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“Yes.”

“What about you? What do you like to read?”

“Me? I like crime novels and thrillers.”

“No classics?”

“I read the classics at school. I didn’t have a choice.” His voice faded as he finished his sentence and his mouth dipped at the corners.

Oh? Dylan didn’t like school?

“Where did you go to school?” I knew about Oxford University, but that was all. I didn’t even know where he’d grown up.

“I went to school in Bedfordshire.”

“Is that where you lived?”

“No.”

I frowned, not understanding.

“It was a boarding school,” he clarified.

“You were a boarder!”

“Yes. Since I was seven.”

“Oh.” Boarding! From seven years old! “That was Billy’s age,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” Dylan said quietly. “After my mother died, my stepfather packed me off to school. It was a blessing really.”

I took a sharp breath. I couldn’t imagine being ripped away from all I knew… at seven. That seemed so cruel. But Dylan said it was a blessing—that didn’t sound good either. My mother never mentioned her father, Dylan’s stepfather, and I’d never really thought about why, until now. This was the most forthcoming Dylan had been with me.

And what a revelation.

I stared out the window and thought about young Dylan packed off to school, having lost his mother at the same age my little brother was. A lump rose in my throat.

Poor Doctor Dyl.

Poor Billy.

The pub was quaint and charming, perched high on Richmond Hill. We were ushered to a table beside a window that looked out at an impressive view of the Thames, though it was somewhat obscured by the foliage from the trees that lined the opposite side of the street.

Dylan passed me a menu. “What would you like to drink?”

“Um… champagne?” And I couldn’t help a cheeky grin.

His eyebrows rose in surprise. “You think?”

“Please?”

“Emily…”

“Please?”

“Okay. We can toast your exam results.”

“Thank you.”