A Brit Unexpected (Castle Calder Book 2)

by Brenda St John Brown

  “Um, no. It’s okay. I mean, you don’t have to. There’s no one around, and it’s not like these two aren’t in on the ruse.” I wish I could bite the words back as soon as I’ve said them, because as I nod at Caleb and Scarlett, Greyson’s hand drops and he stiffens beside me.

  “Of course. Well, goodnight then, my dear. Sweet dreams.” Greyson slips back onto his barstool and takes a swallow of wine. His eyes skid over me and he turns to Caleb and says, “Is there any chance of getting basketball on the television up here? There’s a Lakers game that should be starting soon.”

  Greyson doesn’t look back and I linger long enough to be sure it’s intentional. He’s acting like I’ve hurt his feelings, which makes no sense at all.

  Except what if he’s not acting?

  The thought forms before I can stop it and it’s my cue to leave. Right now. Because the minute I start thinking this thing between Greyson and me has even a drop of real feelings is the minute I need to run. Do not pass go. Do not collect ten thousand pounds. Run.

  Chapter Eight

  Breakfast the next morning is a crazy mix of hyped up kids, adults drinking Bucks Fizz, and enough bacon to feed fifty people, instead of the twenty or so that are here. By the time I’ve taken the last of the empty glasses back to the kitchen, I’m exhausted and it’s only 10:00.

  “Oh, Claire, darling, you don’t have to do that,” Hannah says as she loads glasses and plates into the dishwasher.

  I go around the other side to help. “It’s no trouble. It’s either this or another game of Uno with Nigel’s four-year-old and I have to say, at this point, I prefer the dishes.”

  Hannah laughs. “Well, I have it on good authority that Caleb’s setting up a film for the kids as we speak, so you’ll have a reprieve for a couple of hours, at least.”

  “Amen. I might get Scarlett and go for a walk.” I point at the blue sky through the window. “It looks gorgeous out there.”

  “I believe Scarlett went back up to bed. She said something about a nap.”

  That sounds like Scarlett. We only spoke for a second this morning as she and Hannah served breakfast, but long enough for her to mention she stayed up with Caleb and Greyson trying to stream the basketball game. The good thing about the mania of breakfast with my extended family is that I haven’t had a chance to think about Greyson much at all. The bad thing about the mania of breakfast with my extended family is that I haven’t had a minute to find out whether Greyson said anything after I left, and I need to get the low down before I see him. He’s been conspicuously absent this morning so far, but he’s bound to make an appearance sooner or later.

  “Maybe I’ll wander up to the village,” I say. “Do you need anything?”

  “If the shop is open, you could pick up some of Mary’s mincemeat muffins. She started making them at Christmas, but has kept up due to popular demand,” Hannah says.

  “Really? They sound odd.”

  “Trust me, they’re delicious. She has a chance to enter the Bake Off and that’s going to be her entry dish. You know her mince pies are the best around, and these are easily as good.” Hannah looks around and grins. “Please don’t tell Lou what I said about the mince pies.”

  “I would never, but you know she’s not here, right?”

  “Having just done the Saturday morning breakfast service by myself, yes, I very much realize she’s not here,” Hannah says. “But she’d hate if I didn’t love her pies above Mary’s.”

  I grin and point to the fleece on the hook. “Your secret is safe with me as long as I can borrow that so I don’t have to run back upstairs.”

  Hannah laughs. “Of course. And if anyone asks for you, I haven’t seen you.”

  I almost ask if she’s seen Greyson but stop myself. I know she saw us cozying up at the bar last night and if she’s being discreet enough not to ask, there’s no need to give her an opening. I smile and grab the fleece without looking back.

  The air is cold, but crisp with the sunshine. I could do with a proper jacket, but I cross my arms over my chest and hope I warm up while I walk. It’s a couple of miles to the village along the country lane, which is deserted on a normal day and absolutely silent on a cold Saturday morning. For a minute I wish I brought my headphones because it’s almost too quiet, but then I start listening to the sounds of birds chirping and animals rustling in the grass and it’s so peaceful, I’m genuinely surprised when the road gives way to a narrow sidewalk at the first house on the edge of the village.

  Village is a loose term in England for any place where there’s a cluster of houses and a shop. Sometimes there’s also a post office, but only if you’re lucky. Underbarrow isn’t that lucky, even though it has a small off license, selling everything from milk to bread to beer and a little bit of everything in between. Mary, the owner, sells her homemade baked goods and, honestly, her chocolate cake is the best I’ve ever tasted. Her mince pies run a close second to the chocolate cake and now she’s added mincemeat muffins to the list. There’s only one box left when I dart into the shop.

