The Tutor

Chapter 9

The morning was chilly enough for Nora to grab a cup of hot coffee and nestle upstairs in the cosy cafe that doubled as a bookshop. Nora had settled into her favourite spot close to Daunt's literature section that had small round tables and wooden stools scattered around different areas.

A cold draft slipped past. Nora tugged down the sleeves of her cardigan to keep her hands warm and wondered if Rafe knew what ten o'clock sharp meant. It was now ten thirty. For a person desperate to learn, he didn't look like he was in a hurry.

Nora loved this bookshop. More than a century old, it had once been an inn reputed to be frequented by secret lovers of the upper class and run by a famously wealthy madame who'd managed to buy her way into high society. She wondered what kinds of things had happened between these brick and plaster walls whose present October draughts made her pull her jumper closer. Immersed in her musings of an Edwardian woman waiting to meet her Italian lover, she barely caught the lazy approach of footsteps in time to compose herself.

She peeked over the rim of her book and caught Rafe watching her with tired, bloodshot eyes.

He had a subtle growth of stubble on his strong jaw, and his hair had become long and messy. He looked dishevelled and exhausted. How he still looked handsome, in a rugged way, was a mystery to someone like her. It kind of annoyed her, actually.

The chair scraped the floor with a screech as he pulled it and sat down. He dumped his books, a crumpled piece of paper, and a pen onto the table. The mess that he created in a split-second annoyed her even more. The snug, historical atmosphere had disappeared. She sat rigid, her book in hand, and stared at him hard.

He caught her glare and threw his backpack on the floor. "What?"

"Why are you late?"

"I barely got up this morning," Rafe explained, rubbing his temples. His voice was scratchy.

Nora caught a scent of alcohol lingering on his breath, along with coffee and the scent of expensive aftershave. "I've never woken up earlier than noon on a weekend."

Looking at the clock, he looked oddly proud of himself.

"Why did you barely get up this morning?" Nora could hardly contain her irritation. She knew the answer to that question already.

"Went out to a pub last night."

"So that's your excuse?"

"What is your problem?" he said. "I showed up, didn't I? So, I'm a little late; I'm still paying you for the full hour. And any additional charges or whatever," he said as if he were the one doing Nora a favour and not the other way around.

There was a moment of silence. Nora reached into her pocket, crushed the fifty-pound note in both of her hands as if moulding a snowball, and flicked it in his face.

"Donna pazza!" he said as he bent down to reach the note that bounced off his face and onto the floor. "What's wrong with you?"

"This isn't about the money. This is once again about your bad manners. This was a mistake after all," she said, standing up.

"Okay, okay..." he said, putting his hands up. He had the cheek to smirk, "Where's the janitor's room?"

She shut her book and grabbed her bag. Rafe jumped out of his seat to block her way out. Humor went out of his face. "Where are you going?"

"I knew this wasn't going to work. You got your full refund. Now get out of my way."

Rafe rubbed his face but would not move. "Why are you making this so damn difficult? I thought we had a deal."