Who Rescued Who

by Victoria Schade

  “I need to warn you, though,” Harriet said. “He doesn’t do long distance. He got burned by a French girl a few years ago, so he’s strictly home-turf these days. You might get a quick snog out of it but don’t fall too hard.”

  Too late.

  Elizabeth didn’t want anything quick with James Holworthy. She wanted time to stop so she could examine his beautiful face and explore whatever was under the blazers he always seemed to be wearing. She wanted to hear him call her any derivative of her name in his sexy voice. She’d answer to “Lizzie” if he was the one saying it.

  “Look at that lovesick face. Oh, come on, then.” Harriet grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and dragged her out of the chair.

  Elizabeth trailed behind her helplessly, watching people clear the way as Harriet plowed through the crowd to a hidden table at the far end of the pub, ending up in front of James and another man engrossed in conversation.

  “James, you need to teach this American about good beer. She’s drinking Carling, for fuck’s sake.” Harriet nudged Elizabeth closer to the table so hard that her beer sloshed.

  “Is that right,” James said, eyeing the pint glass in Elizabeth’s hand. Once again he looked like a street-style post with a shadow of stubble, white T-shirt, and an unbuttoned tan shirt over the top of it. And the green eyes that were locked on hers. “That’s a crime given that this fine establishment has three of ours. Please join us.” He scooted over to make room for them. He pointed at the guy with a rugby physique sitting next to him. “Ladies, this is Adam Phillips, he makes the Lost Dog Brewery magic happen.”

  “Hey, we’ve met.” Harriet nodded at him. “Actually, Adam, Des is interested in doing some home brewing. Could you give him advice? We’re right over there.” She pointed across the room.

  “Love to,” Adam said, out of his seat before she could finish asking the question. “We’ve just gotten some incredible Belgian ale yeast I’d be happy to share . . .” He continued talking as he moved away.

  Harriet glanced over her shoulder at Elizabeth and winked as she followed Adam through the crowd.

  “That’ll be the end of him for the night,” James said. “Mr. Chatty Man won’t shut up about brewing.” Elizabeth was still standing next to the table, mute and wide-eyed. “Sit, please. Allow me to introduce you to some of my Lost Dog favorites.”

  Elizabeth opted to scoot in beside James on the bench instead of taking a seat across from him. Two drinks in and she was feeling bold.

  “What kind of beer do you normally drink?”

  “To be honest I usually don’t drink beer. I’m more of a cosmo or martini person, but I didn’t think that would fly in a pub.”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” James replied, shaking his head. “Let’s go about this a different way: if you had to pick, pale beer or dark beer?”

  “Pale?”

  “Right, that’s a start. Do you like a wheaty taste?”

  Elizabeth made an apologetic face and shrugged her shoulders.

  “So you’re an absolute beginner. Let’s get to work, then. Try this.” He handed her a cloudy amber-filled pint.

  Elizabeth took the glass, purposely letting her fingers brush his. He watched her expectantly as she took a sip.

  “Delicious.” Elizabeth couldn’t actually taste a thing, not while he was studying her so closely. The sound of the band and the crowd were reduced to a distant hum, and even though the light was dim it looked like James was illuminated by a spotlight.

  He grinned like she’d just awarded him with a blue ribbon. “Excellent! That’s our Husky Hefeweizen. It’s quite good, but you’ve also got to try our Mad Dog Biters and our Yellow Dog Pale Ale. We’ve got forty-eight beers total, two ciders, and a few seasonals we swap out.”

  “So they all have dog names?” It was a stupidly obvious question, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

  “In one form or another, yes. Speaking of dogs, how’s that pup of yours? Georgina, was it?”

  “Oh, she’s not mine, I’m just taking care of her for a bit. But she’s good. I mean, she bites me a ton. I’m not sure she actually likes me.” Elizabeth showed James the tiny wounds on her hands and forearms, hoping he’d take her hands in his to examine them. He studied them from a distance.

  “That’s normal puppy stuff. I remember those days with Porter.”

