Colin.
‘It’s my ancestors who are the attraction,’ he said, in mock woe. ‘Not me.’
I shot him a glance to make sure that there wasn’t a grain of truth beneath the mockery. It wasn’t that long ago that his little sister had emerged from a disastrous relationship with a man who had used her solely to gain access to the family archives. It was part of why Colin had been so beastly when we’d first met; he had seen me as yet another vulture trying to batten off the family history.
It all seemed to be OK, but I leant into him a bit just the same, trusting the pressure of body to body to do more than a hundred reassuring words.
Joan’s face closed like a fist. ‘Anyone for a drink?’ she asked in tones you could have used to cut glass.
‘Guinness for me,’ said Sally, and I saw her sister wince. ‘Eloise?’
I looked to Colin.
‘Sit down, Joan,’ he said easily. ‘I’m buying.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said quickly.
‘Gin and it?’ he said, nodding to the vicar.
The vicar cast his eyes towards heaven. ‘If only all my parishioners were like you. Who needs a flower rota?’
‘Drinks rota, instead?’ I suggested.
‘That’s heresy around here,’ Colin said. ‘We hold our flower arrangements sacred.’
‘But we also like our gin.’ The vicar made little shooing motions at Colin. ‘Go on, go on. Fetch.’
‘You mean you like gin,’ I heard Joan saying as I meandered with Colin over to the bar.
‘Oh, we’re not going to start all that about gin being the drink of unwed mothers again, are we?’ griped the vicar. ‘Think of it as a good, imperial drink, the stuff the Raj was built on. That should tickle your fancy.’
From the tone of her response, it was clear that Joan was less than tickled.
I poked Colin in the arm. That’s one of the best bits of being in a relationship: all the legitimate little touches that let you know that you belong to someone and someone belongs to you. You can’t poke just anyone, after all.
I stood on the toes of my boots to whisper in his ear, ‘Do you think he’s flirting with her?’
Colin made a distinctly sceptical face at me. ‘Eloise, half the parish has a pool going on whether he’s gay.’
Considering I had wondered the same myself, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. ‘But if he’s not …’
Colin was already giving drink orders to the bartender, with whom, like everyone else, he appeared on extremely familiar terms. It seemed that this pub was the local equivalent of Cheers. ‘Vodka tonic for you?’ he said to me.
‘You remembered!’ I exclaimed with pleasure. There had been a dreadful Thanksgiving party during which we stood at a bar pretending not to know each other. Well, maybe not so dreadful after all, since he had asked me out at the end of it. It had taken quite some time for me to figure out that I was being asked out, but fortunately my friend Pammy was there to interpret for me and prevent my botching it all too badly.
Colin’s ears turned slightly pink. ‘It’s not exactly the theory of relativity,’ he mumbled.
‘Still.’ Rising on my tiptoes, I brushed a quick kiss against his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
Colin smiled down at me in a way that warmed me straight down to my toes. ‘You’re welcome.’
I would be lying if I said I didn’t hope Joan was watching. The kiss on the cheek was, to use a very homely metaphor, a bit like a dog peeing on its territory to ward off other dogs.
Speaking of peeing … there was a convenient little hallway just off the end of the bar, with the traditional male and female signs prominently displayed. I took a step back from the bar, hitching my bag higher up on my shoulder in the universal gesture of ‘I’m just going to the bathroom.’ It’s like opening your mouth when you’re putting on mascara. Everyone does it without realising it.
‘If you’ll excuse me for just a moment …’ I said, nodding towards the bathrooms. ‘I’ll be right back.’
The
‘It’s my ancestors who are the attraction,’ he said, in mock woe. ‘Not me.’
I shot him a glance to make sure that there wasn’t a grain of truth beneath the mockery. It wasn’t that long ago that his little sister had emerged from a disastrous relationship with a man who had used her solely to gain access to the family archives. It was part of why Colin had been so beastly when we’d first met; he had seen me as yet another vulture trying to batten off the family history.
It all seemed to be OK, but I leant into him a bit just the same, trusting the pressure of body to body to do more than a hundred reassuring words.
Joan’s face closed like a fist. ‘Anyone for a drink?’ she asked in tones you could have used to cut glass.
‘Guinness for me,’ said Sally, and I saw her sister wince. ‘Eloise?’
I looked to Colin.
‘Sit down, Joan,’ he said easily. ‘I’m buying.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ I said quickly.
‘Gin and it?’ he said, nodding to the vicar.
The vicar cast his eyes towards heaven. ‘If only all my parishioners were like you. Who needs a flower rota?’
‘Drinks rota, instead?’ I suggested.
‘That’s heresy around here,’ Colin said. ‘We hold our flower arrangements sacred.’
‘But we also like our gin.’ The vicar made little shooing motions at Colin. ‘Go on, go on. Fetch.’
‘You mean you like gin,’ I heard Joan saying as I meandered with Colin over to the bar.
‘Oh, we’re not going to start all that about gin being the drink of unwed mothers again, are we?’ griped the vicar. ‘Think of it as a good, imperial drink, the stuff the Raj was built on. That should tickle your fancy.’
From the tone of her response, it was clear that Joan was less than tickled.
I poked Colin in the arm. That’s one of the best bits of being in a relationship: all the legitimate little touches that let you know that you belong to someone and someone belongs to you. You can’t poke just anyone, after all.
I stood on the toes of my boots to whisper in his ear, ‘Do you think he’s flirting with her?’
Colin made a distinctly sceptical face at me. ‘Eloise, half the parish has a pool going on whether he’s gay.’
Considering I had wondered the same myself, it wasn’t exactly a surprise. ‘But if he’s not …’
Colin was already giving drink orders to the bartender, with whom, like everyone else, he appeared on extremely familiar terms. It seemed that this pub was the local equivalent of Cheers. ‘Vodka tonic for you?’ he said to me.
‘You remembered!’ I exclaimed with pleasure. There had been a dreadful Thanksgiving party during which we stood at a bar pretending not to know each other. Well, maybe not so dreadful after all, since he had asked me out at the end of it. It had taken quite some time for me to figure out that I was being asked out, but fortunately my friend Pammy was there to interpret for me and prevent my botching it all too badly.
Colin’s ears turned slightly pink. ‘It’s not exactly the theory of relativity,’ he mumbled.
‘Still.’ Rising on my tiptoes, I brushed a quick kiss against his cheek. ‘Thank you.’
Colin smiled down at me in a way that warmed me straight down to my toes. ‘You’re welcome.’
I would be lying if I said I didn’t hope Joan was watching. The kiss on the cheek was, to use a very homely metaphor, a bit like a dog peeing on its territory to ward off other dogs.
Speaking of peeing … there was a convenient little hallway just off the end of the bar, with the traditional male and female signs prominently displayed. I took a step back from the bar, hitching my bag higher up on my shoulder in the universal gesture of ‘I’m just going to the bathroom.’ It’s like opening your mouth when you’re putting on mascara. Everyone does it without realising it.
‘If you’ll excuse me for just a moment …’ I said, nodding towards the bathrooms. ‘I’ll be right back.’
The
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