A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Why, Beatrice Gillespie, I believe you are right.” Jasper laughs, but his tone turns serious as he continues. “Unless you’d rather I didn’t? In which case, I will stop immediately.”

  We turn and I recognize the white van we drove up in. We’re back to where we started, which means a chat and a cup of tea with Rose. Which makes me a little bolder, knowing we’ll have a buffer between us soon. I keep my drawl and say, “I’d rather you put your money where your mouth is, but I can wait. Hours, possibly days.”

  Jasper stops at the end of the sidewalk leading up to the apartment building. “Days? What about weeks?”

  I shake my head. “Oh, sugar, you won’t want to wait that long. Who are you kidding?”

  Jasper throws his head back and laughs, pulling me up the sidewalk. “You forget I’m a scientist. Waiting is one of my specialties.”

  I narrow my eyes and can’t resist throwing out a final zinger as Jasper yanks at the door. “I didn’t say you can’t wait. I said you wouldn’t want to. There’s a world of difference.”

  Jasper’s still laughing as he knocks on the apartment door and this time a short bald man answers. He smiles and says, “Well, aren’t you bloody cheerful.” He yells over his shoulder. “Rosie, you didn’t say anything about Jaz being so damn merry.”

  “He wasn’t,” Rose yells from somewhere in the apartment. “Invite them in. Don’t leave them out there molting on the mat, for goodness’ sake.”

  George moves out of the way and Jasper clasps him on the shoulder as he walks in, still holding my hand. I keep waiting for him to drop it – these people know him, they know his parents, they know Scarlett – but he doesn’t. He says, “I’m tickled to see you again, George, that’s all. How are you? Mum said you’ve been tired.”

  George gestures us towards the living room. There’s a green and pink floral couch and two mauve wingback chairs and I know I’m going to choose one of the chairs before I’m even aware I’ve let go of Jasper’s hand. There’s too much history – and too much opportunity for Rose or George to mention to Hannah that Jasper and I seemed “awfully cozy”. And then Hannah tells Scarlett and I’m screwed. Especially after our conversation the other night.

  George gives me a funny look as I dart for a chair, but then says, “I’m tired, but it’s old age. Sixty-eight isn’t what it used to be.”

  Jasper sits on the end of the couch closest to me and, despite how eager I was for his touch twenty minutes ago, I pray he doesn’t reach for me. He doesn’t. He gives his full attention to George, asking him questions about his grandchildren and talking football stats. It’s only when Rose comes in, balancing a full tray, that either of them seem to remember I’m in the room. And only because I jump up and say, “Oh, Rose. I’m sorry. I should have helped.”

  “Nonsense. You sit right back down.” She sets the tray on the coffee table and makes a production of arranging the cups and saucers before pouring the tea. She pours mine first and says, “Ladies first. How do you take it?”

  “Milk and a sweetener.” I hunch my shoulders. “I’m afraid my American-ness is showing.”

  “As long as you don’t drink it over ice, you can stay,” Rose says with a smile as she continues pouring tea. She obviously knows how everyone else takes theirs because she doesn’t ask, just pours and hands the cups around.

  My eyes dart to Jasper and I can’t help the giggle rising in the back of my throat. He shakes his head but grins, too. George clears his throat. “We can make an exception, of course.”

  Jasper coughs into his hand, but his grin stays. “No, sorry. That’s not it. Bea and I have a long-standing disagreement about iced tea. I’m happy to say you’ve helped to prove my point.”

  “However, wouldn’t you agree the problem isn’t the ice and ice has its uses?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. I don’t know if this is a sign of progress that both of us are laughing about the memory of our conversation about ice and foreplay, but it beats the awkward alternative.

  Jasper chokes out another cough-laugh as Rose replies, “Well, of course. But why do I get the feeling there’s more to this disagreement than you’re letting on?”

  She smiles in a way that makes both Jasper and me laugh out loud and he says, “My lips are sealed. But again, thank you for helping to prove my point. You’re looking well, Rose. Mum said you haven’t been feeling too well, but you look as gorgeous as ever to me.”

  Rose frowns and looks at me. “Is he this way with you? Please tell me you don’t let him get away with this kind of rubbish.”