  We exchange good mornings and I’m out, clutching the box of muffins under my arm and a cup of tea in hand. I plan to circle around to the tiny park to dive into one of the muffins before taking them back to Castle Calder, but as I round the corner, I stop short. There on the bench—the only bench—is Greyson, hunched over his phone with a scowl on his face.

  I’m torn between approaching him and running the other way. The memory of last night’s weirdness blooms fresh in my mind, even though this morning I’d wondered if it had been the wine, Greyson’s cologne, or even possibly the phase of the moon. Before I can think about it further, he looks up and my decision is made. Pretending I don’t see him would be furthering the awkward. I step towards the bench, stopping just short of sitting down. “Hey. Good morning. What are you doing here?”

  “Morning.” He nods at the box in my hand. “What have you got there?”

  “Mincemeat muffins.” I lower myself onto the wooden slats of the seat and set the box between us. “Do you want one?”

  He makes a face. “Um, no offense, but that sounds horrible.”

  “Hannah swears they’re amazing.” I lift the lid of the box and take one out, holding it out to him. I mentally congratulate myself that my hand stays steady, given the swarm of Greyson Vaughn-induced butterflies racing up and down inside my chest, which I try to ignore. Greyson shakes his head so vehemently I have to laugh. “Wow, what do you have against mincemeat muffins?”

  “Nothing, really. But mince in a little muffin doesn’t exactly sound appealing.” Greyson makes another face. He hasn’t shaved and his hair is sporting the not-yet-styled look. “What else is in it?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure. Sultanas, cinnamon, nutmeg? Maybe a few currants.”

  Greyson sticks his tongue out. “Okay, that’s completely disgusting. My mom always swears nutmeg is the secret ingredient in her lasagna, but she sure as hell doesn’t try to pass it off as some sort of treat.”

  I furrow my brow and a laugh builds in my chest until it comes out as a full-on guffaw. Greyson scowls at me, which makes me laugh more and it’s at least a full thirty seconds before I can speak. “You realize mince isn’t meat, right? There’s no actual mince beef or lamb or any other kind of animal product involved.”

  “I obviously didn’t know that.” A smile plays around on his lips, but he doesn’t let it form. “But I’m glad to have provided you with such a good laugh.”

  I get the feeling Greyson isn’t used to people laughing at him. At all. My instinct is to apologize, but I push it away and say, “You need to remedy this misperception immediately.” I hold the muffin out to him again. “Eat.”

  Greyson raises an eyebrow. “Sorry, still not sold. Just because it’s not meat doesn’t mean it’s not revolting.”

  I keep the muffin steady in my hand and inch it towards Greyson. “Come on. If you hate it, I have tea to wash it down.”

  “What do I get for trying it
?”

  Combined with the look on Greyson’s face, that sounds like a challenge and I can’t help myself from responding, “What do you want?”

  “That’s a rather loaded question.” He leans in. “I guess I’ll have to see how good this muffin is first.”

  He leans in further and for a second it feels like he’s going to bypass the muffin in my outstretched hand and his mouth is going end up on mine. But then he leans in and closes his mouth around the edge of the muffin, brushing my fingertips with his lips. It’s not sexy, especially with crumbs flaking onto Greyson’s jacket, but when he closes his eyes and pauses before backing away, I feel a tiny flutter in my stomach that I tell myself has nothing to do with the fact that Greyson Vaughn kind of, sort of just kissed my hand.

  It’s not the same as his kiss on the cheek last night, but those lips...

  Exactly what I don’t need to be thinking. I lean back, taking a bite of the muffin to stop myself from saying or doing anything dumb. My mouth is full when Greyson says, “It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”

  “See?” My mouth is still full and crumbs spray onto my fleece.

  Greyson laughs and reaches out as if to brush the crumbs away, though he retracts his hand before making contact. “I didn’t say I loved it. There’s quite a distance between love and this muffin.”

  I swallow this time before I speak. “I think you need another bite to be sure. Come on, one for you and one for me. Then we save the rest for Hannah.”

  “You still haven’t told me what I get for it.” Greyson smiles.

  “You still haven’t told me what you want.” That sounds a lot like flirting. Which seems like a bad idea after the way last night turned out, but I always have been a glutton for punishment.

  “I suspect what I want and what you’re willing to give are two different things.” Greyson raises his eyebrows at me, but doesn’t give me a chance to reply. “Have a drink with me later.”

  I feel my brow furrow. “I’m sure there will be plenty of drinks today. If there’s one thing the St Juliens are good at, it’s hospitality.”

  “That’s not what I’m asking.” Greyson leans in again. “I’d like a proper drink with you, as you Brits would say. No cameras, no leaked videos, no acting.”

  Oh.

  I respond with the only word I can think of. “Why?”

