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Though he had elicited quite a bit of information from me, Finn did not offer much in return. If Sylvie hadn’t mentioned he was going through some stuff, I might have asked a bit more—shown that I was curious about his likes and dislikes. But I worried he would think I was prying into his business, so I stayed on topics that seemed neutral.
I did discover that he was a bit of a fitness fanatic. That he stayed away from junk food, and that he went to the gym every morning. With the muscles I had eyed the other day, that did not surprise me at all. I also discovered that he lived in Washington, D.C. But he never told me what he did in the capital, nor did he talk about the wife Mr. Shilliday had mentioned when we had been in the store.
He’s been super nice, even after I dragged him into a job he had no intention of doing. But other than that, Finn has been quite contained and has kept his cards pretty close to his chest.
* * *
Today, Sylvie has managed to get the afternoon off. She was supposed to have had a few days off when I first arrived. She had wanted to spend a couple of days with me to help me settle in. Unfortunately, the other beautician who works with her had fallen ill with some viral infection, forcing Sylvie to cover all of her appointments. I know she feels bad not being able to spend the time with me that she wanted, but I don’t mind. I can hardly expect her to put her life on hold for the next few weeks just because I’m here.
As I wander into the kitchen, Finn offers to take me into town in the truck.
I don’t want to put him through any trouble. I’ve taken up enough of his time as it is with the decorating. On a few occasions, I’ve noticed him intently distracted, replying to either phone calls or messages. I have no idea what it is that causes such intense concentration in him, but whatever it is causes a furrowed frown to line his forehead.
“I can walk,” I reply. “Surely, it’s not that far.”
“About a mile and a half,” he replies steadily.
“There you go. That’s no distance at all.”
He smirks. “You’d know you were British.”
“Why?” I frown.
“Because Americans don’t walk anywhere,” he quipped. “Come on. You don’t know where the place is. Let me take you. Sylvie will bring you back in her car.”
I relent, partly because he seems determined to take me. The other reason, of course, is the fact that I have no idea which direction I ought to go. Though I went with him in the truck to pick up the paint, I was hardly keeping track of our journey.
When we arrive, Finn nods at me. “There you go. Now, was giving in and taking the lift so very difficult?”
I roll my eyes. “Thank you, Finn,” I sing in a slightly sarcastic tone.
“You’re welcome,” he says with a smile. “Have fun.”
He drops me off outside a coffee shop around the corner from where Sylvie works. It looks like some kind of bistro. I am certain I would have found it, eventually. The town really is tiny.
Sylvie stands up and waves me over when she sees me enter. Bree is sitting across from her in the booth. Sylvie told me she was inviting Bree. She thought it would be nice for the three of us to get together. I agreed. “Then I’ll have two friends in the whole country,” I had said.
When I sit down beside them, I notice Bree and Sylvie already have their coffees. No sooner have I settled myself than a waitress arrives at the table and asks if I want anything.
“Do you have hot tea? Maybe Earl Grey?” I ask. It’s the tea Martha has in her kitchen. It’s nowhere near as strong as the tea at home, and had I known, I would have brought a decent stash over with me. But I figure it’s safer to ask for a specific tea rather than just “tea,” in case I get a freezing cold beverage flavored with all sorts of fruits.
The waitress lifts her eyebrows. “Sure, honey. You want cream?”
“Do you have milk?”
At this point, the waitress looks down at Sylvie.
“She’s not from around here, Cathy,” Sylvie says.
“Really?” Cathy drawls back with a half-smile. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”
“Is it true? Do the British only drink tea?” Bree asks once Cathy has left our table to see to my order.
I look at Bree for a second, trying to figure out if she’s mocking me, but when I notice her deadly serious expression, I struggle to keep my face straight. Is that really what all Americans think? That the British just sit around and drink tea all day?
“No,” I say emphatically. “Not at all. We have all the beverages you have here. Coke, Pepsi, juice, beer, coffee, all of it.”
“It’s all right, Bree,” Sylvie jumps in. “Until I met Emma, I thought just the same. Sometimes, I think we’re all a bit dumb here.”
