Page 4 of Hearts Colliding
Ryan turned around. Joss, his oldest friend, leaned over the bar with his gran Doreen next to him. They were still busy, but it was more than Ryan’s life was worth to say no, not when Doreen was his nan’s best friend and fellow senior member of the Grannies’ Grapevine.
“Give me a few minutes, and I’ll get something sorted.”
“Doreen!” Nan’s strong voice rang out and she darted from behind the bar. “Have you heard…” The two women huddled together, speaking in low tones, their identical baby pink curls bobbing up and down in perfect unison. It was the Grannies’ Grapevine in action. Ryan caught Joss’ eye and the two friends smiled.
Joss lowered his voice. “What are they gossiping about this time?”
As quickly as he could, Ryan told him about his earlier encounter.
“Interesting. I’m guessing the old man must have snuffed it and it’s the heir come back to claim his inheritance. Alexander you say his name is? You googled?”
Ryan shook his head. “No time, not on pie night.”
Joss pulled out his mobile, his fingers flying over the on-screen keyboard. “No mention of Sir Anthony popping his clogs…” Joss carried on scrolling, shaking his head. “The house gets a few mentions for some of its features, but otherwise…” Joss shrugged and pocketed his phone. “Must be the son, though. Who else could it be? No doubt we’ll find out soon enough. So Tina decided to introduce herself and make herself at home?” Joss grinned.
“Yeah, something like that. I think it’s true to say we made quite the impression.”
“And what impression did he make on you?”
Ryan wiped down the bar, concentrating hard on rubbing at a beer stain that was older than him.
“Arrogant and snotty. City bloke in a Barbour who drives a sports car. We’ve got a few of those in the village, so you know the type. I ask you, a sports car around here? About as useful as a chocolate teapot as Nan would say.” He frowned as he rubbed harder at the stain. Arrogant, sure, but… Hot, sexy, and a sulky mouth that looked like it could do with being sucked off his face… Ryan coughed and gave up on the stain just as his nan called out for Joss, waving him over to join his gran at a table that had, miraculously and suddenly, become free.
Little by little, the pub began to quieten as customers, filled to the brim with pie, chips and peas — the only thing on the menu on pie night — waddled out but not before booking for the following week. Another exhausting, satisfying and profitable night was drawing to a close. Pulling himself a pint, Ryan slumped against the bar. He didn’t miss his mum’s raised brow, but there was no serious admonishment that he’d broken the no drinking on duty rule; they were always run off their feet at the weekly event, but it had been even busier than normal.
Ryan took a long draft of beer, closing his eyes as he did so, savouring the rich nutty brew and letting the hum of voices wash over him.
Helping to run the pub was hard, relentless work, and more so since his parents had — amicably, thank god — decided to go their separate ways leaving them, literally, a man down. The Fisherman’s Arms was without any doubt the centre of the tight knit village community. He loved every moment of it, yet it was this time that was his favourite, when he could stand still for a few moments and take a breath. But he couldn’t stand still for too long. Finishing off his drink, Ryan got on with cleaning up behind the bar and restocking, alongside dealing with the remaining diners and drinkers, now far fewer in number.
“Ryan, you go and have your dinner now things have settled down in here,” his nan said, bustling out from the kitchen and wiping her hands on a tea towel. “There’s a steak and stilton waiting for you, my love.”
Ryan didn’t need to be told twice, as he darted into the back. Sitting at the huge old wooden table, he smiled and shook his head.
On top of the golden short crust pastry was a large, rough lookingR, marking the pie out as his. His nan, pie maker extraordinaire, had always done it and no doubt always would. Just like she always put anRon top of the cakes and buns she baked, marking out those especially reserved for him. Ryan’s lips twisted. Okay, so she tutted when he told her he wasn’t a kid anymore, but he was always secretly pleased she took no notice of him. Taking his first bite, he sighed as he surrendered himself up to the rich and savoury flavours that were an exploding taste bomb on his tongue.
As he ate, his thoughts drifted back to his earlier encounter. Even though he thought he’d done a pretty good job of covering up, inside he’d cringed as those light blue eyes had looked him up and down. It wasn’t as though he wasn’t used to men appraising him, this was Love’s Harbour, after all. Joss always claimed the village was probably the gayest in Devonshire, if not the whole of England, and there were times when he didn’t think his friend was far wrong, but he wasn’t used to the condescension he’d seen in the man’s cool gaze. Ryan stopped chewing, the food in front of him forgotten.
The man, whoever he turned out to be, had been typical of a certain type — thankfully small in number — who’d moved to the village. The green welly brigade, although Ryan didn’t think the man had been wearing a pair. Plus, of course, a Barbour, the waxed jacket of choice for a new life in the country, although it had been old and well worn in rather than straight out of the shop.
Love’s Harbour had received an influx of monied city dwellers in recent years seeking a different and better way of life — better, until they discovered how bad the broadband was and that there wasn’t a Waitrose within thirty miles. That type had mostly left, disabused of their rural dreams as soon as the winter snows, which could still cut the village off for days on end, had melted. But, the majority who’d come had thrown themselves into village life, strengthening the beat of the communal heart.
The click-click of claws on the flagstone floor snagged Ryan’s attention.
“Don’t reckon he’ll be signing up to the next Love’s Harbour’s Got Talent, or auditioning for the panto in the village hall, do you Tina? Especially not after your disgraceful behaviour earlier.”
Tina answered with a strangled whine as she balanced on her spindly back legs and pawed Ryan’s thigh. Cupboard love, it was all it was. The ridiculous dog with the long, gangly legs that were the perfect mis-match to her stocky little body, stared up at him with big, soulful eyes. It was a staring match, and Ryan knew he was already the loser as he pulled free a juicy chunk of steak and dropped it for Tina to snap up.
Ryan continued to eat, his thoughts returning to the guy. Maybe he was the heir. It made sense. But even if he wasn’t, he hadn’t looked like the sort who’d want to stick around a small Devonshire village for too long.
He pushed his now empty plate aside, along with his thoughts. There was still work to be done in the pub and he didn’t have time to waste thinking about a man he’d likely never meet again. Whoever he was, he’d soon be gone and forgotten, as though he’d never been.
CHAPTERFOUR
“Come on, Henry.” Alex tugged the lead to chivy the dachshund along, but Henry showed no sign of wanting to speed up as he sniffed his way along the harbour front cobbles. They’d been wandering around the village for the best part of an hour, Alex introducing the dog to the place that, in another life, had been his home.
Home…It had even been a happy one, at least for some of the time, and all because of her. Mum… The sharp pull of her memory, deep in his stomach, had never lost the power to make him suck in his breath, and wince. Even after all these years the pain was still there, and always would be. She’d loved every single part of him, going against his father’s wishes for his upbringing with a fierce defiance that had been unassailable. She’d protected and shielded him, until she had no more strength to do so.
You’re strong, Alex honey, stronger than you think. Always be you, don’t you dare bend to anybody else’s view of who and what you should be.