  Elizabeth was shocked that he almost sounded wistful.

  “I must admit, I caught a little puppy fever when I met her,” he added.

  She wished he’d caught Elizabeth fever instead. “You’d get a second dog?”

  “Yeah, it might be time. Porter could use a buddy.” He pointed to the beer sitting in front of her. “Drink up, you’ve got more sampling to do.”

  Elizabeth obliged, taking three huge gulps. It was easier to drink than try to think of clever things to say to James. She could feel an unfamiliar wooziness coming on, which made her want to scoot closer to him and find excuses to touch him. She finished the Husky and slammed the glass on the table.

  “Whoa, I guess you’re a convert now,” James said with an appreciative laugh. “Now let me get you a Yellow Dog. I’ll be right back, wait here.”

  Elizabeth watched him walk away, noting how gracefully he threaded through the crowd despite his size. A back touch here, a shoulder pat there, and each person he passed turned and smiled when they saw who it was. She couldn’t tell if he knew everyone in the room or if they could feel his vibe as strongly as she could and stepped aside in awe to let the godlike creature pass.

  “Mission accomplished, Bess,” she heard someone say.

  It was Reid, grinning at her like a schoolboy.

  “Exchuse me?” she slurred.

  “That was no market research you were doing. I know a good stalking when I see one.” He slid into the chair across from her.

  “Not at all, we’re just talking beer,” Elizabeth answered, hoping that Reid would leave before James came back. Even if there was a “Nicky” in his life, she didn’t want James to think there was anything brewing with Reid.

  “I wouldn’t waste your last evening in Fargrove on that one. James Holworthy is picky as hell.” Reid seemed to realize the insult after it was out. “No offense, I’m sure you have a lot to offer.”

  “I’m just . . . drinking. That’s all. It’s fine.” Reid was still trying to find an angle with her, with or without a girlfriend. “So where’s Nicky?”

  “Somewhere around here,” Reid replied, looking around the pub. “There.” He pointed at a group of people a few feet away.

  The woman had long brown hair with perfect beachy waves and amazing cheekbones, and she was wearing a preppy collared shirt beneath a pale blue sweater. Elizabeth could envision her in an #outfitoftheday Insta post. She was adorable, which made Elizabeth even angrier that Reid was flirting with her instead of attending to his perfectly lovely girlfriend.

  “Have you two met?” Reid asked.

  “We haven’t. Please introduce us.” The two beers she’d downed plus the Husky were taking hold and the word came out as “introdushe.” She desperately wanted Reid to stop vying for her attention and hoped that being in close proximity to his girlfriend would actually remind him that he had a girlfriend.

  Reid cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Nicky!”

  A handsome bearded man in a knit hipster cap and glasses turned around abruptly, then waved at Reid.

  “C’mere.” Reid beckoned the man over.

  Elizabeth shrank in her seat, thankful for the dim room so that Reid couldn’t see the mortification on her face. Was she that rusty at dating, to think that a happily paired-off gay man was flirting with her? She mentally scrolled through their past interactions in light of the new information and realized that nothing he’d said or done even remotely resembled interest. He’d been teasing her like
a brother. She wasn’t only bad at flirting, she was bad at friendship.

  “So you’re Bess the American Barnes,” Nicky said, reaching out to shake her hand. “I’m Anik Sarkar, but everyone around here calls me Nicky. Childhood pet name.”

  “I feel your pain, I’m actually Elizabeth,” she replied, taking his hand.

  “But her friends call her Bess,” James said as he joined them, two overflowing pints in hand.

  “So what’s going on here?” Nicky asked. “You trying to weaken her defenses with that stuff?”

  “No, I’m trying to educate this pondwater drinker. Join us.”

  An hour later their table was crowded with empty glasses and Elizabeth was even deeper in the thrall of Lost Dog Brewing Company’s most persuasive salesman. James didn’t just describe the beers, he composed poetry about each one. He paid special attention to the beer’s scent, trying to get her to notice citrus or fruity notes. He commented on the beers’ color, the way they poured, whether they were “sessionable,” their mouthfeel, and the lace they left on the sides of the glass. He lamented the fact that the Tups hadn’t brought in Lost Dog’s new saison, which was flavored with honey from Reid’s hives.

