Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
I’ve been home for almost two weeks, getting into a comfortable rhythm again and getting my legs under me once more.
The pub’s packed, and my parents are glad to have my help, which makes me feel like my choice to leave London was a solid one, rather than driven by a full-on panic attack.
It’s great to spend time with my family, and the village is gorgeous, especially in summer, and home’s helping relax me. Except something’s off.
A couple of days ago, I dared to step into my studio and look around for a few minutes before stepping out again. Which, given how I’m feeling about art right now, is progress I even went in there at all.
In the evenings, I’m busy with the pub or helping my mum with the girls, who are thrilled to have me home. I can do things for them like fix their bikes, boost them up the tree to get into my old tree house, help them get ready for going back to school at the end of the summer.
At fourteen, Leila’s a proper moody teenager.
It’s terribly embarrassing to have parents and listen to them.
It’s slightly less embarrassing to have an older brother to talk to about stuff.
As for Maggie and Jess, they can talk my ear off and then some, the other picking up when the other stops to catch her breath.
They’re very busy, always moving, except when they finally sleep.
Everything’s starting to feel more normal again.
Except I can’t stop thinking about Florian and the Rose and everything going wrong.
In my imagination, he’s back together with Billy.
Stronger than ever. They can redevelop and rewild together to their hearts’ content. I tell myself it doesn’t matter.
This afternoon, a Saturday, is busy with the Glyndebourne crowd and tourists spilling over from Lewes.
All the seats inside the pub and on the spacious patio out back are full, and the evening band hasn’t even started yet.
I’m behind the bar, mixing drinks and pulling pints and putting through orders to the kitchen, where Felix leads everything culinary.
My dad floats around, doing what’s needed.
Plus, we’ve got the small hotel upstairs, which Hattie manages.
All to say, we’re busy in all directions.
At the moment, my dad’s down at the other end of the bar, ringing up orders into the till.
I’m working on drink orders for an older couple in front of me, who collect their wine and pint and head out into the sunshine to join their friends on the patio.
I can hear the cheer from their group and laughter as they’re the last of their set to arrive.
I watch them through the open doorway leading out to the back.
And when I glance up at the next customer, I do a double take. I blink. I’m hallucinating.
Florian.
In a black shirt, jeans, and sunglasses on his head. With a forest-green tote bag slung over his shoulder. He gives me a tentative smile. “Hi.”
“How…” I manage. “Hi.”
His smile broadens. “It’s not too difficult to track you down. When I went searching for you at Ivan’s, your colleague told me you no longer worked there. I couldn’t get through to you by calling either…”
I swallow hard, my gaze fixed on him like we’re the only two people in the pub. I swear I can feel my dad giving me a sidelong glance across the bar. I haven’t talked to him about Florian, but I’m sure my mum’s filled him in. “Yeah.”
“So, I remembered you lived in Glynde, which has two pubs. I figured they’d know who you were at either one.”
“Reasonable assumption. It’s a small village.” I wipe my hands on a bar towel, still trying to get used to the idea that he’s manifested in my family pub. It’s like worlds colliding. My head spins.
My father joins us. “Matty, you can go on a break if you like.” He can’t quite help the curious look at Florian. “Hello.”
“Hello. Pleased to meet you. You must be Matty’s father: I can see the resemblance. I’m Florian de Ligt.” He gives an easy smile, which reaches his eyes, and my father beams like he’s just gotten a prize. Knowing him, he’ll be bursting to tell Mum he met Florian first.
“Mark Smith. Good to meet you.” They shake hands.
“Sorry, forgot my manners,” I apologize to them both. “Florian, do you want something to drink?”
“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” He smiles warmly at me.
Fuck. I’m a sucker for that smile. Focusing hard, I pour two mint lemonades and hand him one. “Come with me.”
I lead him through the kitchen and out the back door, where we grab a couple of stools and set them along the wall in the shade. We look out at the pub crowd amid the containers of blooming flowers placed along the brick wall enclosing the patio.
We sit, and at last, I let myself look at him. Really look at him. It looks like he has had a bit of sun, pink-cheeked with his fair complexion. He hasn’t put his sunglasses on. In his T-shirt and jeans, he looks younger, closer to my age than thirty.
“You never said if this is the first or second Glynde pub you’ve stopped in at today,” I tell him, matter-of-fact.
“First,” he confesses, then sips his lemonade with approval. “Delicious.”
“Felix’s recipe, our chef. He adds spices along with the fresh mint. Freshly squeezed lemons, et cetera.” I consider him. “Just a lucky guess?”
His smile returns. “You would have mentioned if the pub was in the train station. Besides, I read the station pub is newer, and I think your family’s been running the pub for a long time from what you’ve told me. This had to be the right pub.”
Which means he’s been paying attention to things I’ve said, like it matters to him too, leaving me more conflicted than ever when thinking about Florian. Same old head and heart fight. I concede a smile. “Sound reasoning.”
“Mm.” Florian gazes at me, lingering. My chest swells with emotion at the sight of him, and goose bumps cover my arms. My guts twist. It’s visceral, how my body never fails to respond to him.
I’ve never had that with any of my ex-boyfriends, like Noah or Michael.
Not like this. No matter how nice and charming and funny they are.
Florian is definitely Florian. Not that Florian’s anything like a boyfriend.
“I’m still upset with you.”
“I know.” Florian gives a half smile, nodding. He leans in a little closer and fidgets with his tall glass between his hands. “I haven’t forgotten.”
“Why did you come, then?”
“Because I missed you. And I wanted to see you were alright.”
The way Florian says this, openly and without hesitation, makes me believe him.
And it only serves to amplify all the feelings careening around my chest. I hold my breath, searching his eyes, and searching for what, I don’t know.
Finally, I dare speak. “I missed you too. But… everything’s still the same, right?
You’re still buying the Rose, I’m still sacked and failing. ”
He frowns. “Matty, you’re not failing.”
“I’m not so sure. You’re still buying the Rose, right?” I give him a hard look.
He nods. “Yes.”
“Well then. Nothing’s changed.” My tone is flat. What is he even doing here?