  “Let me assure you,” Jasper says, “Bea doesn’t let me get away with much of anything and I’m better for it.”

  My cheeks flame, not so much at Jasper’s words as from the way George studies me. He takes a sip of his tea and nods once like he’s decided something important. His question is innocuous when he says, “So, you’re in England for the summer, are you? Then what?”

  “I go back to my teaching job in Atlanta. I teach middle school math.” I glance at Jasper. “I mean maths.”

  “Didn’t Hannah tell me you’re going to Atlanta to do some teaching in the fall?” Rose asks Jasper.

  He nods and I try not to choke on my tea. I knew he was talking to a professor in Atlanta, but I didn’t know it had actually turned into an offer. “I confirmed the arrangements last night. I’ll be teaching undergrad biology and studying with Dr. David Feldstein, who’s the leading expert in my field of research. It’s a really rare opportunity and one I’m lucky to get.”

  “What do you study again?” George asks.

  “Molecular biology with a focus on genetics.” Jasper laughs a little. “Basically, my research focuses on why certain traits are transferred genetically but others aren’t. For example, did you know the breast cancer gene is more likely to be found in white women than in any other ethnic group, but African American women develop breast cancer at a median age of thirty-three versus forty for Caucasians?”

  George straightens. “I didn’t, but that’ll be somewhat useful, won’t it?”

  “And this Dr. Feldstein has invited you to study with him?” Rose asks.

  “Sort of. He’s doing a control-group study and I’ve been invited to join the research team. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to participate in a meaningful way. If I’m not lucky, I’ll be the one fetching coffee and trying to learn by osmosis. So it’s a win-win either way.” Jasper sounds so sure of himself.

  And hot as that is, I want to get back to the part where he’s going to be in Atlanta in the fall. “Wow. It’s a great opportunity then,” I say. My voice sounds thin and strange.

  Jasper nods, but he doesn’t look my way. “It really is. I mean, there’s the research part, but having experience on an international team will be great for my CV.”

  Rose asks how the whole student visa thing works. George mentions some new barbecue place in Manchester Jasper will have to check out in preparation for his move to Atlanta because it’s supposedly authentic. Jasper, for his part, answers everything with easy assurance. I interject occasionally, but no one seems to notice my lack of involvement.

  Except Jasper. Who grabs my hand as we head back to the garage behind George and Rose’s building to get the chairs and says, “I got confirmation about the Atlanta placement last night. I was going to tell you.”

  Jasper and I have a brief past, a very tenuous present, and no foreseeable future. I have two choices – freaking out about what might happen or staying in the moment. Sitting on George and Rose’s mauve wingback chair, I swore I’d stay in the moment, even though it goes against every instinct I have.

  No one can say I’m not giving Plan B a fair shot.

  I squeeze Jasper’s hand. “Don’t worry about it. It sounds really great.”

  “It is. I mean, it is really great, but it doesn’t mean…”

  I swallow down the part of me still freaking out and put my finger over Jasper’s lips. “Stop. We’re on a blind date, remember? You don’t owe me an explanation.
At least not tonight.”

  “Bea--”

  “Jasper.” I make my voice stern. “As blind dates go, this one’s ranking in my top five and moving up. Let’s not ruin it now.”

  “Okay.” Jasper bites his lip and nods. Then he arranges his mouth into a smile and says, “Top five, huh? Let’s see if moving some chairs can inch it up to number four.”

  Oh, boy. Forced cheerfulness is the last thing I want and I feel the familiar tightness in my chest I’ve come to expect of my interactions with Jasper. But dammit, I can see Plan B through for one night. Can’t I?

  I make myself smile back and give it my best shot. “Trust me, it will beat the blind date I had junior year of college where the guy I was with was rushed to the hospital during our date.”

  “No way. What did you do to him?” This time Jasper’s smile is more genuine.

  “He had an allergic reaction to something he ate. It was actually pretty terrifying because I didn’t know him, so I didn’t know he even had a food allergy. And to all of a sudden be in the back of an ambulance with a blind date…definitely not the way to win my heart.”