  Elizabeth giggled every time James said mouthfeel. She was surprised how much she enjoyed learning about beer and sampling it as he watched her. She tried to remain blasé and prettily posed as the evening progressed, but the potent beers were more than she was used to. She didn’t know where to put her hands or how to sit. When it was finally time for her to hit the ladies’ room she pitched forward as she stood up, knocking over a glass. James caught it with one hand before it hit the ground.

  “Bess, you’re a hazard to glassware.” Reid laughed, recalling their first meeting.

  “Sorry,” she slurred. “Excuse me for . . . one . . . moment.” She held up a finger as she tilted back and forth.

  Elizabeth felt James’s eyes on her as she walked away, so she arched her back and attempted to sway her hips, which made her trip on her own feet and collide with a man about to sip from his pint. When she finally reached the ladies’ room she realized that she was sorority-girl drunk. She wanted to laugh hard, and hug strangers, and dance like everyone was watching. She couldn’t stop smiling. James was talking to her, and he’d touched her three times! He definitely liked her. It didn’t matter what Harriet and Reid had said, or that she was leaving tomorrow. James Holworthy liked her and she wasn’t going to leave Fargrove without proof.

  She remembered that her phone was actually working and tripped her way through the crowd to get back outside where she could connect without getting in trouble. She leaned against a side door and flipped through her socials again. A few new likes and reposts on the dog shot, but not enough. She realized that the door behind her was a pretty bright red with Gothic iron fixings, so she reversed her phone and checked the light. It was dim so she looked close to perfect. Elizabeth steadied the phone and twisted her head back and forth until she found an angle that worked and pouted her lips. She took a second shot with a giant smile.

  “So you’re one of those people,” she heard a voice in the shadows say to her.

  James. She stood up straighter and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

  “One of what people?”

  “One of those duck-lips social media people.”

  “Oh my God, I never do duck lips and I barely post shelfies. Selfies, I mean.”

  James stepped into the light. “Are you okay? You seem a little . . . unsteady. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t pass out in a ditch out here.”

  “I’m fine. I’m barely even tipsy,” she lied.

  “I don’t believe you,” James said. He walked closer and sat on the edge of an oversized planter, balancing on it in a way that would be awkward for any other mortal. He looked like he was stretched out on a throne.

  “You should follow me on my socials. That way we can, you know, keep in touch after I leave.” It felt as bold as asking for his phone number.

  “Sorry, can’t do it.”

  Elizabeth shrank into the shadows. “That’s okay. No problem.”

  “No, I mean, I don’t have Instagram, or Facebook, or any of it. I’d rather live my life than perform it.”

  “Ouch,” Elizabeth replied, and swayed a little. She slapped her hand against the wall to hide her unsteadiness.

  “Hey, everyone is different. What do you say in America? ‘You do you’?”

  “I’d rather do you,” Elizabeth slurred under her breath.

  “Pardon?” James laughed.

  “I mean, I’d rather live my life too, but I have followers that expect me to post stuff, constantly. And doing it in Fargrove is next to impossible because you guys have crappy service.”

  “What would happen if you just . . . stopped? Would the hordes come banging down your door? Would there be outcry if Bess Barnes didn’t post what she ate for breakfast?”

  “No, but then I wouldn’t matter. I’d be invisible. No one would see me.” She was too tipsy to realize the weight of what she’d said.

  James leaned back and crossed his arms, not taking his eyes off Elizabeth. She couldn’t tell if all the alcohol was slowing time or if the pause was as endless as it felt.

  “I see you, Bess.”

  In that instant she realized that it was happening. The moment when everything around them went out of focus. Elizabeth could feel his eyes searing her. There was no doubt he saw her—he could probably see through her. Something radiated from him, a gravitational pull that she couldn’t resist. The warmth in his voice made her legs go numb and her head feel even fuzzier. Elizabeth knew what had to happen next.

