CHAPTER THIRTEEN – SYLVIE #2
“Oh, yeah. She reached out to me about six months ago with pictures of their new baby. Turns out their mums knew each other growing up, and their fathers were business rivals, so they’d never gotten along.
Neither one had ever mentioned it as they didn’t think the relationship would last, so it was purely a matter of one upmanship on both sides when it was clear they were in it for the long haul.
She pointed out that their behaviour had cost them seeing their only children get married and it would cost them their grandchildren if they didn’t fix things. ”
“Ouch. They didn’t go to the wedding?”
“Nope. Their dads and grandparents did, but they left their mums out to make a point. They’ve never regretted it.” I shrugged. “Last I knew, they’re now good friends and the parents bought a holiday home together.”
“Wow. That was a ride.”
“No kidding. She wasn’t exactly a bridezilla, more just a frustrated bride who exploded in the end, but she did cancel a ninety-grand wedding two weeks before to elope to another country, so that does kind of push her into bridezilla territory just a bit just on principle.”
Thomas snorted. “You know, I’m starting to think I dodged a bullet.”
My eyebrows shot up, but before I could take the appropriate moment to ask what he was talking about, a waiter came over with two plates and stopped at our table.
“Two cottage pies?” he said, looking at us.
I glanced between him and Thomas. “I didn’t order—”
“Yes, thanks, Sam,” Thomas said, pushing his drink out of the way.
Wordlessly, I moved the wine glass and watched as the biggest single serving of cottage pie I’d ever seen was put in front of me and proceeded to assault my senses with a gorgeous mix of hot melted cheese, potato, and meaty gravy.
When I say my stomach rumbled, my stomach rumbled. Like an Earthquake in my belly.
Thomas looked at me, amusement twisting his lips. “You’ve had two glasses of wine. I assumed you hadn’t eaten, and evidently, it was a correct assumption.”
“I was planning on the liquid dinner,” I replied, picking up a fork. “Thank you.”
“Mind the dish. It’s hot.” He smiled, picking up his own knife and fork.
I didn’t know how we’d gone from bickering at each other to eating a peaceful dinner—a slightly drunk one from my side, but still a peaceful dinner all the same.
More to the point, how we’d gone from not being able to stop bitching and sniping to not saying a word for the next twenty minutes aside from little, “Ha, ha!” breaths and declarations of, “Ooh, that’s hot!
” when we stumbled on particularly hot spots of the food.
It was… nice.
Too nice.
I was far too comfortable sitting opposite him at a pub, eating dinner I wasn’t paying for, like this was some kind of date. After he’d bought me both waffles and hot chocolate at the lights switch on, too.
Ooft.
No.
I was going to have to insist on buying this dinner, if only for myself. I would go down swinging on this one. I simply could not allow myself to be in debt to Thomas Castleton on more than one occasion.
Especially since I already had the feeling that he was going to insist upon taking me home again.
Damn. I really should have bought some wine at the shop and got drunk in my bedroom instead.
“That was good,” he said, sitting back on the chair.
I nodded, setting my cutlery in the little dish that had housed the pie. “It was. Thank you.”
“Are you feeling any better?”
“I didn’t realise I was that hungry,” I admitted, eyeing my empty dish. “How much do I owe for mine?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. It’s already paid for.”
I pulled out my purse and slapped a twenty-pound note on the table. “There.”
He put one finger on it and pushed it back towards me. “I said nothing.”
“And I don’t accept it,” I replied. “Just let me pay for my food, at least.”
“By all means, leave it as a tip. The food and service are good enough to warrant it. But I won’t be taking your money, Sylvie.”
“Stop being stubborn,” I said, folding the note twice and shoving it at him. “Take my bloody money.”
“I will not.” He folded his arms. “And you’re a fine one to talk about being stubborn. If anyone needs to stop being stubborn, it’s you.”
“Why? Because I’m happy to pay my way? It’s not the nineteen-thirties anymore. Women can pay for their own food, you know.”
“I’m more than aware of that, but I ordered it for you, without asking you, therefore it’s on me.” He fixed his firm gaze on me. “I will not take your money. Feel free to keep it to buy me dinner one night.”
I huffed and shoved it back into my purse. “That would involve asking you out for dinner, and given the mixed bag this one has been, I don’t think I want to do that.”
“Then take Beth out.”
“That doesn’t pay you back, does it?”
“I don’t want your money. Get over it.”
“God, you’re so irritating.”
“Yet you’re still sitting here.”
“I was sitting here first. If anyone should leave, it’s you.”
“Wow. I buy you dinner and a glass of wine and you tell me to leave. And you say you don’t want to ask me to dinner again. Who says I’d accept?”
I opened my mouth to tell him to piss off, but his stonewall expression cracked and he grinned, only just stopping himself from laughing.
My stomach twisted itself into a silly little knot at his silly little smile.
God.
What was happening to me?
“Oh, piss off,” I muttered.
Thomas let the laugh go, and as tended to happen when he did that, a little something tingled down my spine, and I shifted on the bench to hide my small shiver. I reached for my glass of wine and chugged a mouthful of it, letting my cheeks blow out for a second before I swallowed it.
“You’re so annoying,” I said after a moment. “I can’t believe I’m still sitting here.”
“Neither can I. I thought you’d throw bread at me at the very least.” His grin was wide, bright, and really doing stupid things to my insides. “Especially when I bought you food to stop you getting so drunk that you’d pass out in the corner.”
Okay.
I was not going to get so drunk I’d pass out in the corner.
Probably.
I propped my chin on my hand and met his gaze. “You don’t have to be my knight in shining armour, you know.”
His eyes flashed with amusement. “Why not? I do have two full suits. In the hallway, actually.”
I stared flatly at him.
“What? When else can one brag about owning two full suits of armour? It’s not like it’s a topic that usually comes up in conversation.”
“Not even with your fancy aristocratic friends?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah.” He sat back with a twist of his lips. “It’s not as fun if the person you’re bragging to also owns them.”
“What if they have more suits of armour than you do?”
“Then we get the ancestral swords and duel for supremacy, obviously.”
I nodded slowly. “There’s a Christmas tradition I could get behind.”
“Might be a bit of hassle to do it every year, mind you,” he pointed out. “Not to mention that those suits are heavy, and the swords are, literally, priceless.”
“So, get replicas made.”
“Why would I duel someone with a fake sword when I own the real thing?”
“Same reason women use dildos instead of getting a boyfriend. Less hassle.”
Thomas blinked at me for a second. A slow smile spread across his face, and there was an almost cocky glint in his eye when he asked, “Is that why you’re single?”