Page 7 of Wind and Water
I have to jog to keep up with his long strides.
Momma is staring at the bronze statue of Peter Pan playing his flute. His face is full of mischief, and on the stump beneath him are little animals and fairies. It’s quite beautiful and reminds me of Momma reading me the book as a child.
Liam turns his gaze from Pan and the crowd around him and whispers, “Elves can live over two hundred of your years, Wren.”
Two hundred. It’s inconceivable to imagine living so long. Shaking my head, I pull my sketchbook out of my backpack, take a pencil from the front pocket, and make a quick sketch of Peter Pan. I’m not missing my lovely England vacation because of Liam or anyone.
Looking over my shoulder, he asks, “You said you make jewelry?”
“That’s right. Not war.” I shade in the shadows cast by the trees and shrubs surrounding the statue.
“You draw very well.” He touches my bracelet. It’s a gold band with a green marcasite stone in the center. “Did you make this?”
I take a step forward. He’s too close, too warm, and smells too male. “Yes. Won’t you just go away?”
“I can’t do that.” There’s an apologetic quality to his voice, but I sense no wavering in his goal.
Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll get the hint eventually.
That is not what happens. We go to the Abbey, and he follows. We take a double-decker bus tour, and Liam sits behind us. When we exit the bus, I give our tour driver some money, and when I turn, I see Momma pointing to the sign over a pub door.
Liam looks and nods.
Without having to ask, I know that she’s invited him to eat dinner with us. I’m too tired to argue, and something about him is hard to dislike. It’s more than his good looks, which cannot be denied. He’s easy and comforting. I have no doubt that in a tough spot, that he’d protect us or die trying. Maybe it’s becauseI’ve never had that in my life, and I’m almost certain my mother hasn’t either, that I silently follow them into the English pub and sit opposite him at the booth as the waitress hands us menus. If I can’t get rid of him, I may as well enjoy the sight of him.
The waitress blushes and says, “We have chicken pot pie and beef Wellington on special tonight. I’m sorry to say we’re out of the mutton already, but it’s popular with the local crowd and they’ve been here a while.” She points at a large, loud group watching the sports news about a soccer match.
“Thank you.” He looks at her name tag. “Mary. You’re very helpful.”
Even redder in the face, Mary giggles and steps away.
“Good lord. Have some pride, woman,” I mutter.
Momma elbows me in the ribs. “Don’t be ugly. She’s smitten, bless her heart.”
I close my eyes and remember myself. Forcing my smile into place, I say, “Sorry, Momma. I think the pot pie sounds good and a half pint of beer. I’ll sleep like a baby.”
“I agree.” Momma slaps her menu down with a flourish. “This is a good ol’ boy bar if I ever saw one.”
“I think all the cowboys are across the Atlantic, but I see what you mean. Local pub with lots of character.” It’s just the kind of place we like to find when we go on vacation or head to Houston for a weekend getaway.
Still giggling and now watched by two other waitresses, Mary returns. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Liam looks across at me, then at Momma, but Mary only has eyes for him. “I think we’re all decided on beer and pot pie.”
Mary shudders as she draws a deep breath. “Pints or halves, ale or lager?”
“Half pints and ale, please,” I say gently. My mother is right about Mary being smitten. If I don’t say something, she’ll pile all three meals on his side of the table.
As if out of a trance, she turns and gapes at me. “Of course. Yes, miss.” She rushes away and joins the other two for a good giggle.
“Maybe you shouldn’t speak to her so sweetly.” A tiny knot of jealousy curls into my belly.
Cocking his head, Liam stares at the women ogling him, then turns to me. “I didn’t say anything to lead her to believe I was looking for more than food and drink.”
“You don’t need to say it, Liam. You only need to smile.” Even I’m not immune to his good looks as much as I’d like to believe I am.
His smile is slow and full, and all of his attention is on me. “I will try to keep my smiles to myself, Wren.”
