Chapter 5
After a quick shower, and a spritz of her favourite crisp perfume, Stella threw on a sleek maxi-dress in a shade of ice-blue that emphasised the colour of her eyes – as with her work attire, she favoured unfussy, clean lines. She added a simple silver necklace and fixed her hair in a loose chignon. That done, she pushed her feet into her white leather trainers, hooked her designer cross-body bag over her shoulder and grabbed her cardigan before setting off for The Jolly Sailors pub.
The walk to the Jolly in Old Micklewick, which was the oldest part of town, took a little longer from her new apartment, but tonight she was glad of it after a day spent cooped up in a stuffy courtroom. The air was still balmy and warm, the sky above a clear, bright blue, seagulls cawing in the distance. She crossed the road and made her way along the top promenade, a spring in her step as she savoured the generous vista of the beach. At just gone seven o’clock, it was still busy, folk squeezing every last bit out of the day’s sunshine, enjoying a stroll or walking their dogs; this late in the summer, you never knew when autumn was going to come calling. Stella continued along the path, swerving round a loved-up couple who were ambling along at a leisurely pace. Her attention was drawn to a car that was crawling by, its windows down, music bouncing. It appeared to be jam-packed with teenage boys who were in high spirits if the laughter and ebullient conversation was anything to go by. She caught the eye of the youth in the front passenger seat, he turned to his friends and in the next moment a chorus of wolf-whistles and leering calls broke out. ‘Really?’ Stella shot them her best icy glare, the one she usually reserved for the courtroom. Hadn’t they heard that sort of behaviour wasn’t acceptable? Her look appeared to have silenced them and a moment later, the driver revved the engine and shot off. She rolled her eyes in disgust.
The annoying interlude aside, Stella was enjoying her walk along the prom, delighting in the light breeze that brushed over her skin, lifting the loose tendrils of her hair, the stresses of her day in court loosening its grip. Her mind went to the handsome stranger she’d seen earlier, wondering if he was a visitor to the town or if he was a local – if the latter were the case, she hadn’t seen him before, but then again, though Micklewick Bay wasn’t the biggest of towns, new people moved in all the time, especially since the housing estate had been built on the edge of town. She found herself hoping she’d bump into him again, the thought making her heart flip. What’s going on there? She felt suddenly disconcerted by this unexpected reaction.
Deliberately marshalling her thoughts in a different direction, she glanced up at the tall, five-storey Victorian houses that lined the promenade, affording it an exclusive air. All had well-tended window boxes or oversized pots by their doors, filled with artfully arranged plants. And all were immaculately kept, a sense of neighbours trying to out-do one another pervading the haughty terrace. Stella often wondered what the houses were like behind the perfectly painted, huge front doors. This area, situated high on the cliffs, was considered the “new” part of town, with the grand houses starting life as the holiday homes of the wealthy who’d fallen in love with the beautiful beach and the sea-bathing that was fashionable at the time. All of the properties had since been spliced-up into smaller, more affordable, apartments and sold off. What hadn’t changed though, was the glorious view of the beach and the imposing line of cliffs, the mighty Thorncliffe taking centre stage.
Tearing her gaze away from Thorncliffe, Stella’s eyes landed on a tall, dark-haired man walking towards her. In his hand was a dog lead attached to a young Labrador with huge paws who was trotting along jauntily. Her heart leapt and butterflies took flight in her stomach. It was the handsome stranger who only moments ago had filled her mind! Their eyes locked as he drew nearer, making her stomach loop-the-loop.
‘Hi – again,’ he said in that deliciously rich voice, his smile lighting up his bright-blue eyes that momentarily fell to her mouth. The waggy-tailed Labrador pulled towards her but was given a gentle tug of his lead accompanied by a quick, ‘Fred! No!’
