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Would he?
As I look for any indications that anyone might have heard us, I notice something.
Every single woman is watching Mr. Tall, Dark, & Inked, Mr. TD&I. Not watching. Ogling, practically salivating. They’re like a single wave, all their heads move in synchronicity, like the synchronized swimmers in those old black and white movies, following him until he disappears from sight.
Until Mrs. Merriweather breaks the spell.
“Bloody ‘ell, Summer, ‘oo was that? Got me knickers in a twist, ‘e did. I’d show ‘im a thing or two, I would.”
The entire room laughs, it’s a high pitched nervous squeal coming from all the females.
Mrs. Merriweather, the proper English widow, has just verbalized what every breathing female is thinking in her very proper English accent. Quite colorfully, I’d say. She literally shocked the shit out of me.
“Mrs. Merriweather,” I choke out as a fresh flash of embarrassment floods me. The man’s definitely got my knickers in a twist, too! “Why would you say that?”
I come around the counter with a towel in my hand. I’m a nervous wreck after that confrontation.
The nerve of him, coming in here and speaking to a woman he doesn’t know like that, filling her head with all sorts of images, making her feel all kinds of incredible things. Making her want things she’s never imagined before. How dare he?
No, I don’t want that, definitely not.
Could I?
I need something to do, something to occupy my hands with, so I’m going to wipe tables and check on the condiment stand.
I wonder if his skin is smooth?
I rest my hand on the flat tabletop but see his chest, visualizing it in my mind.
“Because, missy, I’m a woman, and ‘e’s a fine specimen of a man,” Mrs. Merriweather replies. “’e’s got you in a bit of a tizzy I see,” she chuckles loudly.
“Don’t be silly,” I try to argue, scrubbing like a crazy person.
I wasn’t just imagining running my hands down his chest.
His naked chest.
I definitely was not.
“Silly am I? Then why would you be trying to rub a ‘ole in that table then?” she calls my bluff. “Thinking it be something else, would you? And the way ‘e put that little twat in his place,” holy shit, did she just call Steve a twat? “I ‘ad ‘alf a mind to pull ‘im out by ‘is ears me self.” With that, she crosses her arms across her chest and gives me an emphatically loud hrrrrrmph!
I choke back a laugh at that wise old woman’s very accurate description of how she’d have handled the ‘little twat’. Old lady Merriweather just ripped Steve the twat a new asshole.
“Steve’s a customer and the customer is always right.”
I can’t look at her, I just can’t, I wouldn’t be able to keep a straight face. As much as I’d like to tell her, Damn right, he’s a twat, probably a little peckered twat at that, I can’t talk about one of my customers that way. Even if he is a little twat. A little peckered twat.
“Oh, bullocks, Summer!” the swear words flowing from this feisty firecracker makes me love her even more. “Being a customer doesn’t give someone the right to be disrespectful, and a total arse! That man was right, the little twat is an arse kisser.”
I chuckle, it just pops out, I can’t stop it.
“I was handling him.” I really do attempt to be stern and serious. Really, I swear. How am I supposed to keep my voice from squeaking?
“Yes, dear, you were, but isn’t it brilliant when a big brawny man’s man does it for you? Oh, the things that man can do would be a sight I’m sure.” The woman is quite plainly infatuated with Mr. TD&I.
“Women don’t need a man to take care of them, Mrs. Merriweather. Look at you for instance, you’re happy, and you don’t need anyone.”
“It’s not needing them to, lass,” she winks at me, the cheek of the woman! “It’s the fact that they can. And I’d bet me britches ‘e’d be doin’ it quite well, ‘e would.” After a smirk and a dip of her chin, she adds, “And a right many other things, I’m sure.”
