‘You still look gorgeous to me,’ he murmured sincerely, his eyes skimming my form-fitting clothes before returning to meet my embarrassed gaze.
‘Thank you.’ And right back at you, I thought. ‘Come on then, I’ll make a hot drink and start the fire, then we can take Bertie into my parlour and give him a bath, get rid of all of this mud. I was going to order Chinese for dinner if you want to join me?’
‘Oh, ok,’ he responded, pulling a frown as he checked his watch. ‘I guess I could.’
I bit my tongue as I gestured for them to come inside. I just couldn’t work him out at all. One minute he did and said things that told me he really was into me, then he’d blow that out of the water with this air of casual indifference. Like taking the time to get to know me was an inconvenience. Was he looking for a relationship or just casual sex? If it was the latter, he was in for a rude awakening, as that wasn’t something I’d ever be up for, even with someone as hot and intriguing as him.
‘Bertie,’ I laughed as he rolled in the dog bath, sloshing water all over the sides and onto my t-shirt. Weston stood with his arms folded, one hip resting against my workbench, his bright blue eyes keenly watching my every move. His rich laughter as he studied us both made my toes curl with delight. ‘Come on, out you get, baby boy,’ I coaxed, as I grabbed Bertie’s wriggling wet body and hoisted him out onto the freshly heated towel. I quickly wrapped him in it until just his face was showing, then gently rubbed him dry, making sure to get into all his soft folds of skin.
‘He looks like E.T.,’ Weston chuckled. ‘You’re so good with him.’
‘It’s my job, but it helps that I love it. You know, he really doesn’t like the name Bertie, he doesn’t respond to it at all. Was it something else before you got him?’
‘Hmmm, Bouncer,’ Weston nodded. Bertie’s head snapped to fix him with an inquisitive look as soon as he heard the name.
‘See, he knows that name, but I do like Bertie better. It suits him. Bertie the bulldog has a much better ring to it than Bouncer the bulldog. Bouncer’s more a name for a big rough–and-tumble dog, like a retriever or labrador.’
‘Then Bertie it is,’ Weston nodded, smiling again as he caught my eye. I felt a stirring of butterflies in my tummy every time he smiled at me, and the way his eyes lit up as he watched me reassured me that regardless of the less-than-glamorous state he’d found me in, he was every bit as attracted to me as I was to him. So far, though, just like on our date, I seemed to be doing most of the talking.
I changed into some clean clothes while Weston stoked the fire, Bertie having fallen sound asleep next to it in one of the spare dog beds I kept for emergency sleepovers. I did my best to tease my hair into some kind of styled mess before heading back down, then went to find a bottle of wine to have with our dinner. I groaned when I realised that Abbie and I had drunk the last bottle the night before. I grabbed my purse and stuck my head into the lounge to find him checking out my bookshelves.
‘Do you mind sitting here while I run to the shop? I’m out of wine.’
‘Where’s the shop? I can drive you there,’ he offered.
‘It’s ok, it’s only across the field, up on the main road in the village. I’ll be five minutes, ten tops if Mrs. Vickers is in one of her chatty moods.’
‘Mrs. Vickers?’
‘The shopkeeper, though it’s up for sale. She’s just been diagnosed with dementia, poor thing. Easily confused. Can talk the hind legs off a donkey.’
‘Well, if you won’t let me drive you, I’ll walk with you.’
‘I’m perfectly safe on my own. It’s Dilbury, not a rough city.’
‘Maybe I just want to spend more time in your company,’ he replied, holding my gaze for a moment and making my stomach flutter again. ‘Do we wake sleeping beauty?’
‘Have you never heard the phrase “Let sleeping dogs lie”?’ I gasped with a shake of my head. ‘He’s out for the count. Just put the grate in front of the fire and he’ll be fine for five minutes. Trust me, I’m a doggie professional,’ I added, then gasped as he burst out laughing. ‘You know what I meant!’
‘Maybe, but that’s information every guy loves to hear from his date,’ he grinned.
‘Men,’ I huffed. ‘All sex mad. What with Simon trying to mount a hedgehog last month, and now you with your double entendres.’
