Chapter 16
Harper sidled into their beloved corner booth in the tavern, placing down their glasses of white wine on beermats.
The first rule of book club: every meeting must begin with a mandatory “cheeky bevvie”, as Harper called them.
The second rule of book club: do not talk about book club, especially when one or both of them got wine-drunk on a Wednesday evening.
Eiley had volunteered as tribute on this particular occasion, downing half of her glass before Harper’s bottom had even touched the seat.
She raised her brows, half-impressed and half-concerned. “Bloody hell, are you that nervous about the bus?”
“Among other things.”
Leaning closer, she popped a roasted peanut into her mouth. “Tell me more.”
“No. I’ve had enough of being miserable,” Eiley groused. “Let book club commence.”
Harper banged an imaginary gavel on the table. “’Tis commenced. So, did you and Hercules fuck in the stockroom or what?”
“ Harper !” Eiley’s face seared, and she shrank in her seat. “No, we did not . And we’re not talking about him!” She was quick to riffle through her canvas tote bag, pulling out the rebound books she’d been working on for several days. “We’re talking about books!”
“We never talk about books. In fact, we talk about books everywhere but in book club. And I really want to know the juicy goss!”
“There is no juicy goss, because Hercules” – she corrected herself quickly – “ Warren is a sleazy jobsworth who doesn’t know when he’s not wanted.”
Harper’s face crinkled in confusion. “Context, please.”
“No. Look at this instead.” Distraction tactics, Eiley often found, worked on her children, but she found they worked on Harper, too.
She slid the books onto the table, bashful at the sight of her rustic work.
With a few more practices, she might be able to get the foil lettering straight and the pages better aligned, but this would do as a starting point.
She didn’t expect too much from Harper. Perhaps a placating wow or a polite thank you . But Harper’s chin wobbled as she carefully drank in the front page, and then the spine and the back. “Eiley, are you kidding ?”
“I know it’s a bit homemade, and not at all straight, but I couldn’t let all your books go to waste.”
Harper’s eyes flooded with tears, taking Eiley aback.
“Oh, no, is it really that bad?” She made to snatch the books back. “I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have touched them—”
“It’s perfect, you beautiful ray of sunshine! I can’t believe you did this for me!” Harper exploded, almost knocking over her wine as she stopped Eiley from taking them.
The relief emptied out of Eiley in a whooshing exhale, her own sinuses beginning to sting. “I just felt so terrible about the books. You’ve worked so hard to get here, and the flood ruined it all.”
Harper expertly dabbed her waterline to avoid smudging her winged liner. “It wasn’t your fault, silly goose. And besides, you know we’d have ordered more.”
“I do know, but your first ones are supposed to be special. You were meant to have your signing and feel like a proper author.”
“Well, these are far better.” Harper traced over the purple thistles decorating the first cover, a perfect symbol of the Scottish-inspired fantasy forest she’d created. “They can be our limited-edition copies. Ooh, and we could have people bid for them! The donation can go to saving the bookshop!”
“I don’t think they’re good enough to sell yet. Besides, the royalties should be yours.”
She shook her head, blonde waves whipping across her face.
Eiley suspected Harper was already a bit drunk, and so was she, head buzzing like a ringing phone buried far into a duvet.
She giggled, overcome, suddenly, by how lucky she was to have people like Harper around her.
She’d never had many friends – okay, any – so when Harper had barrelled into her life and swept Fraser off his feet, Eiley had worried she’d be forgotten.
She was so quiet compared to Harper; boring, she sometimes thought.
She’d been wrong. Harper had been nothing but kind and loving, and she’d gently prodded Eiley out of her shell, convinced her she deserved better than Finlay and his drunk tantrums and part-time parenting.
She’d been the first person outside of Eiley’s family to help her realise that she was worth something.
“I think this is a conversation for when we’re sober,” Eiley decided. “But if you wanted, I’d love to make more of these for you. It’s been a nice wee escape.”
Harper cradled the book to her chest. “I would love that, but only if you have the time. You have enough on your plate as it is.” Her eyes drifted to something past Eiley’s shoulder, brows rising. “Speaking of plates, Hercules is over there playing darts. This is not a drill.”
Eiley felt as though the ground had vanished from beneath her. She didn’t dare turn around to see for herself, lest he visited another one of her dreams. “What has he got to do with plates?”
“Well … he’s dishy?”
“You sound like my mother.”
“Go. Scram. Talk to him. It’s the perfect time,” Harper commanded.
“Did you not hear anything I said before? He’s pompous, oversexed, and well … awful .”
“—Ly fit!” she completed.
Eiley pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s interested in the teaching assistant, Blair. I overheard them flirting – in the bloody classroom, by the way!”
“What a completely inappropriate place to do that. Was the stockroom not available?”
“Ha ha,” Eiley deadpanned. God, she was sick of this man and the ways he seemed to be haunting her.
And she was sick of everybody talking about him all the time, as though their awkward flirtation was the only interesting thing about her.
“I’m just saying that he certainly picks and chooses his time to be professional.
