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“You are really throwing out the compliments tonight, Ellie.”
“—Annoying, judgemental, sanctimonious little shit?”
He wiped a bit of pizza sauce from the corner of his mouth and pointed his finger at me. “Beautiful. You should be a writer.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.” I laughed and threw the last bit of the crust I didn’t want back into the pizza box. “Do the pizza delivery people ever get surprised when they show up here, do you think?”
“Why would they be surprised?”
“Well, big fucking house.”
“Big fuckingancienthouse, thank you very much.”
I nodded. “Big fucking ancient house, old-arse noble title, and… two takeaway pizzas.”
“You’d have to ask them. I really couldn’t tell you.”
“I’ll send them an email,” I mused. “Do you think The Queen eats pizza?”
Max paused and looked at me. “Like this kind of pizza?”
“Any kind of pizza, but I suppose takeaway pizza would be even more amusing.”
“I’m not sure I’ve ever really considered Her Majesty eating pizza.”
“Hmm.” I paused. “I bet she uses a knife and fork if she does. I bet that makes a right mess if it’s a stuffed crust. Mozzarella stuffed wouldn’t be too bad, but sometimes the marinara pizza sauce just spurts right out.”
Max blinked at me.
“Do you think she has to pay for dry cleaning the furniture if that happens?”
“I’m going to assume the Royals have in-house dry cleaning available to them,” he replied slowly. “Your brain is a mess, do you know that?”
“It’s my brain. What do you think?”
“I think you seriously underestimate how crazy it is.”
“You might be right. Think of it as self-preservation.” I licked a bit of sauce from my finger and closed my box. “It’s getting dark. Should we make sure the goats are locked away now or are you not finished?”
Max nodded and shut his box, too. “I’m done. Come on. Let’s take you to see the goats for one last time.”
The finality of those words hurt a little, but I swallowed it back and got up, following him through the stupidly big house to the back mudroom where my wellington boots were apparently living.
“Why are my boots here?”
“You brought them here and left them,” he replied without batting an eyelid. “I didn’t even realise until earlier.”
“Oh. That’s convenient. I didn’t really want to get my flip-flops muddy.”
“I still can’t believe you thought flip-flops were an acceptable footwear to visit goats with.”
“They’re the only shoes I have unpacked,” I admitted, slipping my feet into the Muck Boots I loved so much. “My feet hurt if I wear shoes driving long distances, so I was just going to slide them off tomorrow as soon as I got in the car.” I shrugged and wriggled my toes inside the boots. “Are we ready to go?”
“Let’s go.” Max opened the door, and a slight chill flew in on a breeze. He turned back to me. “Do you want to wear one of my coats? Your cardigan isn’t very thick.”
I looked down at the thinly woven cardigan I was wearing. “Maybe that’s a good idea.”
With a chuckle, he pulled a think puffer jacket from one of the hooks and handed it to me. “There. That should do this.”
