“The guest ale.” I nodded. For heaven’s sake.
“Worth your while,” Angus agreed.
I sat there, nursing a quiet pint as Angus the barkeep disappeared over in the corner, talking animatedly to someone out of my sight.
I assumed he’d give me a room key. Allow me to freshen up maybe, but there was no sign of anything such. I suddenly missed the London budget hotels. Tap card against machine? Receive a key. Anonymously and simply provided within seconds. Here?
“Another?”
I didn’t dare to argue. The beer was, as promised, excellent. But I needed a clear head. Also? This Angus was very obviously not a man to be argued with, so I gladly tapped my card on his reader and received the second pint. Not surprisingly as I was intimidated as anything, and didn’t dare to say no.
I sat there. And time seemed to stand still. I was back to being me, not daring to look at the time on my watch, not daring to check my phone. I didn’t want to pester him. Rush him. Annoy him when I’d pushed myself on him, at a very busy time.
He’d come. I hoped he would.
And I sat there. Concentrating on my breaths. Not able to drink anymore because I would lose my senses. Do something drastic.
I’d cry. Because. Fuck.
And just as I thought that? There was an arm around my waist. Another. Someone’s body against my back and a head against my shoulder. Face in my neck. Not a word spoken.
Just him. Me.
This whole insanity rushing over me, then…simply fading away. My hands holding on to his. The two of us rocking gently as we were. Me on that chair. Him hanging over me like a comforting, warm winter coat.
“Riley.” Here was Angus again, fiddling with ice cubes and lemon slices. Spraying something fizzy into a glass.
“Angus,” he said. “This is Fairweather.”
“Aye,” Angus replied. “You need to teach him some manners.”
“Why’s that?” Fox laughed. Still not letting go. Public displays of affection were apparently not frowned upon in here.
“Tried to order sparkling water. Should have him barred.”
“He’s a paying customer, Angus McAllen. He can have whatever he wants.”
“Not in here. I don’t bring in the best guest ales in Argyll and Bute to have people drink water. We have a local distillery here, Riley. We support that.”
“We do,” he said, and then he finally moved. Slid around me and took a seat on the barstool next to me. His hands both still in mine. I made sure of it. “Pint okay?”
What kind of question was that?
“It’s excellent.” I nodded vigorously as he smiled. A little blushed. I didn’t dare to look at him but still couldn’t look away. He looked…exactly the same. Hair tied back, but those eyes were glittering in the soft light and he was smiling.
“Gin and tonic. Double lemon.”
“Thank you, Angus.”
“Room one.”
“You’re in room one.” He grinned.
“It’s very different out here.” I had to say it.
“You’re in Kilmartin now. Things are slower here, a different pace of life. Everything is quiet and calm, well apart from when Mrs McAllen gets upset. Eileen is a firecracker, and when she goes off on one, you’ll know it. Gunner’s cattle got out this morning, so there’s been a whole load ofracket ’bout getting that fence fixed. Also, Kilmartin School is once again at full capacity. Well, the Fitzpatrick twins still haven’t turned up, but the boys drive themselves, and they’re the kind of kids who would be late to their own funerals. I’m tracking them on Find My Friends. Father’s orders. They’ve stopped off in Inverary no doubt; there’s a good chippy there.”
His nerves were showing now, talking too much about nonsense. The soft local accent creeping in the way it did. I loved it. I loved that he was here. Mostly I loved that I was.