‘Hi again.’ Stella’s heart was now jumping wildly about her chest, her eyes fixed on the handsome stranger. Using her well-honed courtroom techniques, she did all she could to steady herself as he walked by, a lazy smile tugging at his mouth. What is wrong with you, woman? Get yourself under control! She felt utterly wrong-footed by the strength of the emotions rushing around inside her. She’d never experienced such an overwhelming attraction to anyone before and it took every ounce of her strength not to look back, the urge seemingly impossible to resist. It wasn’t like her at all, she usually oozed confidence with the opposite sex, kept her cool, especially with those to whom she was attracted, but this felt different. Way, way different. And she wasn’t completely sure she liked it. But the temptation not to snatch a look behind her was proving to be too great, and before she knew it, she’d turned, her gaze meeting that of the handsome stranger’s. He flashed her a cocksure smile and a flick of his eyebrow then continued on his way.
Annoyed at herself, Stella marched on, determined to push him out of her mind. Tonight was all about switching off and having a laugh with her friends. It most certainly was not about letting a man dominate her thoughts, even if he was drop-dead gorgeous in a broad-shouldered, smouldering kind of way and, in fact, just her type.
With that, she switched her mind to her new apartment and the large black and white photo she’d seen in Lark’s Vintage Bazaar – a shop in town, owned and run by her friend Lark. It stocked an array of vintage clothing and accessories along with other intriguing finds Lark hadn’t been able to resist on her searches and travels. The photo would be perfect for hanging above the state-of-the-art electric faux fire that was set into the chimney breast of the lounge. But it wasn’t long before she found her mind wandering again. If I’ve seen him twice in a short space of time, Mr Hot is very probably living or staying nearby. Which means, there’s a good chance I’ll bump into him again… That thought made her feel inordinately happy.
The narrow steps that led down to the bottom prom and the beach were busy with people making their way back up to town, so Stella continued along to Skitey Bank, instead taking the path that edged the steep, twisty-turny road. She was still doing all she could to keep her thoughts from straying onto Mr Hot, but it was proving easier said than done when his handsome face insisted on appearing in her mind.
Soon her long legs were striding past the higgledy-piggledy stack of lobster pots and small boats that lined the seawall, the smell of seaweed lingering in the air as she drew closer to where the Jolly was nestled below the cliffs. She wasn’t surprised to see the pub’s sunny terraced area jam-packed with drinkers and diners, their laughter and chatter filling the air.
‘All right, Stella,’ a voice called from a table in the far corner. She glanced over to see it belonged to Nate, owner of a local upcycling business, who was keen on her friend Lark. He had a bottle of beer in his hand and was wearing his familiar easy-going smile, his rosy face betraying the fact he’d spent a chunk of the day in the sun.
‘Hi, Nate. Had a good day?’ She smiled back.
‘Aye, not bad, thanks. You?’
‘It’s better now I’m here.’ Stella gave a laugh. ‘I’ll see you later,’ she said as she continued along the age-worn path.
‘Righto.’
As she made her way closer to the door, the jaunty sound of folk music joined the gentle lapping of the sea against the shore. She stepped inside the low doorway of the quirky, whitewashed building, that had occupied the spot for several centuries, and was instantly met by the mouth-watering aroma of the pub’s signature dish of fish and chips. Mmm. The delicious smell jolted her appetite into life with a start, making her realise just how hungry she was, her lunch all but a distant memory.
The heavily beamed bar area was already heaving with the usual locals and a generous dash of holidaymakers. Stella headed in the direction of the polished oak bar, its shiny brass beer pumps gleaming under the soft glow of the repurposed hurricane lamps that were fixed to the walls. ‘S’cuse me,’ she said, smiling politely as she squeezed by a group of friends who were deep in conversation. Her gaze went to the table by the old inglenook fireplace that was always reserved for her group of friends on a Friday evening. Being so tall meant she could easily peer over the crowd, and she spotted Maggie sitting opposite Lark, the pair chatting away. She caught Maggie’s eye and her friend gave her a friendly wave, causing Lark to turn and beam at her. Spotting a bottle of wine already on the table, Stella took a detour from the bar and made her way over to them; she’d grab another one later.
‘Hiya, lasses.’ Stella smiled as she slipped onto the settle beside Maggie, her thoughts finally drifting away from Mr Hot. ‘Been here long?’
‘Hiya, Stells,’ Lark and Maggie chorused warmly as Stella unhooked her bag and set it down on the settle beside her.
