Her words catch me off guard.
“You’d trade all that for beans on toast?” I ask, trying to hide the smile tugging at my mouth.
“I think you had something richer,” she says softly. “Something that really mattered.”
When we turn the next corner, I stop without meaning to.
“This was my school,” I say, nodding toward the brick building with red trim and hand-painted art in the windows. “Primary school, at least.”
She smiles. “I’m picturing a tiny Oliver Bradshaw in a school jumper. Were you just as broody back then?”
“I was shy. Henry, though…” I pause, unsure if the emotion in my chest is going to crawl up my throat. “He used to tell me it was okay to be shy, it just wasn’t okay to be afraid. He used to check out the same book from the library here every week. Without fail.The Wind in the Willows.”
“He liked it that much, huh?”
“We loved it,” I say. “He’d read it to me every night when Mum was working the late shift. He used to tell me the book was actually about us.”
Addison blinks. “Really? How?”
I nod, looking wistfully toward the playground next to the school. “He said he was Toad. Wild and always chasing something new. And I was Ratty. Quiet, maybe a little nervous at times. I was always trying to keep up with him but never quite sure I belonged in the adventures he was having.”
It’s been years since I’ve talked about that. My throat feels tight, but Addison just listens, her expression soft.
“That book meant everything to us,” I add. “It was a constant in a world where not much else was.”
“You were lucky to have him,” she says quietly.
“Yeah,” I reply, still staring at the school. “I was.”
I pivot the conversation, showing her the shortcut back to my house through a church cemetery, and how I’d run through it anytime I was late for curfew.
“I like it here,” she says finally, as we reach the spot we started the tour.
It’s simple, but it feels like the nicest thing anyone’s said to me in a long time.
I tilt my head towards the pub. “Fancy some lunch?”
—So American, Olivia Rodrigo
The second we step into the pub, I’m hit with warmth. The cold outside fades away, replaced by the heat radiating from the crackling fireplace inside. It smells like rich gravy and freshly poured ale, and I think if comfort were a scent, this would be it.
The wooden floor is uneven and creaks under my boots. There’s a cozy mix of high-top tables and leather booths along the edges, and a dog is snoozing peacefully near the hearth like he owns the place.
“Oi, Oliver. You alright, mate?” A voice calls from the bar the moment we walk in.
I tap Oliver’s arm, instinctively lowering my voice. “Is something wrong?”
Oliver laughs under his breath and leans close to my ear. “It’s just how we say ‘how are you?’”
“Oh,” I say, letting out a giggle. “Another one for the dictionary.”
Oliver smiles at the bartender as we approach. “Good, mate. You alright?”
“Can’t complain. Good to see you.” He leans over the polished wood bar to fist-bump Oliver. “You bring trouble with you?” he asks, nodding his head toward me.
“This is Addison,” Oliver says, slipping a hand around my back. “Addie, this is Jamie Taylor. We were in school together. His mum and dad own the pub.”
“Nice to meet you, Addison,” Jamie says, extending his hand across the bar to greet me before looking back over at Oliver. “You want your usual, yeah?”
