Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Zeke
I resisted the urge to take longer than absolutely necessary to thaw out beneath the steaming spray of water. My stomach had been growling since before Zodiac and I had set out on our cross-country trek, and if I was this hungry, Pippa had to be starving, too. A hot meal and a pint sounded like absolute heaven.
Wrapped in my towel, I unfolded the clothes the innkeeper had found for me. A sweater and… a kilt?
I eyed the muted plaid wool. This hadn’t been what I was expecting. But, well, when in Scotland. At least it was dry, which was more than I could say for my own clothes, lying in a sodden heap on the floor. I slipped into the borrowed clothes, finding the kilt surprisingly comfortable.
Draping the towel over the shower curtain rod, I wedged my jeans and wet shirt onto the heated towel bar on the wall, in hopes they’d dry by morning. Maybe I could drape my fleece pullover, coat, and socks over the radiator I’d spotted on our arrival.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, Pippa glanced up from where she’d been reading something on her phone. Her mouth pursed into a faint O, and the device tumbled from her fingers onto the bed. An unmistakable flare of heat flashed over her face before she covered, and I was abruptly very glad for our hostess’s wardrobe choices. It was the first true sign I’d had that Pippa was attracted. I could work with that.
I moved over to the radiator. “Ready for food?”
“I’m fair starvin’. According to Google, there are three restaurants in the village, plus a couple of takeaways.”
“Let’s try the nearest pub. After the day we’ve just had, I think there are a pair of pints with our names on them.”
The rain had stopped by the time we stepped outside. I’d sure as hell take that bit of luck. The first pub was a five-minute walk. Opening the heavy wooden door, I pressed a hand to the small of Pippa’s back to usher her inside. A wall of sound greeted us. The din of dozens of conversations. Even from the dim entryway, I could see the place was packed. The delicious scent of fried food and sautéed onions had my mouth watering.
A harried-looking server paused to check on us. “Help you?”
“Table for two.”
“Do you have a booking?”
I blinked. A reservation? For a pub? “Uh, no.”
“I’m afraid we’re booked solid tonight.”
“What about the bar?” Surely we could wedge in somewhere? At this point, we definitely wouldn’t be fussy.
She glanced back toward the bar, where it was three deep beneath the colored Christmas lights. “You can try, but if it’s food you’re after, I’d say your chances are poor.”
Forced to agree with her, we went back out into the cold. The next option was an Italian place, where the very flamboyant and flirty owner, who looked like an extra from My Cousin Vinnie, gave us much the same story. Then came the second pub, which ended up being a rerun of our experience at the first.
“Takeaway it is, then,” Pippa said. “I don’t mind bringing food back to our room.”
The takeaways were right across from each other. A chippy and a Chinese place.
“What’s your pleasure?” I peered at the menu taped in the window of the Chinese place. I could put a serious hurt on some lo mien just now.
“Um, we may have a problem.”
“Huh?” I followed where Pippa pointed and saw the sign prominently displayed at the bottom of the window. Cash only.
A similar notice was posted at the chippy across the street.
“What the actual hell? Who’s cash only in today’s world? Hell, every other trip I’ve made to the UK, everything has been touchless. Card only.” And because of that, I hadn’t bothered getting any of my cash changed over to pounds when I’d landed at the airport. I’d been in too big a hurry to get to the train station to see Pippa.
Mortified, I realized I couldn’t pay for dinner. Hoping she couldn’t see the heat in my cheeks, I admitted, “I don’t actually have any cash.”
“Me, either. Well, I’ve got about two quid, but that’s not enough for anything.”
Embarrassed and frustrated with the entire ordeal, I struggled to hold on to my temper. How were we going to eat?
“It’ll be fine. I’ve got this. Come on.” As if she knew I was prepared to dig in my heels, Pippa looped her arm through mine and escorted me back to the inn.
Was she planning on falling on the sympathies of our innkeeper? There were worse ideas, but damn, I was not accustomed to having to accept this much kindness from relative strangers.