‘Does Simon have dementia too? I seriously hope so if he’s into hedgehogs,’ he uttered as he covered the fire and doubled checked on Bertie before coming to join me.
‘Simon’s a dachshund with an overactive sex drive,’ I reassured him.
We headed out and he raised his eyebrows when he saw I didn’t lock the front door. People just didn’t get how safe Dilbury was. Neighbourhood Watch had nothing on our villagers’ propensity for peeking through their net curtains. We headed over the stile and trudged through the paddock to come out behind The Cock & Bull, then turned up Ivy Lane to reach the Post Office and local shop on the corner. Mrs. Vickers was behind the counter, with her husband just visible through the open door behind her, sitting in their lounge watching the TV with half an eye on her. If I was him, I’d keep both eyes on her, and ears too. She was becoming a complete liability. Poor Mr. Bentley had been the talk of the village a few months back when she’d told everyone he had erectile dysfunction. She’d confused his need for Miracle Grow for his floppy petunias with Viagra for a floppy penis.
‘Evening, Mrs. Vickers,’ I called as we made our way into the small shop, crammed from floor to ceiling with all sorts of supplies.
‘Oh, hello, Bobbie, how’s the toilet cleaning business going?’ she beamed.
‘Really well, thank you,’ I replied, grinning at Weston with a gentle roll of my eyes.
‘Bobbie? Toilet cleaning?’ he mouthed.
‘I told you, she gets confused,’ I whispered. ‘She’s called me Bobbie from day one, and somehow confused dog for bog and thinks I clean toilets and unblock drains for a living. It’s just easier to go along with it than correct her. I even had to come around with a plunger to sort hers out after Mr. Vickers had a bad case of vindalooitis and she called me in a panic. Let’s just say a hot curry isn’t the way he should have been dealing with his two-week constipation, he nearly backed up the entire village sewer system.’
‘Oh my God,’ he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. I really liked the way his face lit up when he smiled. He had such a serious look normally. Handsome, but serious, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
‘Is that your fiancé with you? Surprised he took you back after that whole affair with Rowena,’ she called, craning her neck to get a better look at Weston. I grimaced and let out a sigh as my shoulders slumped in defeat. How could she remember the hussy barmaid’s name and not mine, and think that I’d had the torrid affair with her, not Greg?
‘No, it’s not Greg, Mrs. Vickers,’ I replied, as I picked up a bottle of white Chardonnay and showed it to Weston for his approval. Not that we had a lot of choice in here. He nodded curtly.
‘Well, I said to Mabel … Mabel, I said, did you hear that Bobbie the toilet cleaner ran off with Rowena? Broken-hearted Greg was over it all. Mabel said she thought you’d have been too ashamed to show your face in the village again, but you turned up at the village fête bold as brass. Mabel was so shocked she needed her smelling salts, but I said to her… Mabel, I said, she’s the best with a plunger in miles! Reg has stopped worrying about straining now he knows you can clear the toilet when he does eventually go. You’ve done absolute wonders for his piles. Hasn’t she done wonders for your piles, Reg?’ she hollered over her shoulder.
‘Who you telling about my piles now, Sheila?’ called Mr. Vickers, as I tried to let the fact I’d been village gossip roll off me.
‘Only Bobbie. You ought to let her take a look at them, she must be experienced with them in her line of work.’
‘No, thank you,’ Mr. Vickers and I responded forcefully in unison. In what universe did a toilet cleaner
look at people’s piles anyway?
‘Is she for real?’ Weston asked under his breath as we headed to the counter, with me carrying a couple of bottles of the wine we’d settled on.
‘Sadly, yes,’ I replied, setting them down by the register.
‘So, who’s this latest in the long line of loves and losses of Bobbie Basset?’ Sheila asked, folding her arms as she looked over the top of her half-moon specs at us both, then ran her gaze up and down Weston a few times.
‘This is Weston.’
‘Heston? Well, I never. He’s so much better looking in person than on the television.’
‘On the television?’ I asked, shooting Weston an incredulous look. He’d kept that quiet.
‘I’ve never been on the television. I think you must have me confused with someone else,’ he replied.
