Five
For a moment it was like I was six years old again with all of my toys set up in a row in my bedroom as I pretended to own a toy shop, forcing my parents to play my customers.
Except this was real.
The cash register was an app on the laptop hidden behind the counter. I just had to use a barcode scanner connected to the computer when ringing up books and other items. There was a stockroom behind a door at the back of the store, next to the private downstairs restroom. The stockroom was filled not only with books, but with all kinds of ornaments and objects for renters to use for the window display.
I had free rein to create whatever display I wanted.
When Penny left after showing me the ropes, leaving me her number in case I needed help, I’d felt a little apprehensive. How brave Penny was to leave her store to the charge of inexperienced bookish tourists?
As for other tourists, several passed by the store throughout the day, peering in, trying to catch my eye as if that would somehow force me to open the door.
I ignored them, even though I felt rude. However, after discussing it with Penny, I decided while I was in charge, the store would be open four days a week. Wednesday through Saturday. I had two editing jobs lined up with authors I’d worked with before, and even though I imagined I’d have free time during opening hours to work on those, I still liked the idea of having free days to edit. It gave me time in the week to sightsee around Northumberland. I’d need to arrange a rental car, but other than the nerve-racking prospect of driving on the opposite side of the road, I was kind of excited about it.
I wondered if I’d get to see Roane’s farm and then threw the thought away.
Roane? Roane who?
First things first. Arranging a display in the storefront window. I started unloading the boxes marked display and noted what was there. There were little sheep and cattle, and I wondered if they were for an agriculture display about Northumberland.
Did another woman come here, meet Roane, and decide to pay homage to him? Was he the tourist trap?
I shook my head.
Roane? Roane who?
When I saw the painted bust of Shakespeare’s head among the items, I knew Penny and I were secretly soul mates. Giddy with excitement, I grabbed my favorite playwright’s head, intending to use it. There was a weird and wonderful collection of ornaments that seemed to make no sense, but my love for Shakespeare meant my brain automatically put them all together and came up with A Midsummer Night’s Dream. Penny had several garden fairies, and there was even a miniature donkey. Finding a crib and a manger, I suspected the donkey was part of a Christmas nativity set. But all I saw was Nick Bottom. Sure, he only had a donkey’s head, but I had to work with what was available, and that didn’t include a half-human, half-donkey doll.
Because that would be creepy.
I wondered if Roane liked Shakespeare.
Who cares? I admonished myself.
Grabbing piles of green sparkly tinsel, I arranged it on the wide window ledge to look like grass. Penny had several small, twiggy Christmas trees, and I attached paper blossoms I’d found to the branches. The blossoms had clips on them, like they were hair decorations to be worn for a luau or something, and I transformed two of the miniature Christmas trees into blossom trees. The others I plugged in so they lit up.
Finding strings of fairy lights, I draped them around the window. Then I placed the garden fairies and the donkey across the ledge surrounded by tinsel and lights. There were several copies of A Midsummer’s Night Dream in the store, and I opened those just enough that they stood in place among the display.
The bust of Shakespeare took center stage.
To finish the scene, I found gold stars, glued them to string, and taped them to the wall above the window so they cascaded down above the display at differing lengths. Using the laptop, I printed quotes from the play onto white cards and propped them against the fairies.
A few hours later, I stepped outside in the pleasantly sunny May afternoon and took in the effect of what I’d created. It wouldn’t win awards—in fact it looked like six-year-old me had done it—but it was whimsical and made me smile.
I wondered if it would make Roane smile.
“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” I snapped at myself.
* * *
• • •
As focused as I was on preparing the bookstore for opening (and trying to distract myself from invading thoughts of a certain farmer), I completely forgot to eat lunch. Deciding to dine at The Anchor, I left for the pub before seven o’clock. My belly rumbled furiously at me, and I felt a little light-headed.
Dressing for the evening had been tricky. I didn’t want to encourage flirtation from Roane, but I wanted to wear what I wanted to wear without thinking about how it would affect the farmer. I loved tailored shorts because I had long legs. Where most of my female friends complained of cellulite on their thighs, it didn’t plague me on that part of the body. My legs were slender but well formed and strong. As I neared my late twenties, the dreaded cellulite did appear, but it attached itself to the wings of my arms and my belly. A lady couldn’t win. However, she could choose to embrace the positives.
I mused over the decision to wear my favorite clothing item or stick with jeans.
Would Roane think I was showing off my legs for him?
Would the locals think I was a silly American who didn’t know how to dress for cooler weather?
Ludicrous. I lived in Chicago. I knew cold weather.
Finally deciding the whole purpose of this trip was to embrace the things I wanted and liked, I pulled on a pair of black tailored shorts, a plain green crew-neck T-shirt, which I tucked into them, a short black blazer with the sleeves rolled up to the elbow, and a pair of slouchy green leather ankle boots with a low heel. I had a bruise on my left knee from today’s fall, but it wasn’t too bad once I applied a little concealer.
I released my dark hair from the ponytail I’d worn during the day and wore it in loose beachy waves so the caramel ombré highlights were noticeable.
