Page 3 of Hearts Colliding
“And what’s that going to achieve? She’ll just make a run for it.” Alex rummaged in his pocket, his fingers curling around the dry, broken biscuit. “Try this.” He threw across what was left of the old Crunchi Snax, which the guy deftly caught.
As Alex knew she would, the dog fell for the trick of a treat and the moment she was lured out the guy grabbed her collar and attached a lead.
“Thank you. And again, I’m sorry about intruding on you like this.”
“Just keep to the path in future. And your dog on its lead.” If it could be called that. With its fuzzy little body and unfeasibly long legs, god alone knew what mix it was.
The guy replied with a curt nod and strode out, dragging his dog behind him. Alex’s nose twitched at the combined scent of a woodsy, musky scent and — beer?
“We won’t disturb you again.”
Alex closed the door with a harder slam than he’d meant, as another bolt of white hot pain speared through his head.
CHAPTERTHREE
“Tell me again, and make sure you don’t leave anything out.”
Ryan bit down on his groan. How many times did he have to go over what had happened? “Nan, I’ve told you everything.” Well, not quite.
“I want to make sure I’ve got the whole story.” She peered hard at him, her eyes sharp and intelligent. “Everything, remember.”
“Okay, okay.” Anything to stop her badgering. But everything? Hmm, maybe not…
Like, how good the guy had smelled, his sharp citrus cologne only making Ryan all the more aware that his hasty shower had been hours before and any freshness had been replaced with the pungent aroma of sweat and beer. Or how his auburn fringe had kept flopping over his brow, raked back with long, thin fingers. The guy might have been an unfriendly tosser with a spike stuffed up his arse, but it hadn’t stopped him from being mouthwatering. Ryan pulled the neck of his T-shirt out, sniffed, and grimaced. Unlike him. Yeah, perhaps he’d keep allthatto himself.
“Well, I’ll be buggered.” Delving into the kitchen cupboard, his nan pulled out a packet of biscuits for them to have with their tea.
“Strange I’ve not heard any whispers about the place being occupied again.” She lifted her tea cup to her lips and slurped. Ryan winced. Away from the public eye of the bar, she’d taken her teeth out.
“You mean the infamous Grannies’ Grapevine of Love’s Harbour is losing its edge?”
Ryan felt the indignant heat of her glare. “What’s so wrong with the more senior residents of the village taking a keen interest in what’s happening? We’re the eyes and ears of the community, an informal Neighbourhood Watch. Grannies’ Grapevine, indeed. I don’t know where you get such ideas from.” She tutted and shook her head, the loose bright pink curls piled up on top wobbling like a blancmange. “Makes us sound like a bunch of old ladies with nothing better to do than gossip.”
Ryan buried his face in his tea and concentrated on not meeting his nan’s beady eye.
“I wonder…” She put her cup down and dunked her biscuit into the tea. Pulling it out, the soggy end drooped before it plopped back in. Undeterred, she dunked another.
“Wonder what?”
“Old Sir Anthony. Maybe he died? He must have been in his nineties. Miserable old so and so. But he knew his duty to the village. Mind you, he was never the same after his wife died, and then a few years later his son suddenly left… But if he has died, it must mean young Alexander’s come back. Because he’d be the heir.”
Ryan grimaced when she dredged up the biscuit sludge from the bottom of her cup, spooned it into her mouth, and hummed in delight.
“Just got a few phone calls to make, and you’ve got the bar to open soon.” She sniffed and her face wrinkled. “Have a shower and make yourself presentable, boy. It’s pie night, and we’re going to be busy.”
* * *
“Ryan, where’s my drink? I ordered a G&T at least three minutes ago.”
Which is coming up now and is about to be rammed up your arse…Ryan slapped a cheesy smile on his face. “Here you go, one G&T. Apologies for the totally unacceptable delay. But, as you may have noticed we’re very busy this evening. Pie night, you see.”
The Fisherman’s Arms was full to the brim, the weekly pie night pulling in customers from miles around. It wasn’t just hard work, it was madness. Ryan didn’t have a moment to think or draw breath. He loved every single moment of it.
Lovely as ever… You should sell the pies at the farmers’ market… I have contacts in London who’d stock these in a heartbeat…Comments were thrown Ryan’s way, and he caught every single one and answered with a smile as he, his mum, and nan — now mercifully wearing her dentures — plus the extra casual staff all worked like the faultless, well oiled machine they were. Selling the pies elsewhere, beyond the village… It was something to consider, something to discuss seriously, something that needed the pros and cons looked at… Business was good, was very good, but business could always be better.
Ryan glanced up at the ornate clock above the bar. Another half hour and the rush would have died down. He could time it to the second, to when only a few stragglers remained and he, and his family, could finally draw breath.
“We haven’t booked, but any chance of fitting us in, Ry?”