‘We tried that slug porridge of yours not long ago. Can’t say we really enjoyed it, did we, Reg? Reg? I said we didn’t really enjoy it, did we? Too slimy,’ she called over her shoulder. Weston gave me a wide-eyed look as I tried not to laugh when I realised who she’d confused him with.
‘What’s that, love?’ Reg called.
‘Slug porridge. Wasn’t very nice, was it?’
‘No, dear. But I don’t think you were supposed to use our garden slugs, I think it was supposed to be snails.’
‘Well, we have lots of those, too,’ she nodded, turning to face us. ‘You’ll have to write down the recipe for me, Heston, make sure I get it right this time. Fancy you being able to bag someone so famous for a boyfriend, Bobbie, with your reputation as well!’
‘He’s not Heston,’ I asserted, trying not to let her snide barb affect me. ‘He’s Weston. And he’s … a friend.’
‘Actually, I’m her boyfriend and I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be talking about her in that manner, Mrs. Vickers. It was Greg that cheated on her, not the other way around, and she deserves to be treated with a little more respect than to be the victim of incorrect and malicious village gossip.’
‘Feisty one, aren’t you? I don’t remember you being feisty on television.’
‘Again, I’m not on television. I’m Weston, not Heston. And for the record, her name is Georgie, not Bobbie, and she cleans dogs, not … bogs,’ he stated firmly as he ripped a twenty pound note out of his wallet and slapped it down on the counter next to the wine, a look of annoyance on his face. I looked up at him, astonished at how indignant he was over her incorrect assumptions about me. Greg would never have stood up for me like that, even though in five minutes she’d have forgotten all of that and I’d go back to being Bobbie, the bog cleaner and lesbian heart-breaker. ‘I’d like you to apologise to my girlfriend right now.’
‘Girlfriend?’ Sheila and I said at the same time, me with my heart in my throat.
‘Yes, is that ok?’ he asked, looking down at me for confirmation.
‘I … I guess I just … I didn’t think we were at the boyfriend and girlfriend stage. I mean, we’ve only had one kind of weird date and now an afternoon and evening together.’
‘I stayed away because I didn’t want to pressure you, Georgie, but it made me miserable, more miserable than I thought possible. So I don’t want to play games and try and second guess what you want. You want slow, we’ll go slow, but we’re not in the playground anymore. I didn’t think I needed to ask for permission to call you my girlfriend when you’ve agreed to date me.’ He gave me a puzzled look as I floundered for a response. Truth be told, while I didn’t want to rush anything, my stomach had just started a spin cycle at hearing him call me his girlfriend.
‘We just … I just … I … well, we haven’t really discussed it, this, where we see it going,’ I stuttered. There was still so much I didn’t know about him. He wasn’t exactly a sharer.
‘So, are you dating or not?’ Sheila asked. ‘He’s a fine-looking fellow, and to be honest, with her reputation, you could do better for yourself, Heston. My niece Cerys would eat her glass eye to have a man like you ask her out. Terrible cook she is. I’ll find her number for you.’
‘No need, thank you,’ Weston said firmly, giving up on correcting her. He’d obviously come to the inevitable conclusion that it was pointless. He quickly scanned the shop, his eyes lighting up as he spotted something in the rows of loose sweets. He grabbed it, then shocked me by dropping to one knee in front of me.
‘What are you doing?’ I squeaked, as Sheila gasped and folded herself over the counter to get a better look, as Weston took my right hand and slipped something onto my finger.
‘Georgie Basset, dog groomer of Dilbury, will you take me, Weston Argent, personal trainer, to be your boyfriend? I won’t pressure you for too much too soon, and I can’t promise forever, but I can promise that each date will be better than the last. Though after Mexico, that’s not saying much,’ he scoffed, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he held my shocked gaze and continued to hold my hand. ‘I’d really like the chance to surprise you while I get to know you, as I … well, I really like you, Georgie. I think you like me too, and while I know neither of us is looking to rush into anything, I’d like to be exclusive while we get to know each other and see if this could actually be something. So, what do you say?’
‘I … I …’ I looked down at my hand and giggled to see a red and green sugar-coated jelly ring on my finger. He was so perplexing, he could swing from serious to fun in the blink of an eye.