  “Noted.” Jasper lets go of my hand to fish a key ring from his pocket. “So, did you ever go out with him again?”

  “Funny enough, no. I stayed with him at the hospital, but wasn’t allowed in with him since I wasn’t family. When he was released, he called one of his roommates or someone to come pick him up and walked right by me in the waiting room like we’d never met. I don’t know if he was embarrassed or what, but we never even spoke again.” I make a face as Jasper fiddles with the key in the padlock. “Obviously I dodged a bullet, but you’d think he could at least say thank you.”

  Jasper turns the key and the lock springs open. “I promise, if I end up in the hospital tonight, I will not only acknowledge you, but beg for you at my bedside.”

  I laugh and the tension in my chest eases. “How about we make it a goal no one ends up in the hospital? Unless you’re going to have an allergic reaction to physical labor I should know about?”

  “Nah,” Jasper says, pulling open the door. “If I didn’t go down the science route, I was going to study agriculture and farming. When I was younger, I really wanted to run an organic farm.”

  That doesn’t fit with my image of Jasper at all, but I don’t get to ask about it because he switches on a light and I follow him into the garage. It’s definitely the neatest garage I’ve ever seen, with everything arranged in orderly piles. Including a huge stack of chairs. I point to it. “Are we taking all of those?”

  “We need one hundred. George has a trolley around here somewhere that will make it go faster.” He turns and puts his hand on my arm. “Stay here and I’ll find everything first. This place looks tidy, but there are hidden hazards.”

  “Speaking of trips to the emergency room,” I say but stay put, watching Jasper. He moves with the ease of someone who’s been here before and I ask, “How often do you come over here?”

  “Hardly ever, but I helped George move all of this stuff and he’s left it where it landed, so to speak.” He ducks behind a stack of tables and emerges pushing a flatbed cart. “Aha. I knew there was a trolley here. Ready to get stacking?”

  Um, no. But I do it anyway. It doesn’t take long to find a rhythm. We stack about twenty chairs on the trolley and take them in loads to the van where Jasper heaves them in. It doesn’t seem to me like they’ll all fit, but when he slides the panel door shut, we’re stacked to the brim with one hundred folding chairs.

  George and Rose came out mid-stacking, but both Jasper and I refused their offers of help. Now when they hug us goodbye, we’re damp and sweaty, apologizing profusely as we climb in the van.

  “No apologies necessary,” Rose says as she pats Jasper’s arm. “And bring Bea back sometime when you can stay for a proper visit.”

  Jasper agrees and I don’t call him on it until we’re driving away and out of earshot. “Do I need to put a return trip to Manchester in my calendar then?”

  He grins. “Rose likes you. Who am I to argue with that?”

  There goes that little bubble of warmth in my chest again. God, I’m so easy. I clear my throat and reach for the radio. “Do you mind if we check out the Greater Manchester music selection?”

  Jasper shakes his head and follows the turning instructions on the GPS. I find a station playing Beyoncé and settle back in my seat, watching as we leave the city behind. The clock on the dash says it’s ten o’clock and the sun is starting to set. The long evenings are one of my favorite things about England and I murmur, “It’s the magic hour.”

  “What do you mean?” Jasper asks.

  “The last hour of the day when everything is washed in gold and the hard edges have faded away. I always think of it as the magic hour. It feels like anything could happen. Like magic.” I shrug and give a sheepish smile.

  I sound like a nut, but Jasper’s smile grows and he reaches for my hand. “The magic hour. I like that a lot.”

  We hold hands the whole way back.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Friday, the day of the wedding, starts off bright and sunny. By noon the gray clouds have moved in, and by three, as the activity level approaches frantic, a steady rain starts. If I thought Hannah was tense on the Fourth of July, the combination of the rain and preparations have pushed her over the edge. She even snaps at me as I back through the swinging door of the kitchen, right into her.

  “Dammit, Bea. You have to watch where you’re going.” Hannah’s arms are stacked with dishes and she huffs as she pushes back through the same door.

  “Beware Hurricane Hannah,” Scarlett says, rolling her eyes. “She’ll be all apologetic later, but for now, steer clear.”