  She launched herself at him.

  She tried to make it sexy and feline, like a huntress capturing her prey, but instead landed awkwardly sprawled in his lap with her arms pawing at the back of his neck. She reached up to pull his head down to meet her lips as she struggled to gain her footing and push herself closer to his beautiful face. He caught her before she tumbled to the ground and she felt him bring her closer, his arms wrapping around her like the beginning of a real embrace. She closed her eyes and readied herself for the moment when their lips would touch, hoping that the breath mint she’d popped in the bathroom was still working.

  The moment never came. She opened her eyes, still encircled in his heavenly arms, and stared up at his face.

  “Why won’t you kish me?”

  “Bess, not like this,” he replied, gently pushing a strand of hair away from her eyes. He stroked her back as he adjusted his grip, and it felt like he’d lit a fuse in her spine. “Why don’t we just be happy that we met and leave it at that? Thank you for listening to my silly beer talk. But maybe you shouldn’t have enjoyed quite so many.” He still hadn’t let her go.

  “I’m fine, though! I’m totally fine! Let’s just try to kish, for one second. I think it’ll be good. No, it’ll be great. You’ll see. Let’s just . . . try. Pretty please? Please, please, please?” She closed her eyes and moved toward his mouth but ended up kissing the stubbly underside of his chin. He smelled like campfire.

  “It’s not going to happen tonight.” He lowered his voice and stared into her eyes. “You’re drunk, you won’t remember anything. And if I were to kiss you, I’d want you to remember every second of it.”

  Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open. “Oh . . .”

  James put two strong hands on her arms and raised her into a seasick stance. “Now, how are you going to get back to Rowan’s? Did you get dropped off?”

  “I walked!” Elizabeth shouted, raising an arm in victory that pitched her off balance. “Like a boss!”

  “We’ll take her,” Reid said, walking through the courtyard with Nicky. “It’s on our way.”

  “Thank you, guys,” James said, watching Elizabeth to make sure she was capable of remaining on her feet. “Fun night.
Bess, it was a pleasure meeting you. I hope you have a wonderful life. Be good to Georgina.”

  It wasn’t supposed to end this way. He was supposed to kiss her like in the movies. Even in her sloppy state she could tell that James wanted to kiss her as badly as she wanted to kiss him.

  Elizabeth leaned against Reid as they walked to his car. She still had something she wanted to say to James, something he needed to know. She didn’t want to say it, but she felt like she had to. They were the most important words that had ever entered her brain.

  “James!” she screamed.

  He was about to walk back into the Tups and turned to her with his hand on the doorknob.

  “James Holworthy, I think you’re falling in love with me!”

  chapter nineteen

  Elizabeth groaned. Puppies didn’t care about hangovers, and Georgina flip-flopped on the bed beside her making little growly noises and biting at every human-shaped lump under the blankets. She remembered little from the end of the previous night other than downing a million beers with the most perfect man on the planet, and Reid and Nicky helping her find her way home.

  She managed to pull herself together and force a cup of tea down her throat so that she could make it to the Operculum at nine sharp. There was no way Rowan could know how sloppy she’d been the night before, although falling up the stairs as she tried to get to her room might have clued him in. She cradled her head in her hand as she plodded down the lane and hoped that Trudy wasn’t watching from her bedroom window. Major and Georgina trailed behind her, tackling each other and making noises that sounded like gang violence.

  Elizabeth paused outside the door. Should she just walk in? She knocked.

  “Enter,” came Rowan’s muffled reply.

  She slid the door open and the screech startled Georgina, causing her to backpedal halfway across the courtyard. Major dashed over to Georgina and sat down next to her so that they were flank-to-flank, like a senior officer girding a young recruit for battle.

  “Georgina, it’s okay. It’s just a door, you’re fine!” Elizabeth rapped on the door with her knuckles as if to prove that it wasn’t a threat. “It’s all good, you can do this. You’re a brave little lady, I know you are!”