Anyway, Fraser won’t be best impressed that you’re trying to set me up with some egotistical alpha-male. ”
Harper rolled her eyes. “Fraser was an egotistical alpha-male. On the surface. And then I got to know him and realised he has a humongous heart, and he just needed to protect it.” She waggled her fingers over her mouth and whispered, “I bet Hercules has a humungous …heart, too.”
Eiley groaned. “Oh my god, stop !”
“C’mon, don’t you miss it?”
“Miss what? Making myself all bent out of shape for some man who doesn’t even know how to use a washing machine? No, I really don’t.”
“I don’t mean relationships. I mean sex .
” Harper said that last word far too loudly.
Eiley considered bolting for the door and never returning, only glad she had her back to the rest of the pub.
She’d never been all that comfortable discussing those things.
Never had reason to, either. Beyond a few cringeworthy fumbles at school discos, Eiley had only ever been intimate with Finlay, and she’d had more orgasms with the shower head than with him.
“I’m getting another drink,” Eiley said, grabbing her empty wine glass. “I’m not drunk enough for this.”
“Eiley!” Harper tugged her back before she could stand up. “You do know that you’re allowed to have casual sex, don’t you? You don’t actually have to like Hercules. You just have to like how he makes you feel. And by the way you both looked in the shop, you really did like that.”
Eiley paused, lost for words. She supposed she hadn’t really known that. Other people had casual sex. Went out on Friday nights to find somebody to hook up with, flirted with co-workers or friends or, in some books, best friend’s brothers. But she wasn’t other people.
Yet heat flared between her legs at the idea that she could have sex if she wanted to. That she almost had with Warren. What would it feel like to be with somebody new? Somebody who set her alight with just a few kisses the way he had?
Subconsciously, she rubbed the spot on her collarbone where his teeth had nipped her skin. “When, exactly, do you think I’d have time for casual S-E-X?”
“I’m a bit concerned that you can’t even say the word. Sex. Sex, sex, sex !” Harper threw her hands up like she was making an important declaration.
“Oi!” Graeme’s gruff voice travelled through the pub, silencing the conversations around them. “Come here, you randy pair! I want a word.”
“Now look what you’ve done.” Eiley ducked her head in shame, wobbling her way over to the bar – the long way round, so she wouldn’t pass Warren.
Her fingers trembled against the stem of her wine glass, a twist of nausea running through her when he didn’t so much as turn around, though with Harper’s exclamation, he must have known she was there. Everyone did.
Finally, he was ignoring her, like she’d wanted, and … she didn’t want it.
She perched beside Harper on the barstools, sporting sheepish grins as the landlord surveyed them.
“Evening, Graeme,” Eiley said in an attempt to break the ice.
“I’m all for equal rights and all that business,” Graeme grunted, crossing his arms over his chest, “but maybe don’t shout the word sex in front of Mrs Boyle over there. She looks like she’s about to have an aneurysm.”
Eiley twisted to find the retired primary school teacher, had, in fact, stopped scribbling in her crossword book to shoot them daggers, jowls shaking and her usually pale complexion now a violent beetroot purple. Whoops .
Harper winced. “I understand, Graeme. Ever so sorry. May we have another glass of wine each?”
“Is that wise?” Still, he reached behind the bar for the bottle, pouring them a fresh round.
Eiley was about to splutter out another laugh when Warren appeared between her and Harper, waving for Graeme’s attention.
She stiffened at the sound of his throaty voice ordering another beer, his please and thank yous impeccably polite.
Why did it still surprise her? She knew he wasn’t the arrogant swine she’d painted him as to Harper, but still expected, perhaps even hoped, that his kindness would turn out to be a lie.
That way, she could say she was right and forget him. Properly. No more midnight yearning.
Harper followed Eiley’s gaze. Eiley glared at her before she said something, but it was too late.
“Hercules!”
“Excuse me?” Warren eyed each of them, stonier than usual.
“She said herpes!” Eiley said, and then realised that it wasn’t any better. In fact it was very much worse. “She has this awful cold sore coming,” she lied on a stammer.
“Right.” He raised a brow, but turned his attention back to the pint Graeme was expertly pouring.
“We’re currently hosting a book club if you’d like to join,” Harper continued, unfazed. “We don’t actually talk about books, but if you have any recommendations, we can make an exception.”
“I don’t think your boyfriend would be too happy about that.” Warren sniffed, taking out his wallet to drop a fiver on the bar before leaning to face them finally. “And besides, I’m just ‘a sleazy jobsworth’, aren’t I? Wouldn’t want someone as awful as me to ruin your fun.”
With that, he walked away, leaving them in stunned silence.
Eiley looked at Harper, unsure whether she wanted to shout or cry.
Cry. Definitely cry.
She’d had no idea he’d overheard them earlier. She usually talked quietly, but perhaps the wine made her loud. And mean. How was he to know she’d been saying those things to shut down her own lust, not because she meant them?
“Oh, fiddlesticks,” was the closest thing to a curse she could muster as she sank into her drink – but it was drowned out by Harper and her resolute, “Oh, fuck,” which summed it up much better.