Page 32 of In at the Deep End
He’d gone into Winchester to visit his solicitor, followed by a trip to the bank. That had turned to a leisurely wander around the city, getting his bearings.
It also reminded him of Matt.
He’d love this place.
Winchester was steeped in history. The cathedral. Wolvesey Castle. The old streets. The Morley Library. Every corner seemed to have another story attached to it.
Owen smiled into his pint.
I wonder how many of them he already knows. I should ask him.
Then he remembered Matt had grown up here.
He could probably spend an entire afternoon telling me about this city.
That sounded like time well spent.
What fascinated Owen wasn’t Matt’s knowledge, but his enthusiasm.
I bet I could mention any one of these places and Matt wouldn’t start reeling off dates. He’d talk about the people who’d lived there, the choices they’d made, the lives they’d changed.
Somehow Matt made history feel current.
A young man dressed in black appeared with Owen’s prawn sandwich, and Owen thanked him. He leaned back in his chair. This was bliss. No rush, no meetings, no deadlines, nothing but lunch and people-watching. There’d be plenty of time in the coming days and weeks for sorting out the house.
Funny how quickly a stranger could make a new house feel less empty.
He chuckled to himself. I could get used to having an expert on hand to stop me buying resin squirrels.
From behind him came a deep, somehow familiar rumble of laughter.
“No, we are not building a golf course.” The speaker was American.
“I’m only talking nine holes.” The second voice was unmistakably British.
Another laugh. “Nobody needs nine holes.”
“Golfers do.”
“Then golfers are weird. And don’t think I didn’t see you checking out the guy in the lounge after.”
“Oh, come on. He was gorgeous.”
Their voices struck a chord in Owen’s mind.
“Adam, for the last time, you can’t go around handing out Second Bite business cards. One of these days you’re gonna get us arrested.”
Adam…. And that accent…
Owen froze.
No.
It couldn’t be…
He turned around, and came face to face with two men. They hadn’t changed much in twelve years: Adam was as bald as ever, his dark beard streaked with more silver, and Gray’s sun-bleached waves were still unruly, only now there were a mix of blond and silver, his beard lighter than Owen remembered it.
Oh my God.