‘I’ve just got here,’ said Lark, reaching for the bottle of Pinot Grigio that was propped in the ice bucket. She poured a glass for Stella, her armful of bracelets jangling. Lark was looking ethereal as usual in a boho-style sundress in muted rainbow colours, trimmed with sparkly beads. Her long, wavy blonde hair hung loose around her shoulders, a silk rose fixed above her ear.
‘And I wasn’t much before,’ said Maggie. She was wearing a loose-fitting cotton shirt in a delicious shade of tangerine that hid her small baby bump. Her chestnut curls were scooped up on top of her head and tied in a lime-green scarf, while her glowing complexion was topped off with a sprinkling of freckles that danced across her nose and cheeks.
‘Florrie says to tell you she’s running late – not like her, I know, something to do with a phone call with an author that overran – she’s still stopping off for Jasmine on her way down though,’ said Lark. As a rule, Florrie, who was co-owner of the local bookshop, would call for Jasmine on her way to the Jolly of a Friday evening, Jasmine being the one who was usually running late. Maggie, who lived at the other end of town at Clifftop Cottage, always arrived on her own, as did Stella who lived further out, while Lark lived close by in a tiny cottage on one of Old Micklewick’s narrow, twisting paths.
‘Fair enough.’ Stella picked up the glass of wine and sank back in the settle, the easy-going atmosphere of the Jolly washing over her. She gave a contented sigh. ‘I can’t tell you how happy I am it’s finally Friday evening and I’m sitting here with you.’
‘Aww, Stells,’ Lark said in her familiar soft tone, reaching over and giving Stella’s arm a sympathetic rub. ‘And we’re glad to be sitting here with you too, flower.’
‘Had a rough one, Stells?’ asked Maggie, before taking a sip from her glass of lemonade, the ice cubes rattling. ‘Don’t tell me there’s problems with the new apartment?’
Stella shook her head. ‘No, everything’s fine with that; I love it.’ She couldn’t help but smile as an image of it popped into her mind. ‘It’s just my oppo at work, he’s been really dodgy, constantly trying to pull a fast one.’
‘Is he the one you mentioned before? Always trying to sneak things in he shouldn’t? asked Lark.
Stella nodded, her top lip curling in disgust. ‘Yep, he’s the one, Vaughan Elliott. Doesn’t help that he’s a total slimeball and makes my skin crawl. Honestly, a conversation with him makes you feel like you need to take a shower afterwards.’ She shuddered at the mere thought of him.
‘Eeuw! I can’t bear that sort.’ Maggie pulled a face.
‘Me neither,’ said Lark, her nose wrinkling.
‘Bloomin’ ’eck! What’s up with you lot? From the expressions you’re wearing anyone would think there was a horrible stink around here.’
The three turned to see Jasmine smiling at them, her bright green eyes offset by her dyed-red pixie crop. She was wearing a loose, white shirt over her favourite khaki combat trousers. Florrie was standing beside her and, despite the warmth of outside, she was looking surprisingly cool in a Breton-striped T-shirt and cropped navy linen trousers.
‘Please tell me it’s not cos you’ve got downwind of my plimsolls,’ Jasmine said with a chuckle. ‘I have to admit, they’re a bit rank; reek like a well-rotted compost heap. I’m going to have to leave them outside tonight when I get home; should keep the vampires away.’
‘Hiya,’ said Maggie, laughing. ‘Thanks for sharing that, Jazz.’
‘Now then, lasses. Yeah, you sell yourself well, Jazz.’ Stella grinned.
‘I do my best.’ Jasmine grinned back.
‘Hi, all,’ said Florrie as she eased in beside Lark who was struggling to contain her giggles.
‘Talk about TMI, Jazz,’ Lark finally managed to say.
‘Hey, I reckon it’s only right I warn you.’ Jasmine pulled out the chair at the top of the table. ‘Anyroad, sorry we’re a bit late – for once it wasn’t me running round like a loony.’ She pointed her thumb in Florrie’s direction. ‘It’s all down to her ladyship here.’