  I laugh and put my hands up. “Your mom is nice even when she’s not, so don’t worry about me. What can I do to help?”

  Lou hands me a bag of carrots. “Peel these and chop them into batons we can use for dipping. We also need cucumbers and peppers for the same. When you’re done, you can make the dips. I was thinking a couple types of hummus and a green pea and wasabi for color. The tables in the marquee will need setting too, unless Scarlett gets to it first.”

  “Oh, no. I’m at the bride’s beck and call as of four o’clock.” She rolls her eyes again. “I’m not sure exactly what I’m supposed to do, mind you, but apparently we bonded the other day when she was here and now she wants me involved.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be the calming influence she needs,” I say as I dump the bag of carrots into the sink. To Lou, I say, “I was thinking we could make some flowerettes, too, if we have enough carrots?”

  Lou nods. “More than enough, so feel free.”

  “Look at you making vegetable flowers,” Scarlett says. “Who would have thought?”

  “I know, right? I think I missed my calling as a sous chef.” I laugh, but there’s an underlying truth there. In the weeks I’ve spent in the kitchen under Lou’s tutelage I’ve learned more about food and food prep than I have in the past twenty-four years.

  “You’ve come a long way,” Lou says. “Don’t sell yourself short.”

  I flush with pleasure as Scarlett says, “It’s never too late to change careers. Hey, maybe you could get a job at Einstein’s and bring home free food.”

  “Oh my God, we could eat Mediterranean tart and black walnut cake every night. Can you imagine?”

  Scarlett shakes her head and says, “I can, but then I’d be afraid it would get boring. Kind of like kissing the same guy every night. Fun for a while, until you can’t help cheating on your Mediterranean tart with the Italian calzone down the street.”

  My back is to the door and I don’t hear it swing open over the laughter filling the kitchen. But I do hear Jasper loud and clear as he says, “Maybe you think Mediterranean tarts are your type, but they’re not? I’ve always thought you were more of an English trifle girl myself.”

  “Or spotted dick?” Scarlett says, giggling. “Although, you know, th
at’s generally a bad sign.”

  “Jello. I think jello is your type,” I say, turning slightly so I catch a glimpse of Jasper out of the corner of my eye. We haven’t been alone since our “blind date” on Tuesday night, but we’ve spent plenty of time together – setting up the marquee with Scarlett, Hannah, and Paul, cleaning up after dinner service with Claire and Lou. Jasper’s always been the one to bow out and say goodnight as soon as we’re done with the task at hand, but unlike before, it doesn’t feel like avoidance. Maybe because even in those groups, he’s still found a way to squeeze my hand, put an arm around my waist, and, last night, brush a strand of hair out of my face as I stacked glasses behind the bar. We haven’t kissed since the Fourth of July, but judging by the way my body hums at even these small touches, when we do kiss it will be fireworks.

  Jasper laughs. “I know. The Pillsbury Dough Boy. Scarlett, I think we’ve found your perfect match.”

  “Really, Mr. Sticky Toffee Pudding?” To me, Scarlett says, “Jaz has a long history of dating girls who are neeeedy. God, remember the one girl you went out with a couple years ago? Rachel? Raquel? When you didn’t text her back she got in her car and drove here from Norfolk.”

  “Raquel,” Jasper says. “And yes, I’ll admit, she was a bit of a loose cannon.”

  “Had a screw loose is more like it.” Scarlett looks at me. “What about Bea? Banana split, I think?”

  I hold up a peeled carrot. “I’m more partial to carrot cake myself.”

  “No way. Theo’s vanilla ice cream for sure. I was adding the bananas to give him the benefit of the doubt,” Scarlett says. “I think you need a molten lava cake in your life.”

  I will not look at Jasper. I will not look at Jasper.

  But I can’t help it as he says, “Don’t overlook banoffee pie. Bananas, cream, toffee. There’s a lot of possibilities there. It’s not as obvious as molten lava cake, but it’s got hidden layers.”

  “Jaz is all about the hidden layers,” Scarlett says. “You know what they say about those studious types. Come to think of it, some depth is never a bad thing. Are either of those guys you met last weekend smart?”