Studying my image in the full-length mirror, I stuck my hands in my shorts pockets and bit my lip. I did not look like I was venturing out to a pub in Northumberland.
Yet I looked like me.
Snapping a mirror selfie, I sent the photo to Greer with the text message:
Does the bruise look bad? xx
I’d messaged her earlier to tell her about rescuing Shadow and the consequent fall. I left his handsome owner out of the story.
As I was heading downstairs to leave, my phone buzzed.
Babe, I can’t see a bruise. xx
My cell beeped again.
I am worried a horny fisherman or two might try to kidnap you. You know those legs are lethal. xx
I grinned at her teasing and stuffed the cell in my purse. The cool evening air took me by surprise as I stepped outside the store and locked up. Yeah, the breeze off the sea had interrupted the temperate day, but it had been pleasant. Plus, it was still light out.
The flutter of butterflies I’d been trying to ignore the past few hours made themselves known. Shaking my head at the stupidity of those butterflies, I glanced at the garden Penny said belonged to the store. I noted its bench and how it was angled toward the sea and decided my next day off would be spent reading there.
It was better to think of these things than to think of a man.
The rejection from Aaron was less than a week old. My pride had healed, and I realized my hope of finding love had been crushed more than my hope of finding love with Aaron, but that didn’t mean I was ready to put myself out there again.
Especially not with a man I’d never see after my visit to England was up.
A sound similar to that of a motorbike drew my gaze from the water and my attention from my musings. From the brow of the hil
l before the main street of the village appeared a woman.
On a quad bike.
She blew past me and turned left toward the road that led out of Alnster.
The image of her made me smile.
She wore no helmet, her blond curly hair blowing behind her on the breeze, her open jacket fluttering in the wind as she confidently rode the quad bike like she did it every day.
And I got the feeling she did.
How badass.
Was she a local? If so, I wondered if I’d get to meet her.
The parking lot of The Anchor was worryingly busy, suggesting I might not get a table. Those fears were supported by the wave of warmth and the loud murmur of voices that hit me as I stepped inside.
The pub was packed with people dining.
I stared around, more than a little bemused that such a tiny village could have such a busy pub. Sure, I’d understand if it were the height of summer and tourists were crawling all over the place . . .
“Evie.” Milly drew my gaze as she strode toward me behind the bar. Almost every stool at the bar was occupied. “In for tea?”
It took me a moment to realize “tea” meant dinner. Stepping up to the end of the bar, I gave her a weak smile. “It doesn’t look like there’s a table.” And I was hungry. So, so hungry. The smell of delicious food was intoxicating me.
“Not to brag, lass, but my Dexter’s food is known all over Northumberland. We keep busy at teatime. If you want to eat here, you let me know and I’ll reserve a table for you. For now, if you’re happy to, you can eat at the bar.”
I nodded eagerly. “Yeah, please.”
Perhaps my relief was palpable because Milly chuckled and gestured for me to follow. I rounded the bar, ignoring some men on stools who blatantly ogled my legs.
The second dining room was just as busy as the first.
Sliding onto the stool Milly gestured to, I gave the woman next to me a small smile when she turned to see who her new neighbor was. She returned the smile before giving her attention to the man beside her.
“There, lass.” Milly placed a menu in front of me. “Now what can I get you to drink?”
“Oi, I was next, Milly!” a male voice shouted from the other end of the bar.
She raised an eyebrow in that direction. “I say who’s next in my pub.”
“Fine, but I’m next after Legs,” he shouted back.
Presuming “Legs” was me, I scowled.
“Her name is Evie,” Milly informed him crisply.
I wanted to hide under the bar.
“I prefer Legs.”
“Oh, aye? Do you prefer going somewhere else to drink, man? Because I don’t cater to rudeness in my pub.”
“Aw, I was only joking, Milly. Get the lass a drink and put it on my tab.”
She nodded and turned back to me with a smirk.
“I’ll pay for my own drink,” I replied.
She grinned. “And what will that be?”
“A cider.”
“What kind?”
I shrugged. “Whatever you recommend.”
While Milly disappeared to get my cider, I perused the menu. After googling it, I’d discovered The Anchor, just as Milly had said, was a gastropub. Deciding to continue eating “British,” I ordered the battered haddock and chips, remembering that chips in the UK were like a plumper version of fries, and crisps were what we in the US called chips.
My fish and chips arrived on a wooden tray, the chips served in a miniature frying basket, with sides of tartar sauce and mushy peas in little ceramic pots. Everything was delicious, and although I’d had a fish and chips dish at a British bar in Chicago, the tartar sauce I’d had there didn’t even compare to Dexter’s.
“Enjoying that?” Milly asked as she passed me to serve someone a drink.
I swallowed a chip I’d layered with mushy peas and replied, “Your husband’s a genius.”
She guffawed. “For Christ’s sake, keep your voice down. His ego’s big enough.”
I chuckled at her teasing and continued to clean my plate.