Florrie splayed her palms. ‘Jazz’s right, and I’ll share the reason for it once you lot tell us why you were all pulling a face – I’m sure it’s not because of Jazz’s pongy plimmies.’
‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ Jasmine said with faux seriousness.
‘We’ll let Stells tell you,’ said Lark as she busied herself pouring the new arrivals a glass of wine each.
‘Ah, that explains things perfectly,’ Jasmine said, nodding once Stella had finished her story. ‘He sounds like a total creep.’ She gave a shudder.
‘He so does,’ said Florrie. ‘But if anyone can handle a bloke like that it’s our Stella.’
‘Hmm. I’d really rather not have to though, but you’re bang on the money, Jazz, he is a total creep,’ Stella said. ‘Moving swiftly on, and to a much more palatable subject, I gather the reason you were uncharacteristically late was owing to a conversation with an author.’ She hitched an enquiring eyebrow at Florrie.
‘Yep, come on, Florrie, spill,’ said Maggie. ‘I’m dying to hear how it went.
Florrie’s face lit up, a wide smile spreading across her face. She pushed her glasses up her nose, her dark-brown eyes shining. ‘Well?—’
‘Actually, before you start, flower,’ Jasmine said, resting her hand on Florrie’s arm, ‘seeing as though I know what you’re going to tell them, why don’t I go and put our food order in before we get stuck behind a great long queue? I could eat a scabby horse between two mattresses, I’m that hungry, and I don’t think my stomach would take it well if it had to wait.’
‘Best get that order placed, then, Jazz.’ Florrie laughed.
‘Too right.’ Maggie pulled a faux concerned face.
‘Usual all round?’ Jasmine cast an enquiring glance around the table as everyone answered in the affirmative.
‘So,’ Florrie continued, tucking a strand of her brunette bob behind her ear. ‘I’ve been trying to build the courage to contact Thea Carlton, with a view to organising a book signing with her, for ages – she’s the romance author from Northumberland.’ She threw a quick glance between them. ‘I knew it was a long shot, but Ed and I thought it was worth a try. I mean, the worst she could do was say no; wouldn’t be the end of the world. She doesn’t seem to have an agent, so I contacted her directly on social media. Honestly, I got the shock of my life when she replied!’
‘Wow! Thea Carlton! Florrie, she’s a big name!’ Lark’s pale-green eyes grew wide.
‘She so is! And how did it go?’ asked Maggie. ‘Please tell me you’ve been successful. I love her books.’ She clutched her hands to her chest.
Stella couldn’t help but smile at Florrie’s enthusiasm. The previous year, her friend had inherited half shares in The Happy Hartes Bookshop in the town’s Victoria Square and had worked tirelessly to make the once flagging business a success. Florrie and her partner Ed – of both the romantic and business variety – were always thinking up exciting new ideas to bring the bookshop up-to-date and widen its appeal. The window displays, designed and created by artist Ed, had been growing increasingly elaborate and had garnered much local interest. The shop’s footfall had also had a helping hand when nationally renowned Yorkshire poet and author Jack Playforth had moved to the area and had as good as become the bookshop’s in-house author.
‘I have! Oh my goodness! I can hardly believe it!’ Florrie’s face was wreathed in smiles as she clasped her hands to her face. ‘Honestly, I was so nervous when I saw she’d replied, but she was really lovely and friendly. She offered to do a reading too. Can you believe that?’ Florrie glanced around at them.
‘That’s fantastic, Florrie! I’m so pleased for you. Thea Carlton is hugely popular, it’s a real coup for the bookshop.’ Stella beamed at her.
‘It is! It’s brilliant news!’ Maggie reached across and squeezed Florrie’s hand.
‘Oh, Florrie, how wonderful.’ Lark’s eyes shone with happiness. ‘Mr and Mrs H would be so proud of you.’
‘Right then, that’s grub ordered.’ Jasmine returned, plonking herself back in her seat, chasing away the shadow of sadness that had momentarily clouded Florrie’s eyes at the mention of her old bosses. ‘Fab news, isn’t it? I mean Florrie’s about Thea Carlton, and not that I’ve ordered our food, though I have to say, that’s pretty fabulous news too.’ She gave a hearty chuckle.
