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“Shut up. I didn’t say that.” She sniffed and grabbed a towel to wipe the bar down. “Who else am I going to share my gossip with, huh?”
“I distinctly remember giving you my number in a very awkward situation.”
“Yeah. I lost that.”
I laughed and pulled out my phone. “Put your number in that.”
“You’re not going to avoid me?”
“Of course not. How else will I get my regular dose of village gossip?” I winked, picking up my wine.
“Oh, I see.” She took my phone and tapped on the screen. “I’m only good for gossip.”
“I solemnly swear that I will always write in a sarcastic bartender with a penchant for chewing out total wankers.”
She handed my phone back with a grin. “Sold.”
“Such a cheap date,” I teased, putting my phone on the bar. “Are you serving food yet, or do I have to starve?”
“You have to starve,” Max said smoothly from behind me. “She won’t take a food order until five o’clock on the dot.”
Pen shot him a dark look. “Why don’t you suck a llama?”
“Find me a llama in Windermere and I’ll give it a shot,” he replied, sitting next to me. “Can I have a diet Coke with ice, please?”
“Only because you said please.” She grabbed a Coke glass and the little gun and filled it. “Would you like a slice of lemon, Your Grace?”
“Lime, please.”
“Sorry, I’ve only got lemon.” She dropped a slice of the yellow fruit into the drink before he could say anything and slid it towards him. “Hope you enjoy that.”
Max fought back a smile as she disappeared to the other end of the bar while he looked from my glass to my face. “That’s a big glass of wine. Did you finish your book?”
I glanced down at it, swallowing. “I did. This afternoon.”
“Congrats,” he said, resting his hand on my thigh. “I’m proud of you.”
My attention hovered on his touch for a moment before I raised my gaze and smiled at him. “Thank you. It was a tough book, that’s for sure.”
“Those are the best ones, right?”
“We’ll see. I still have to read through it and do my own edits before I send it to my editor, but I suppose you’re right.” I looked into my wine glass. “I’m going to miss writing in Windermere. It’s so peaceful.”
He smiled over at me. “It’ll be a hit. Stop doubting yourself.”
“Ah, no can do. I’m a writer. Doubting myself is at least fifty percent of my job.”
Penny smirked. “What’s the other fifty percent? Writing?”
I met her gaze. “Thirty percent procrastination with strange quizzes to find out what cheese I am or what fish I’d be, eight percent eating my feelings, five percent napping, five percent watching TV, one percent staring at a blank page, and one percent actually writing.”
Max muttered, adding up all my percentages. “That’s fifty.”
I grimaced, shrugging a shoulder. “On the other hand, there are days I forget to eat because I can’t stop writing, so I suppose it’s all about balance.”
“Like eating a cupcake after a salad.” Pen nodded. “I understand that.”
Max shook his head.
