“You remembered,” she said softly, her expression shifting to something that made his breath catch.

Their fingers brushed as he handed her a cup, the contact lasting longer than necessary. Neither pulled away quickly.

Before he could respond, Harry arrived with the twins, both boys wearing their blinking ghost-hunting equipment.

“Ghost hunting emergency,” Harry announced. “Apparently, the sad soldier needs backup tonight.”

The twins ran straight toward Sebastian. “Mr. Sebastian!” Malcolm cried. “The soldier says you found Rebecca!”

Sebastian exchanged a bewildered glance with Tessa. “How did you possibly know that?”

“He told us,” Ewan said simply. “He’s been waiting.”

The boys led them to corners of the pub with uncanny accuracy, their devices guiding them to spots only Tessa had noted privately.

“The soldier is happy,” Malcolm declared at the fireplace. “But he’s still waiting.”

“For you to help him say goodbye, I think,” he added with four-year-old pragmatism.

Eventually, they settled at a corner table. As they examined the book, Sebastian was hyperconscious of Tessa beside him—how she leaned closer to read, her subtle perfume mixing with the cider’s warmth.

“Rebecca never knew what happened to him,” Harry observed, scanning the pages.

“She wrote about him ten years later,” Tessa added, her finger trailing across the page. “Still wondering.”

“There’s more,” Sebastian said, opening his laptop. “She married in 1952. Had three children.” He turned the screen toward them. “Their eldest son was named William.”

“She named her son after him,” Tessa said quietly. “She remembered. Just like he wanted.”

Malcolm had been watching them with peculiar intensity. He wandered to the mantel, studying a vase of wheat and berries.

“The soldier says these look like home,” he announced. “From before. When he was little.”

Then Ewan approached their table, unusually serious. He looked directly at Tessa, then at Sebastian. “The soldier is happy now,” he announced matter-of-factly before wandering back to his brother. Sebastian found himself studying Tessa’s face, noting how her expression had softened with something that looked like wonder. When she noticed his attention, their eyes met across the candlelight, and his pulse quickened at the warmth he found there.

Harry returned from a phone call, frowning. “Daphne says one of the boys had a nightmare. Said ‘the soldier is scared of being forgotten.’”

“Will’s fear,” Tessa said. “Being forgotten is what’s kept him here.”

“Maybe he needs public acknowledgment,” Harry suggested as he gathered the twins. “Proper closure.”

As Harry bundled the sleepy boys into coats and said their goodbyes, Sebastian helped clear the table, hyperaware of every brush of Tessa’s fingers against his. With the pub quiet again, Sebastian hesitated at the door. “Would you like to get dinner? We could keep talking about Rebecca.”

Tessa’s face lit up. “I’d like that.”

They ended up at a cozy Italian place nearby. Over wine, Sebastian found himself sharing stories he rarely told anyone.

“My grandfather was the family rebel,” he said. “An academic who married for love instead of strategy. My love of old buildings, of history—that’s all him.” He paused. “I think that’s why The Red Lion called to me.”

“And now you’re helping preserve it,” Tessa said softly. “He’d be proud.”

The words hit him with unexpected force. They spoke easily after that, barriers dissolving. Sebastian found himself describing his grandfather’s country house, while Tessa laughed about her disastrous first attempts at pulling pints. She shared stories of learning to tend bar at fifteen, of the art history degree she’d abandoned when her parents died and left her the pub.

This felt like a real date—the kind he’d stopped believing in. And he didn’t want it to end.

“I should probably get going,” Tessa said eventually, though her tone suggested reluctance.

He walked her home through streets damp with autumn mist, slowing their pace, reluctant to reach her door.

“Thanks for dinner,” she said at her building, keys in hand but not using them. “And for finding Rebecca.”

The space between them shimmered with possibility. Sebastian found himself leaning forward, drawn by forces he couldn’t analyze.

Tessa’s lips parted slightly, her eyes searching his face. For one perfect moment, she seemed to lean toward him too. Then she smiled—soft, inviting, done with hesitation.

“About time,” she whispered, and then her lips were on his.

This kiss was different from their others—no urgency, no interruption looming. Just the two of them in the misty London night, finally giving in to what had been building between them all evening. Sebastian’s hands came up to frame her face as she melted into him, keys forgotten.

When they broke apart, both were breathing unsteadily.

“That was...” Sebastian started.

“Long overdue,” Tessa finished with a smile that made his heart skip.

“Goodnight, Sebastian,” she said, finally turning her key but looking back at him with eyes that promised this was just the beginning.

“Goodnight, Tessa.”

He walked away slowly, the almost-moment replaying endlessly. Later, in his penthouse, Sebastian opened Rebecca’s book again. Her words whispered with new meaning:

I still find myself looking for his face in crowds. I still feel the ghost of his hand holding mine...

Will and Rebecca—lovers separated by war and circumstance. But he and Tessa were still here, still had time to choose each other. And Sebastian intended to make sure they did.