Page 17 of Knots About You
‘So are your forearms.’Geez, Claire, what the hell?My stupid mouth was running away with itself again. ‘I mean, the stills. The stills’ forearms. Pipes. Copper.God. Shut up, Claire.’
He did not laugh at me. He did the worst thing; he stood without reacting at all. ‘I’ll send my diary through, and we can find some dates that work for both projects. If that’s all right?’
‘Yeah. Great. I mean, that’s fine.’
He set his empty mug down and glanced at the door. ‘I should get back. Tours don’t run themselves.’
‘Shame, I was going to get you scraping paint.’
‘All in good time, city girl.’
We walked to the kitchen, and I wondered if it was only me who felt the bubbling of tension. At the door, he paused, one hand on the frame above his head. I nearly melted at the sight.
‘Text me if you need anything. Even if it’s a Wednesday.’
I let him leave, sneaking glances at his backside, before closing the door and leaning back against it dramatically.
‘Okay, Otterleigh,’ I said. ‘If I do this, you'd better let me climb your whisky man at least once.’
Trevor screamed in the distance, and I rolled my eyes.
eight
OWEN
Thursday nightsat the Tipsy Otter were loud in a way the distillery never was. Voices rose and fell from the tables all around, and on top, glasses clinked. The quizmaster, Kenny, had his microphone added to the din as he tried to keep control of the room. The minute he spoke, everyone burst into a new flurry of heated whispers. Fairy lights looped the wooden ceiling beams, having been installed years ago for a wedding party and never taken down.
We’d claimed our usual table under the crooked portrait of the moustached man long forgotten. He was a regular fifth in our quiz team, seeing as mum preferred to stay at home and enjoy her soaps in peace. Dad, Isla, Jeff, and I made a formidable enough team anyway.
The answer sheet sat on the table in front of me, the dedicated answer writer, our team name scrawled in marker.
Cask Force.
Jeff’s idea. He was unbearably proud of the pun. Not that any of the rest of us had anything better to offer.
We were halfway through the weekly quiz and clinging to second place. Dad had pulled theBattle of Bannockburnout of his backside during a history round, and Isla had stormed a picture round about early 00s pop stars. Jeff had kept us in drinks and crisps for the most part.
‘If they ask anything on logos, I am your man,’ Jeff said, licking salt off his thumb. ‘Also obscure chocolate bars from the last century.’
‘That’s pretty specific, babe,’ Isla said without looking up. ‘General knowledge is next. Brace yourselves.’
Morag’s team was busy riling up MacKay’s lot across the room with the fact that they were the current reigning champions on the chalk scoreboard behind the bar. Gretchen, the barmaid, Kenny’s daughter, looked every bit bored out of her mind, stacking clean glasses and waiting for closing time.
‘Round four. General knowledge. Keep the arguing to a dull roar, Isla.’ Kenny said, winking at our table.
‘He says that every week,’ Dad muttered.
‘That’s because Isla has a gob like a foghorn,’ I added.
Kenny read off the first question, the capital of New Zealand, and the room dissolved into the usual hiss of debate. I was halfway through writingWellingtonwhen the pub door swung open.
Every head in the place turned to look. All of the usual characters were accounted for. That meant someone new. Fresh air tumbled into the warm room, along with the prettiest damn sight I’d seen in the Tipsy Otter, possibly ever. Claire hesitated on the threshold, looking mildly terrified of the gang of villagers hunkering inside. After visibly swallowing, she stepped in and shrugged off her coat before gathering it up in her arms.
My heart skipped as I took in her deliciously short black dress and the sort of high heels that made you dream about them being pressed into your back. Long red curls tumbled around her shoulders, windswept but beautiful. In a London wine bar, I had no doubt she would have fit right in, but in our pub, she gleamed like some exotic artefact. The whole room sat enraptured.
She went momentarily still under the weight of all the stares. Then her eyes found mine through the haze, and a small, unsure smile hit her face. She lifted a hand, and I swore the room whispered far more than they did over even the most hotly contested quiz question. My chest tightened, and I fought to find anything to say.
‘Oh,’ Isla said, following my line of sight. ‘That’s your stray?’