‘It’s awesome.’ Stella’s heart filled with happiness for her friend, glad to see her looking so settled and content. The previous year had been a tricky one for Florrie. Her beloved boss Mr Harte, to whom she’d been close and thought of as a grandfather – or Mr H, as she’d called him – had passed away suddenly and had stunned her by bequeathing fifty per cent of the bookshop to her. The other half he’d willed to his grandson Ed. This had outraged Mr H’s estranged son and daughter-in-law, who’d demanded that the shares be handed over to them. On top of that, Florrie’s fledgeling relationship with Ed had almost ended before it got started. It had been a stressful time for her in the midst of her grief for the loss of Mr H. Thankfully, after taking legal advice that informed them Mr H’s will had been expertly drafted and was as watertight as was possible, Ed’s parents’ anger appeared to have burnt itself out, and Florrie and Ed had got back on track, their relationship stronger than ever.
‘So when’s it happening?’ asked Maggie, just as a lively tune struck up from the folk band in the corner, accompanied by much foot tapping and clapping.
‘Well,’ said Florrie, leaning in to make herself heard above the music, four pairs of eyes looking at her expectantly, ‘the good news is, owing to Thea Carlton’s other commitments, and the fact that she’s going to be in the area at the time, it looks like it’s going to be on the twelfth of September, which is three-and-a-half weeks’ time.’ Florrie’s smile grew wider. ‘And I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, but she squeezed us in specially.’
‘Go you, Florrie,’ said Maggie, beaming.
‘That’s brilliant! I reckon it’ll be tickets all round for us lot,’ said Stella, smiling, her friend’s happiness infectious. ‘Here’s to our Florrie!’ She held her glass aloft and the others followed suit.
‘Here’s to our Florrie,’ they all chorused enthusiastically.
‘Anyroad, enough about me, how’s the new apartment, Stells?’ Florrie asked, her eyes still sparkling.
Stella took a quick sip of her wine. ‘Well, I’ve still got a few boxes to empty but other than that, I’m loving it. Having a balcony door I can fling open and let the breeze float in is just wonderful, especially in this warm weather – might be a different story when winter sets in and a raging north wind howls in from the sea.’ She laughed. ‘And I know the views from my old apartment were good, but with the warehouse being at an angle to the prom, they’re even better from my new place; I get the most amazing view of the cliffs.’
‘Ooh, sounds dreamy, can’t wait to see it. Which leads me nicely on to asking when’s the housewarming party going to be?’ Maggie grinned before taking a generous swig of her lemonade.
‘Well, I was actually thinking next Saturday night, if that fits in for everyone. It’ll be incentive for me to get the remaining boxes unpacked.’ Stella glanced around at her friends. ‘How about you, Jazz? Do you think you’ll be able to get a babysitter?’
Jasmine nodded enthusiastically. ‘Wild horses wouldn’t keep me away. Oh, and you’ve got to let me make you a housewarming cake.’
‘You don’t need to do that. Haven’t you got enough on your plate without giving yourself the extra burden of making a cake for me?’
‘Not at all, I insist, and besides, it’s never a burden if it’s for one of my besties.’ Jasmine beamed at her.
‘Well, if you’re sure, then it sounds lovely. Thank you, Jazz.’ Stella smiled warmly at her friend.
‘You might not be thanking her if it’s anything like the one she did for a hen party a couple of weeks’ back,’ said Maggie, pulling a mock horrified expression. ‘Who knew penises came in lime-green or shocking pink with bright orange stripes?’
‘You’ve clearly led a sheltered life, Maggie Marsay,’ said Florrie, through her giggles.
Stella gave a hoot of laughter causing heads to turn at nearby tables. ‘Florrie Appleton, you dark horse! And here’s us thinking you were Little Miss Prim-Knickers!’
‘My thoughts exactly,’ Lark said, giggling.
‘Come on then, you’re going to have to tell us where you’ve seen such wildly coloured appendages. Are you referring to Ed’s, I wonder?’ Stella waggled her eyebrows mischievously, making the friends splutter with giggles and further piquing the interest of the other diners.
