Page 33 of Full Service

“No, no. It’s fine. Shit happens.” Nathan looked up at me, eyes shining. “OK, well, not fine. But I’ve been through worse. No biggie.”

“Want to talk me through it?” I asked as quietly and sensitively as I could.

Nathan had turned to another wall in the store, straightening upThrones of Bloodbackpacks and lunchboxes on the shelf.

“Thing is, I like stability. Everything in order. I had stuff, back in Cardiff. My life together. A man who…who loved me, I thought. And then he turned out not to be such a nice man after all. It took a while for me to realise. I think everyone else realised way before I did, but by the time I noticed it was too late. They’d all gone.” Nathan’s voice was wavering as he spoke. “I’ll spare you the details, but I ended up here with very little. And this little shop was available for a pittance, and I knew exactly how to run it. So even though that man was doing his level best to make my life hell from so many miles away, I did my best to make things work. Even as he kept taking from me. But I’ve got so little left to give.”

I wanted to hug the man, but that was ridiculous. I hardly knew him.

“I’m not telling you this to make you feel sorry for me,” said Nathan. He had organised one half of the wall to within an inch of its sorry life. “But I do want you to know that you doing this? It’s one hell of a setback for me. The corporate landlord you sell on to might be lovely, or they might turf me out as soon as thatlittle clause you put in is up. But it’s one big setback in whatever stability I’ve started to build here.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I will work something out. Something that works for you. I promise.”

“I’d like you to go now,” said Nathan. He didn’t look malicious, or cruel, just sad.

“Are you going to be OK?” I asked, even as I stepped slowly toward the door.

“I’m always OK,” said Nathan. His mouth quirked up on one side to a smile that didn’t quite convince me.

Outside was colder than ever, and the sun was low over the horizon. I checked my phone to see that it was 4pm already. I’d spent all afternoon chatting in the shops, mostly happily, but that last conversation had given me shivers that were little to do with the nip in the air.

I knew I should be heading back — the country lanes were dangerous at night and it would be stupid to walk home too late — but after the conversation I’d just had, the warmth of the pub and the call of a good pint was beckoning me.

The pub was on the outskirts of the village a few minutes from the shops, so it gave me time to think. Could it really hurt to retain the one shop, at least for now? I chuckled to myself through the chatter of my teeth, though the new-to-me coat was keeping me warmer than I would have been otherwise. Was I going soft? Not that I’d ever been an awful and heartless businessman, but it had always taken more than a couple of tears to put me off a business negotiation.

And it hurt, to know someone was here under similar circumstances to me. Worse, even. I could sympathise with someone who had an arsehole ex who took something from them.

The pub was warm and dark, lit only by low lighting that did its very best to permeate every dark corner, as well as an openfireplace to one side. It was packed inside with punters, loud and active, laughs between neighbours and friends. In Hiraeth, almost everyone knew one another. I looked around the room, but there seemed to be nowhere to sit. I could slum it at the bar, I thought. I recognised the woman to be the one I’d caught drinking and smoking with Macsen in the flat. The night we’d first done anything. I could tell she recognised me too, as her eyes widened before asking for my order. A couple of minutes later, I was walking with two pints into the middle of the room and desperately hoping that there would be somewhere to sit.

“Hey, Hywel!” a low voice I vaguely recognised shouted from one corner near the fire. The squeeze of customers and darkness of the room meant I didn’t recognise the face as Llywelyn’s until I was much closer.

Llywelyn, James, Daniel and Tudor had squeezed into a corner booth, and James was patting the bench to his side with a smile. I had hardly spoken to Tudor or Llywelyn in years but they both smiled in a way that was equally as welcoming. Daniel held up a fruity cocktail in welcome, like Hiraeth’s Great Gatsby. I was shocked to find out that Hiraeth’s local pub even did fruity cocktails now. When I’d been younger it was one kind of lager for the men and gin and tonics for the women. The little village really was starting to oh-so-glacially move with the times.

“So,” said James, bold as brass, “what brings you here, really? I run a coffee shop and since all those actors went home I’m running out of gossip.”

I laughed, more to give myself a second to respond. “Just to see Uncle Prentis over Christmas. It’s been a while.”

“Good man, your uncle,” said James. I nodded in agreement at the same time I realised how little I actually had seen Prentis since I’d arrived. I’d really have to rectify that as soon as I could. I took a long drink of my first pint.

“We have places at the hotel now, if you’d rather not stay in Aberystwyth anymore,” said Tudor.

I drank another gulp before answering. “I’m all good, thank you for the offer though. I’ve found a place to stay and I’m settled there now.”

“How’s your car coming along?” asked Llywelyn. I noticed his hand was entwined with James’ on the table, and a brief glance made it clear that Daniel and Tudor were doing the same under the table.

“It’s…fine, fine,” I said. “Macsen is taking care of it.”

“Grumpy bastard isn’t he,” said Tudor.

“Flirty fella,” said Daniel, and my stomach tightened.

“No, definitely grumpy,” said Llywelyn. All four of them laughed.

“He only flirted with you,cariad,” said Tudor to Daniel. “And only cos you’re fit and famous. Mac’s default is definitely moody prick.”

James’ eyes widened. “Speak of the devil…” he held up a hand to wave at the other side of the bar. I felt my face flush, and my heart thudded irregularly against my ribcage.Here? Really? Now?

I had no idea how to act around Macsen in public, but I knew as soon as those rough workers’ hands placed down a pint of beer in front of me, tattoos poking out from under his sleeves, that I was a goner.

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