Chapter Six
Nate
The week after Fletcher family dinner, and that heated moment in the cupboard under the stairs, saw a thawing between him and Laurel. In fact, it was actually quite warm, and there was the distinct promise of friendship. With perhaps a bit of flirting thrown in for good measure. Just a bit, not a lot.
He had turned it into a game, seeing if he could get the right drink for Laurel in the morning. He was there early because he hated being in the bunkhouse when the students roused themselves from their slumber and scurried messily around for food and clothes that weren’t too filthy. Whether they had discovered Simon and his laundrette in town was anyone’s guess. Today, he sat with two cups of peppermint tea in front of him, having received a grin and a head shake from Laurel.
Nate glanced across the office at her, engrossed in whatever was on her computer screen, a slight frown crinkling her forehead.
‘Do you know anything about trout?’ Laurel asked, tilting her head at him speculatively.
Nate frowned. ‘I know how to cook trout, but beyond that…’ He trailed off. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know, you just look like the kind of guy who would know about trout fishing.’ She grinned at him. Was she winding him up?
‘I consider fishing to be one of the most mind-numbingly boring things to do.’ He stretched his arms above his head, watching Laurel scan his chest. ‘Second only to golf.’
Her eyes came back to his. ‘Did your dad never take you fishing?’
He shook his head. ‘God, no. Did yours?’ he challenged.
‘No, Jack always wanted to, but Dad was too busy on the farm.’ She leaned back in her chair, uncrossing her legs under her desk. ‘I took Robin once. It did not go well.’
Laurel breathed out a little self-conscious laugh, like she’d just overshared. Nate’s stomach lurched. She’d given him a glimpse, a tiny sliver of her life and he greedily shoved it in his pocket for further analysis later.
‘My dad went out for cigarettes when I was about ten, and never came home.’
‘Oh.’ She tucked her hair behind her ear.
‘It was a long time ago. I’m over it.’
Nate wasn’t sure why he felt the need to tell her that, but he did.
It was her turn to say something and he waited patiently. She was probably imagining how she would have coped with her father wandering off and never coming back.
‘Well,’ she raised one shoulder, ‘his loss. Is it just you?’
‘Just me and my mum,’ he said. Nate couldn’t help but glance wistfully at the picture of the Fletcher children on the wall.
‘She must be really special.’ Laurel’s voice was honey quiet, her golden eyes searching his face for something.
‘Yeah, she is,’ he said softly.
Laurel’s throat bobbed in a swallow. He let his eyes wander over her lips to the sleekness of her neck and across her collarbone, exactly how he could trace her skin with his mouth. She would taste of buttercups and jasmine, and her breath would catch in her throat.
Laurel’s phone vibrated angrily on her desk, jerking him out of his reverie. His eyes flicked quickly up to hers. She was flushed, those full lips parted, her eyes a wanton dark gold. Her phone vibrated again and she grabbed it, tapping at it forcefully.
‘Sylvie, hi,’ she breathed.
Nate turned back to his paperwork, satisfied. So, it hadn’t been a one off, the way Laurel’s body had stilled against his in the cupboard at Bill’s house.
Laurel Fletcher was attracted to him.
‘Mmm hmm, sure, I’ll ask him’
Nate glanced at her, but she was studiously typing with her phone propped under her chin.
‘Can you forward me the details for the next outdoor cinema? I just want to double check the food provision.’
Nate looked at the list of finds in front of him, tuning out Laurel’s work chatter. They were getting deeper, and now he knew there weren’t any significant Victorian discoveries, he was close to getting Hector back in to say it would be difficult to dig deeper trenches, but then do it amazingly right.
‘Nate, do you want to?’ Laurel interrupted.
‘Huh?’ He was way too invested in assessing how deep his next trenches needed to go.
‘Robin’s organising some kind of night out tonight at the Dog detailed, lustrous and big. It signified someone important, someone rich.
A niggle of worry had started in the back of Nate’s mind as soon as Laurel climbed back into the battered tractor.
Because what if that was it? What if that was the only find?
He couldn’t spend the next months, years, whatever, on a dig that didn’t find anything. Besides that, Laurel would be devastated, and he didn’t want to watch the excitement drain from her face day after disappointing day.
‘Dr Daley.’ Anwar came up behind him, clapping his hand on Nate’s shoulder. ‘Good day, good find. It’s going to be a good site, I can feel it.’
‘It’s a great start, Anwar,’ he allowed.
‘Oh, come on man, let yourself enjoy it.’ Anwar rolled his eyes.
He was right, Nate should enjoy the moment, rather than thinking what if, what if, what if. What he had said to Laurel earlier had been true though, no expectations lead to no disappointment.