‘And what about Jazz? Where on earth have you seen any like that to model them on?’ Lark asked, barely able to speak for laughing.
Jasmine snorted. ‘Hah! I wish! I’ve just been going from a vague and distant memory. It’s been that long since I’ve seen one in the flesh, if you’ll excuse the expression. The chief bridesmaid said she wanted something outrageous and colourful with a penis theme, so…’ She gave a shrug. ‘I followed her brief to the letter. Here, I’ve got a photo on my phone – of the cake, not vibrant penises, so you can calm your jets, Stells. Here, you can see for yourselves.’ Jasmine fished her phone from her bag, the others watching as she selected the photo. ‘There, what d’you think?’ A wide grin spread over her face as she handed her phone to Florrie beside her. ‘Pass it round.’
‘Wowzers!’ said Florrie, her eyes wide. ‘The one in the middle’s… um?—’
‘Would have your eye out if you weren’t careful,’ said Lark, causing the friends to dissolve into further giggles. ‘What do you think of that, Stells?’ she asked, handing the phone over to her.
Stella scrutinised the image, pushing her lips into a pout. ‘Actually, penis theme aside, I think it’s actually very creative and expertly executed,’ she said, wrestling with a smile.
‘Mmm. Me too,’ said Maggie peering over at it. ‘Mind, I’ll bet you’ve never seen any willies that colour, Stells, even with your vast bedroom experience.’ She shot her a mischievous sideways look. Stella’s colourful love life often attracted much teasing from her friends, which she always took in good spirit.
‘Can’t say I have, nor any covered in glitter, for that matter.’ Stella returned an amused smile. ‘But there’s always a first; maybe this Christmas.’
Just then, a familiar cackling laugh spliced through the chatter of the room courtesy of craggy-faced local fisherman Lobster Harry. He was a permanent fixture at the Jolly when he wasn’t out to sea in his ancient trawler, much to his wife’s chagrin.
‘Well, that thought tickled Lobster Harry, Stells,’ Lark said dryly, causing the friends to collapse into a further bout of raucous laughter.
Stella swiped tears of mirth from her cheeks, her face was aching from laughing so hard. This was just the light-hearted tonic she needed after her stressful week; her friends could always be relied upon to make things better. She glanced over at Jasmine, her heart squeezing with affection for her. Jasmine always seemed to be negotiating stress, albeit for different reasons to her own, yet she always seemed to be upbeat, never let it faze her or get her down. Stella often found herself thinking she’d rather deal with the sort of hassle she was faced with at work, rather than the variety Jasmine had to navigate. To make matters worse, the poor lass had her deceased partner’s parents to deal with, and they were a nightmare, always intent on making her life difficult and having nothing to do with their grandchildren. It was another good reason not to get emotionally entangled with a man – not that Stella needed any more convincing.
Jasmine was a single mum of two, whose partner had died six years ago. She held down three jobs and always seemed to be dashing around, whether it be taking Zak and Chloe to their after-school classes and parties, or heading to her next job – she not only worked as a cleaner for Stella’s mum, but she did several shifts at Seaside Bakery, the shop two doors down from The Happy Hartes Bookshop. Making celebration cakes had started out as a side-hustle to boost her earnings so Zak and Chloe didn’t go without, but over the last year it had really taken off, her skilfully crafted designs speaking for themselves, including cakes decorated with penises apparently.
‘What are you lot cackling about?’ The friends looked up to see Ando Taylor standing by their table, a half-drunk bottle of Micklewick Mischief in his hand. His familiar back-to-front baseball cap was set at a cock-eyed angle on top of his thinning long, blond hair. His usual teenage-youth-style get-up of slashed jeans, brightly coloured trainers and battered leather jacket belied the fact that he was well into his forties.
‘Now then, Ando,’ said Maggie, smiling up at him. ‘Having a good Friday night?’