Stuffed full, I wished I were in a chair with a back so I could slump down in sleepy satisfaction. Between the food and jet lag, I was almost ready for bed. Milly took hold of the tray with one hand and popped a smaller menu in front of me with the other. “Dessert.”
Oh God, I couldn’t eat another—
Sticky toffee pudding.
The British bar back home had sticky toffee pudding on the menu. I’d bet my entire shorts collection that Dexter’s was yummier.
“Well?” Milly returned to me a few minutes later.
I made a face of distress. “I want the sticky toffee pudding and ice cream so bad, but I don’t think I’ll manage it.”
“Then why don’t we split one?” Roane suddenly appeared at my side, and I jerked with surprise. He smirked, those dark eyes twinkling mischievously.
Before I could speak and reprimand him for the fright, Milly said, “Excellent idea. And a table has opened up by the fireplace so you can sit there with Shadow.”
Glancing down, I found Shadow at his side and focused on the dog. Scratching his ears, I welcomed him warmly, laughing when he licked my wrist in response.
It was so much easier to focus on Shadow because the Roane before me differed from the Roane this morning. Sure, he still had the beard and wild thick hair, but now he wore a dark red plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, a pair of dark-wash jeans that didn’t have mud stains on them, and a pair of hiking boots instead of Wellingtons. I focused in on his strong tan forearms and shivered.
He smelled amazing. At first, I was hit with something musky, woodsy, like his cologne had a strong sandalwood base note. Then this overlying ocean scent drifted over me, layered with something citrusy. It was fresh and heady at the same time, and it made a woman want to nuzzle her face in his strong throat and run her fingers through the bristles of his beard.
Well, it made this woman want to.
“Is Shadow the only one you’re going to say hello to?”
Realizing I was being rude, I straightened and gave him what I hoped was a natural smile. “Hey.”
Roane grinned that boyish, wicked smile of his. “Hi. Let’s grab that table before someone else does.” He shot Milly a look. “Can I get a pint too, Milly?”
“I’ll bring it over with the pudding. Another cider, Evie?”
I nodded. A little fortification might be just the thing. Throwing off lingering exhaustion, I slid from the stool to follow Roane.
He looked over his shoulder to make sure I was behind him, and did a double take. His gaze dropped to my legs and slowly traveled back upward, and I swore I saw the crests of his cheeks redden before he looked away.
Ignoring my smugness, I studied the back of him and cursed our maker for creating men with such fine asses.
You’re objectifying the farmer, I scolded myself.
It was hard not to appreciate those wide shoulders, the tapered waist, and the way he moved through the tables with an easy, loose-limbed gait. Shadow trotted behind him, and they both drew admiring gazes.
Roane stopped at the lit fireplace and pulled out a chair, gesturing me to it.
I did not swoon at the gentlemanliness. I was merely light-headed from all the food and was forced to collapse quickly into the chair. The heat from the fire caused goose bumps on my arms and legs as Shadow sprawled out in front of the fireplace as if he’d done it many times before. Roane took the seat opposite me.
We were both so tall, our knees knocked together under the table.
The corner of his lips tipped upward as if this amused him. Those dark eyes studied my face as they had earlier today. I squirmed in my seat, hoping I didn’t have crumbs at the corners of my mouth. Or that he’d look lower to where my belly rolls were visible and particularl
y prominent after the fish and chips.
Are you listening to yourself?
Weren’t these the thoughts I’d tried to banish over the years? Was a stupid four-week social media encounter really going to screw with my self-esteem? And hadn’t I just repeatedly told myself that Roane Robson was off-limits? So what the hell did I care what he thought about my body?
I relaxed back in my chair, and Roane’s gaze automatically flickered downward.
He never got farther than my boobs. Visibly swallowing, he looked quickly away. There was a definite flush on the tops of his cheeks. “The place will quiet down in a bit.” His voice sounded extra rumbly, maybe even a little hoarse.
Hating how charmed I was that such a sexy man was flushing like a schoolboy, I picked up a menu from the table and started to fan my heated skin. “Is it always this busy?”
Roane’s gaze moved back to mine. “It gets busy April through October because it’s heavily advertised by Visit Northumberland—the tourist board.” He gestured to the room. “It usually quiets down around nine o’clock, leaving mostly locals.”
“Is your farm in Alnster?”
“Just outside.”
Before I could ask any more questions, Milly appeared with our drinks and was accompanied by a man the same height as her. He was a handsome bald man, with dark umber skin, lots of gray stubble on his cheeks and chin, and warm, laughing dark eyes. He wore chef whites. He placed a delicious-looking sticky toffee pudding and ice cream on the middle of the table along with a spoon for me and one for Roane.
“Evie, this is my husband, Dexter. Dexter, Evie.”
I held out my hand, beaming at him. “So nice to meet you. Your food is amazing.”
“I told you you’d like her,” Milly muttered.
Dexter chuckled and brought my hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “It’s a pleasure, Evie. I’m chuffed to bits you like the food, considering you’re from Chicago.” Dexter released my hand and leaned on the table, his head bent toward mine conspiratorially. “Have you ever eaten at Alinea? It’s on my bucket list.”
Much Ado About You Page 5