Page 25 of The Matchmaker
“They moved a road around a fairy bush,” he continues, his thumb scrolling down his phone. “In 1999. And in the 1960s too. Preservation of local culture. Pretty big protests, actually. They even—”
“Yes, thank you, Peter,” Jack snaps, eyeing me like I’m a stone caught in his shoe, and I open my mouth, about to argue again, when his expression suddenly wipes clean.
Uh-oh.
The back of my knees start to feel a little funny. Like I’m standing at a great height, looking down at my doom. I think I prefer it when he glares at me. At least then I know what to expect.
I start to lose my nerve, hyperaware of everyone looking at me. Time to beg. “Look, you can’t just—”
“You make an important point,” he interrupts, and Adam and I share a shocked glance. We’re not the only ones.
“She does?” Callum asks, sounding wary as hell.
“Yes,” Jack says. “And that’s twice she’s accused me of not caring about the community here. It sounds like I have a bit of work to do to earn back some trust. I think I’ll start by giving her the chance to prove herself.”
“Provemyself?” That does not sound good. Why does that not sound good? “What do you mean?”
“You can’t just expect me to take your word for it,” he says, looking surprised. “Especially seeing as how I’ve never heard of this festival before. But if it’s the cultural event you say it is, of course we’ll have to ask the Board to reconsider their plans.”
“The festival?”
He latches onto the doubt in my voice. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? You hold it every summer.”
“I…yes, but—” The triumphant look on his face stops me dead. “Yes,” I say again, though the word comes out a little scratchy.
“Then I look forward to seeing it myself.”
Bluff called. That’s what he’s really saying. That’s what he’s telling me with that smirky little smirk.
“Okay,” Adam begins. “Let’s just—”
“And we look forward to having you,” I say over him, ignoring the pained look on his face. “You’re not taking this pub without a fight.”
I actually thought the last bit sounded pretty good, but Jack looks bored now, like he’s already won.
“Uh-huh.” He gestures for the camera people to resume filming the lake, clearly finished with the conversation. In fact, the only people still paying any attention to me are Callum, who keeps trying to catch my eye, and Adam, who looks like he wants to have a strong word with me.
I decide a tactical retreat is best, and so I make my way stiffly back inside, trying to ignore the sickly feeling in the pit of my stomach as I wonder just what the hell I’ve gotten myself into.
CHAPTER SIX
There’s a reason I never did drama at school. A reason I never tried out for debate or learned an instrument or did anything that meant I’d be inviting people’s eyes. I don’t do well under pressure. I get nervous. I get tongue-tied. I second-guess myself and my palms get clammy. I say things without thinking and regret them as soon as I do. This is why I’m pleasantly surprised when I sit in Gemma’s kitchen an hour later, feeling completely serene about what just happened, even while everyone else around me clearly does not.
“This is my fault,” Adam says, as he paces up and down the small room. “I should have said something. I should have stopped you and said something.”
“But you didn’t,” I point out.
He doesn’t seem to hear me. “We can call their office. We can explain that you were upset and didn’t mean it.”
“That’s just the adrenaline talking.”
“It’s damage control,” he says sharply. “How are you not seeing this? Is it because you’re not sleeping? Is that it?”
“I’ve been sleeping fine all week,” I say, peering at Gemma’s laptop as I bookmark an article. “I’m extremely well rested.”
“Well, you’re not acting like it!”
“So we’re just yelling in my house now?” Gemma enters the room with an armful of Noah’s sports clothes and a stern glare. “That’s a thing we’re doing?”