Ando was generally regarded locally as something of a beach-bum and a bit of a daft lad. But in recent months, the friends’ opinion of him had softened thanks to his quick thinking in calling for an ambulance when Maggie had been involved in a traffic accident a few weeks ago. He’d also called Florrie so she could sit with her best friend until the ambulance arrived. He’d further stuck his neck out and offered a statement to the police as to the identity of the driver who had shot out in front of her so recklessly. It had been non-other than Jasmine’s father-in-law, Gary Forster, who had fled the scene and denied it was him until paint samples taken from the bump in the side of his car proved to be a perfect match for Maggie’s little vehicle. The statement had caused Ando a huge amount of grief, with him being hounded by the Forsters for “wrecking” their lives.
‘Aye, it hasn’t been bad so far.’ He nodded. ‘You keeping okay, Maggie? You’re looking well after… well… I mean since, you know.’ He shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot.
‘I’m doing fine, thanks, and so is the baby.’ She beamed at him, patting her bump.
‘That’s grand news.’ The warmth of his smile suggested he was genuinely pleased to hear it. His gaze fell to Jasmine. ‘Now then, Jazz,’ he said in a familiar Yorkshire greeting. ‘You’re looking fit there.’
‘Now then, Ando. Thanks.’ She gave him a small smile, her uncertain expression betraying she was anticipating his next question; the one he now asked on a weekly basis.
‘Don’t suppose you fancy letting me walk you home tonight? I can grab us a packet of pork scratchings to share on the way back, maybe stop off at my place, finish off the last of my home-brew. Admitted it’s a bit rank, like, but it hits the spot if you can stomach the taste. I’ve called it Gut Rot, you know, like this is called Micklewick Mischief.’ He flashed her a leary grin, waving his bottle of beer at her.
Stella fought to contain the bubble of laughter that was rising inside her. She pressed her lips together, resisting any eye contact with her friends.
‘Thanks for the offer, Ando, but I’m afraid it’s a no again,’ Jasmine said kindly. ‘Like I’ve said before, I haven’t got time for a fella in my life, and I’ll have to get home to the kids.’
‘Aye, well, fair do. You know where I am if you change your mind. Have a good night, lasses.’ With that, he turned and sauntered off back to the bar, pulling on his bottle of beer.
‘Aww, bless. You’ve got to hand it to him, he’s a trier,’ said Lark in her familiar gentle tone.
‘You’re not kidding,’ Jasmine said wearily.
‘And how could you reject the offer of pork scratchings, Jazz?’ said Stella, amusement dancing in her eyes.
‘Or his home-brew, what was it? Ah, yes, Gut Rot. Yum,’ said Florrie.
‘Yep, who said romance is dead?’ Stella added dryly.
‘Well, at least he wasn’t plastered this week, which is a consolation, I suppose,’ said Maggie.
‘That may be so, but why me? Why do I have to attract blokes like that?’ Jasmine shook her head in disbelief. ‘I don’t want to be unkind, and I know Ando means well in a… whatever it is kind of way, but seriously, pork scratchings and “Gut Rot”? Who’d be tempted by that? Not that I’m looking for a fella at all, but why don’t I get the ones who want to sweep me off my feet with flowers and boxes of chocolates and meals in fancy restaurants?’ Jasmine looked around at them. Though her tone was light-hearted and she was smiling, there was a sadness in her eyes.
‘Jazz, the honest truth is, you wouldn’t want a bloke that fits that bill,’ Stella said.
‘I’m with Stells on that one, I’m afraid, Jazz.’ Lark nodded in agreement.
Jasmine’s expression was thoughtful for a moment, before a grin crept over her face. ‘True,’ she said with a chuckle. ‘I hate that kind of mush, and as for fancy restaurants, they’re so not me.’
‘Especially not with those stinky plimsolls, Jazz.’ Maggie chuckled into her lemonade.
Jasmine scrunched up her face. ‘Hmm. I reckon you’re not wrong.’
‘Maybe you should stick ’em under Ando’s nose; that’d send him running for the hills.’ Maggie chortled.
‘Good point.’ Still smiling, Stella’s gaze drifted across to the door, her eyes alighting on the tall, handsome stranger who’d just walked in. Her heart leapt and her mouth fell open. Oh my days! Mr Hot!