Page 32 of The Matchmaker
“Kismet.”
“What?”
I let my bag fall to the floor and wipe my damp face with my equally damp sleeve. “This is kismet,” I tell him.
His mouth opens and closes before settling into a frown. “You look like you swam here.”
“It’s raining.”
But he has a point. I’m dripping all over the floor and quickly shrug off my coat before tying my hair back as best I can.
Callum looks around like he’s the victim of a practical joke, but when no cameramen pop out, he turns back to me. “Did you follow me here?”
“No. I told you, kismet.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Stop threatening to tear down my pub.”
He just stares at me. “That’s it?” he asks, when I don’t continue. “That’s your big negotiating tactic?”
“Did it work?”
“No. Not that that matters, though, right? Because of your amazing festival?”
“Oh, so you’ve heard of it?”
He gives me a look. “I know you don’t have one.”
“You don’t know anything. But I’m not here to argue with you.”
“Why are you here at all?Don’tsay kismet.”
I press my lips together because I was definitely going to say that. “I think if you can just talk to your boss, you could—”
“I can’t do anything,” he interrupts. “Traffic flow is where my power ends, and I’m sorry about the pub. I am. But it’s just a pub. It’s a building with four walls and a sticky floor. There are thousands of them all over this island and yours isn’t that special.”
“It’s special to us,” I say sharply. “And our floor isnotsticky.”
“Your whole village has been up in arms ever since we bought the land,” he says, sounding just as annoyed as I am now. “It’s like you refuse to see a good thing when it’s staring right at you. Do you know how many jobs are going to be created because of this hotel? Do you know how much money is going to start coming into the area?”
“And here we go with the money talk.”
“Half of your main street is abandoned! Half your houses are too.”
“That doesn’t mean you can just destroy the other half.”
“You know, I don’t think you even care about the pub,” he says. “I think you’re just clinging to the last thing you can because you know you can’t stop us.”
“And I don’t think you care about anything,” I retort. “That’s what makes it even worse. You don’t care about what you’re doing or who you’re doing it to. The only thing any of you are thinking about is money and profit, and I hate it. I hate Glenmill and I hate people like you.”
Callum stiffens at the last bit, and I slam my mouth shut, surprised at myself.
“I didn’t mean that,” I say, as all my resentment rushes out of me.
He shrugs, his expression carefully blank. “Yeah, you did.”
“I didn’t. I’m just angry. I say things I don’t mean when I’m angry. It’s why I don’t like arguing.”