‘You don’t want Bobbie, Heston. Cerys would give her false teeth for a man as good-looking as you, especially one that’s famous and cooks,’ interrupted Sheila.
‘I thought she had a glass eye?’ I murmured, holding Weston’s gaze. He was trying his hardest not to laugh.
‘That too. She hasn’t aged well, that’s for sure,’ stated Sheila with an air of disappointment that had me stifling my laughter as well. ‘When they were giving out looks and brains, she was at the back of the queue, but she’s eager to please. Very matronly hips, excellent child-bearing potential,’ she added, making her sound like she was reading poor Portia the poodle’s résumé aloud.
‘Thanks, but I’m only interested in one woman at the moment,’ Weston replied, his eyes not leaving mine for a second. ‘So, what do you say? Will you be my girlfriend, Georgie?’
‘Who’s Georgie? That’s Bobbie’s hand you’re holding. He might be good at all this fancy nuclear astronomy, but I think he’s a bit soft in the head. I’d steer clear if I was you, dear. Mind you, Cerys can’t afford to be fussy with her looks, he’ll do for her.’
‘Mrs. Vickers, really? Can you just give us one minute?’ I softly scolded, giving her a disapproving look as I tried to catch my breath. I’d thought of nothing but going on another date with Weston, despite how the first one had turned out. And he’d come looking for me after I hadn’t returned his call, which showed he had tenacity and determination to succeed. And we’d had a really fun and relaxed afternoon together. If I couldn’t say yes to dating him, a man I sparked with, I may as well give up on men altogether and go after Rowena the hussy myself. I looked back down at him and took a deep breath before answering.
‘Yes, yes, my answer is yes. I’ll be your girlfriend,’ I smiled, nodding furiously so there would be no mistaking my enthusiasm for his plan.
‘Thank God, my knee was starting to cramp up and my fingers are sticky from that jelly ring,’ he laughed as he quickly stood up. ‘What do you say to grabbing this wine and continuing our official date in private?’
‘An excellent idea,’ I agreed. ‘But let me pay for the wine, Weston, it was my idea and you won’t be able to have much as you’re driving.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he replied as he pushed the note towards Mrs. Vickers again. ‘It’s the least I can do after you gave Bouncer a free grooming session.’
‘Bertie,’ I reminded him as I picked up both bottles. ‘Well, thank you, that was kind of you.’
He put the change Mrs. Vickers gave him in the charity box, then placed his ha
nd in the small of my back and guided me to the exit.
‘Reg, you won’t believe what just happened,’ we heard Sheila call in the background. ‘Bobbie the toilet cleaner has only gone and got engaged to a real-life celebrity in our shop!’
‘I’m sorry I’ve got to go, but it’s a long drive home,’ Weston advised as we stood next to his white BMW, where Bertie was sniffing around inside. He hadn’t even kitted it out with a dog cage in the boot. He was the most unprepared and inexperienced dog owner I’d ever met.
‘You’re only in Tibberton, the other side of Shrewsbury. It’s a forty-minute journey at most,’ I reminded him, really not wanting the evening to end.
‘Right, but it’s a long journey for him. So, are you free tomorrow? I thought we could go for Sunday lunch somewhere, as long as you don’t think I’m moving too fast.’
‘You’re not moving too fast, I’d love that,’ I confirmed, wrapping my arms around myself as I nervously chewed on my lower lip, wondering if he was going to try and kiss me. He couldn’t take his eyes off my lips, and while it had been some time since a man had tried to kiss me, I was pretty sure where his brain was at right now. And I couldn’t have been more on the same page if I tried. ‘Where do you suggest?’
‘You choose,’ he offered.
‘Ok, well, how about we meet at The Mytton and Mermaid in Atcham at one o’clock?’ I suggested. ‘Lovely food, roaring fires, and it’s halfway for both of us, to save you coming all the way over to me again. And we can take Bertie for a walk in the park opposite when we’re done.’
‘Oh, right. Well, I wasn’t going to bring him,’ he replied, dragging a hand over the beginnings of some dark stubble on his chin and around his mouth. He shot a look back into the car to find Bertie was now sitting in the driver’s seat, his head cocked as he watched us.
The Great Escape Page 9