“I’m not pining,” I scoffed and they both laughed.
“Never has a man pined so hard,” Lachlan said.
“The piningest piner to ever pine, I say,” Munroe agreed.
“I may just spit in your pints the next time you lads come in,” I said.
“Och, just go for it, mate. This is becoming ridiculous,” Lachlan pushed.
“And if she still says no?” I threw the towel down and leaned on the bar, meeting his eyes.
“Then at least you’ll know you gave it everything.” Munroe drained his pint. “But mate, I don’t think she’s going to say no. Not if you really go for it.”
“Based on what?”
“Based on the fact that she stares at you when you’re not looking like you’re the answer to any question she’s ever had,” Lachlan said, holding my gaze. “I’ve known Agnes almost as long as I’ve known you. That woman loves you, Graham.”
The words slapped me. Fuck, but it was what I wanted to hear, wasn’t it? But from her mouth, not Lachlan’s.
And maybe they were right. Maybe I’d spent so long respecting her rejection that I’d stopped actually fighting for her. Stopped showing her that I was worth the risk, whatever she was afraid of.
“Fine,” I said, surprising myself with the word. “Fine. I’ll ask her on a proper date.”
“That’s the spirit.” Munroe clapped his hands together. “When?”
“I don’t know. Tomorrow? I’ll bring her coffee, ask her to dinner?—”
“Not just coffee. Bring her something she actually wants.” Lachlan grinned. “You know that tea she likes? The fancy stuff from Edinburgh?”
“The rose and cardamomblend?”
“That’s the one. Bring her that. Shows you pay attention.”
“And wear the blue jumper,” Munroe added. “The one that makes your eyes do that thing.”
I stared at him. “What thing?”
“I don’t know, they just... do a thing. Women like it when your jumper does a thing with your eyes. Lia told me so. Trust me.”
“This is deeply uncomfortable.”
“This is us helping you not die alone surrounded by whisky bottles and regret.” Lachlan stood, fishing some coins from his pocket and tossing them on the bar. “You can thank us at the wedding.”
“There’s not going to be?—”
“Blue jumper. Fancy tea. Proper date. Stop being a coward.” Munroe pointed at me as he headed for the door. “We believe in you, mate. Even if you’re too thick to believe in yourself.”
“Och, and stop flirting with other women, aye?”
They left laughing, the door swinging shut behind them, and I was alone again with the quiet and my thoughts.
But for the first time in years, those thoughts didn’t feel like a complete dead end.
Something’s stopping her.
I kept turning the words over in my mind as I finished wiping down the bar, restocked the garnishes, ran through all the mindless tasks that kept a pub running between shifts.
Were they right? Could it be so simple as asking her on a proper date? How many times had I asked the woman tobloody marry me and she’d ignored me? I mean, in fairness, I’d half been joking, but that was largely out of frustration. Something had changed the day we’d split and Agnes had never given me a straight answer for it. It was out of character for her, not to be direct with me, or really, anyone, so I couldn’t fathom what had changed.