‘Let’s head to the car park. The minibus will be here soon,’ Anwar said.
They took the short walk across the car park and headed towards Robin, lounging against the farm gate, smiling lopsidedly at some female students and pointing leisurely at his house. What a dick.
Robin opened his mouth as soon as Nate was in earshot. ‘Hey man, heard you found some jewellery.’
Yep, definitely a dick.
‘Yeah, we did,’ Nate replied, checking his phone. The minibus trundled into the car park, saving him from any more conversation.
‘Sweet,’ Robin said. ‘Ladies, after you.’ He ushered the students on the bus.
Nate rolled his eyes. Of course he wanted to celebrate, but did he really want to spend the evening with a group of kids? Even Anwar was nearly ten years younger than him. Jack’s company would have been welcome, but he hadn’t come because Rebecca had expressly forbidden him from cancelling one of their rare date nights, while Bill watched the kids.
Regardless, he sat on the bus and watched as the hedgerows and crop-filled fields rolled past for the ten minutes it took to get into Little Houghton.
‘Dr Daley, are you okay?’ Anwar said, slurping back a can of Fosters.
‘Yeah, why?’ he answered, frowning.
‘Your leg hasn’t stopped tapping.’ Anwar frowned back at him. ‘It’s annoying.’
So was Anwar when he’d had a few swigs of beer.
It was still hot when they arrived and piled into the Dog & Gun, and Nate glanced around to see if Laurel had arrived. Not yet.
‘Robin Fletcher,’ the middle-aged barmaid called. ‘Your sister phoned and opened a tab. She’s been very clear. One drink each.’
A cheer went up and Robin leaned on the bar, giving her a wink.
Drinks were handed round, and Nate spilled outside with the rest of the dig team to the picnic benches in front of the pub, basking in the last of the day’s sun. He pushed his hand through his hair impatiently. Not for the first time, Nate wished he’d had time for a haircut. It was too long and unruly. He could at least look neat.
‘Dr Daley, do you think we could be moved into trench one?’ A couple of students had cornered him, one batting her eyes eagerly. ‘I mean, I just really want to find something, you know? Something important.’
He did know, so he smiled benevolently at the girls, making some non-committal noises because he had absolutely no intention of reallocating trenches.
Where was Laurel? He pursed his lips in annoyance. This was her celebration as well, and she was missing it, and she was the only one that he could have a decent conversation with. Robin was here enjoying himself when he had done precisely nothing to contribute to the dig. All he had done is book a minibus, which was easy because it was his mate’s dad who ran the local taxi company. Apparently, Robin Fletcher could coax a loving hug from a scorpion if he so wished.
Nate tuned out the two girls babbling on about how excited they were and what they were going to do with their pretty, young lives, and glanced down the road, wondering which direction Laurel would come from. She lived in Little Houghton, but he didn’t know where exactly. Nate took another sip of his beer and looked in the other direction.
There she was, walking down the dusky, hazy main road.
‘Excuse me, ladies,’ he said, moving to stand at the edge of the pub forecourt.
Laurel was in turned up jeans, flat sandals and what looked like the softest, most comfortable white t-shirt he had ever seen. This was Casual Laurel, wavy hair loose down her back, shoulder bag diagonal across her chest. Nate raised his hand to her and she waved back.
‘Hey, you’re late,’ he said once she was in earshot, smiling. Her cheeks had a glow to them. ‘Drink?’
‘Yeah, and I’m not late. I’m perfectly on time,’ Laurel commented, but her mouth curved up at the corners. ‘Robin,’ she called. ‘Drink?’
Robin called back that he was alright and indicated his full pint. Laurel turned to him expectantly.
‘Come on.’ He let her go first into the pub, guiding her with a hand to the small of her back. He was right, it was the softest t-shirt he had ever felt.
Most of the older locals had congregated inside, away from the noise and effervescence of his students and Robin with his friends outside, but there was a group who had taken the remaining picnic table.
‘What would you like?’ he asked, resting an elbow on the slightly damp bar. ‘Wine?’
‘Pint please, lager, not that treacly stuff.’ She gestured vaguely at his half-drunk pint and he grinned, signalling for the barmaid. It both amused and annoyed him that he got her drink wrong every single time.
‘You look nice,’ he observed, cutting his eyes to hers before ordering at the bar. A blush flowed across her collarbone and up her neck.
‘Oh, thanks,’ she muttered, grabbing her pint and taking a long draught as soon as the barmaid put it in front of her. ‘I needed that,’ she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and looking up at him with those big whiskey eyes. He knew Laurel was pretty, but a realisation smacked him hard in the chest.
Laurel Fletcher was beautiful.