But when we got back, she led us upstairs, back to our room. She crossed to the corner where she’d left her backpack. A few moments of riffling, and she came up with a familiar plastic-wrapped square. Her cheese. God bless the woman. The other half of the loaf of bread we’d bought came next, followed by some kind of packets. Fascinated, I watched as she filled the electric kettle that seemed to be a staple of every sort of British lodging and plugged it in. Then she hauled out the ironing board and the iron from the wardrobe lining one wall.
“Grab a towel, would you?”
I did as she asked, snagging one of the dry towels.
When I came back, she was tearing notebook paper out of a binder. “By rights, we should use parchment paper, but beggars canna be choosers, and all that.”
“What precisely are you doing?”
“Making grilled cheese and tomato soup. It’s not a lot, but it’ll be warm.”
She was cooking for me. In the oddest and perhaps humblest of circumstances, but she was cooking for me. For some reason, that absolutely delighted me—beyond the fact that she’d come up with something to put into our empty bellies.
“You keep soup in your bag for emergencies?”
“I do, actually, for when I forget to pack lunch or if I’m gone longer than I intend.”
“Clever girl. You’re sure saving our bacon. Want to give me those couple of pounds?” I asked. “I’m pretty sure I saw a drink machine down near the laundrette we passed.”
She flipped the two coins to me, and I went in search of beverages.
By the time I came back ten minutes later, Pippa had four sandwiches neatly lined up on the ironing board beside two steaming mugs. She waved a hand. “Bon appétit.”
I handed over one of the two Irn Brus I’d gotten from the machine. More of that when in Scotland stuff. Carefully, I eased down on the bed, not used to having to worry about flashing anybody. Pippa settled to face me. We toasted with our sandwiches, then dove in.
She chewed, a considering look on her face. “It would’ve been better with butter, but considering the circumstances, not bad.”
“This is the best damned grilled cheese I’ve ever had.” And I meant it.
Her lips fluttered into a smile. “You’re only saying that because you’re hungry.”
“Maybe fifty percent because I’m hungry,” I conceded. The other half was simply because I was here with her.
We lapsed into silence, eating the sandwiches and sipping at the soup. I could’ve just about eaten half a side of beef by that point, but the two sandwiches and cup of soup would definitely keep me from starving. I was so freaking grateful for her ingenuity.
Once we’d finished, Pippa took our mugs and the napkins and set them aside on the tea station. She dropped back onto the bed with a sigh. “I’m really sorry about all of this. I know none of it is how you meant for things to go.”
“I mean, no, it’s not. But Raleigh has no idea I’m comin’, so it’s not like the surprise is getting ruined. And while the chain of chaos that led us here was not at all on my list for how I wanted the day to go, I can’t say I’m upset about how it all ended up.”
Her brows drew together, and I wanted to smooth away that little wrinkle. “You’re not?”
“I can’t be sorry to be here with one of my favorite people.”
Surprise and pleasure flickered in her eyes before they dropped to the bedspread. “I’m one of your favorite people?”
I could make a joke and say something to keep us firmly in the friend zone we’d been circling for the past few years. Or I could take a risk.
Reaching out, I captured one of her hands in mine. She jerked a little at the touch, but didn’t pull away.
“I have a confession to make.” Stroking a thumb along the inside of her wrist, I felt her pulse jump at the statement.
“Oh?” Her tone had slid a few notes higher on the scale.
“While I do absolutely adore your cheese, and I’m grateful as hell you had some on you to rescue us from our dire dinner situation tonight, that is not why I’ve kept in contact with you all this time.”
“It’s not?” she whispered.
Hooking a finger beneath her chin, I lifted so she had to look at me. And in those big brown eyes, I saw a reflection of my own wanting.
Swallowing, I eased closer, giving her plenty of time to retreat. When she didn’t move, I paused mere millimeters from her lips and shook my head. “No, it’s definitely not.”
“Thank God,” she muttered, and closed the distance between us.