  “Because one minute you’re almost sitting in my lap and the next you can’t get away from me fast enough. And I have no idea which is the real Claire.” Greyson rests his elbows on his knees. “But I’d like to find out.”

  “How are you going to do that?”

  “Spend time with you like a normal person.” Greyson says it like it’s obvious.

  “We’re spending time together right now.”

  “How about I kiss you then? Once for the cameras.” The corner of Greyson’s mouth turns up. “And once when we’re alone.”

  “I feel like you kiss a lot of girls in your line of work.” That damn scene from Pretty Woman races through my head again, but it’s easier to focus on than Greyson’s promise to kiss me and the way it violates our deal not even a full twenty-four hours in.

  Greyson nods. “Occupational hazard.”

  “How many do you hold hands with?”

  Greyson’s eyes narrow. “None, really.”

  That little balloon of anticipation deflates as quickly as it formed. “So let’s not confuse the two.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, when you decide you’re ready to hold hands with me, I’ll consider an off-camera kiss. Otherwise, there’s no point.” I sound almost disinterested, which is a minor miracle considering the way my pulse beats like a bass drum in my chest.

  “No point?” Greyson brings my hand to his mouth and takes another bite of muffin. This time his tongue flickers over my fingers, and he closes his lip around my forefinger and sucks. Just a tiny bit, but enough to let me know it’s intentional.

  Judging by the way the bass drum in my chest turns to the fast staccato of a snare, it has exactly the effect he anticipated. Still, I manage to squeak out, “Is that meant to change my mind?”

  “Did it?” Greyson raises an eyebrow like he thinks this is a possibility.

  “No. My conditions still stand. It’s not a lot to ask, is it?”

  Greyson shakes his head slowly and says, “Okay, fine. No kiss until we get past first base, but I get to ask something in return too.”

  I scrunch my face up. “Sure. What?”

  “You tell me what’s made you so gun shy.”

  “Gun shy of what?” The muscles in my bum clench.

  “Scarlett said she can’t remember the last time you had a boyfriend.” Greyson’s tone is casual, but there’s something there that makes my thighs clench, too.

  “Why did she tell you that?” Bloody Scarlett.

  “I asked.” Greyson gives me one of his practiced smiles. “If it’s any consolation, she was reluctant to answer.”

  It’s not, but I’m still not telling Greyson about Hugh. Or anyone else for that matter. I shake my head. “That’s personal.”

  “Like swapping spit isn’t?” Greyson laughs, but it’s hollow around the edges.

  “You’re the one who kisses people for a living, not me.” I rise from the bench, brushing crumbs off my fleece. “I need to get back.”

  Greyson nods, but stays planted on the bench. “Is this what you do? Bolt when you’re uncomfortable?”

  “No.” Color rises in my cheeks. “That’s out of line. You don’t know anything about me.”

  “And you want to keep it that way.” Greyson extends his arm over the back of the bench.

  In contrast, I cross my arms over my chest, gripping the box of muffins so hard I’ll be amazed if there’s anything but crumbs left when I let go. “You know what? We probably should confine our time together to when we’re likely to be photographed. It will be easier. That way, there will be no blurred lines or erroneous assumptions.”

  “Well, that’s a shame. I’m very good at blurred lines.” Greyson’s smile is distant. “And erroneous assumptions are my specialty.”

  “Funny, I thought your specialty was fake relationships. Hashtag PR stunt.” Judging by the hurt in Greyson’s expression, my words come out exactly as I intended.

  But I don’t feel even a hint of the satisfaction I thought I would. Greyson told me about Alexa and the whole hashtag thing last night in a moment of real conversation, and I’ve just taken that and used it against him. He may be jumping to conclusions about me, but the worst part is he’s not even wrong. I start to apologize, but before I can get the words out, I do exactly what Greyson accused me of. I run.

  Chapter Nine

  I intend to confront Scarlett the minute I get back to Castle Calder, but the wind has gone out of my sails by then. If the tables had been turned and Greyson was asking questions about her, I’d have answered him too. In probably much the same way, because even though Scarlett always seems to have a guy or two, I’d never call her “involved” with any of them.

  So, instead of provoking Scarlett, I escape with her. We spend the day holed up in her room, sipping fizz and binge watching Gilmore Girls while she finishes a report for work and I avoid Greyson and my grandmother. I ask Scarlett questions about work and her boss, but after a few one-word answers, I get the hint and shut it. I even manage to doze and by the time I wake up, it’s four o’clock and I’m alone with a note underneath my empty glass.

  Gone to help with dinner prep. Come find me in the kitchen. – S

  Crap and double crap. I want to see Lou, but going downstairs means seeing everyone else too. And making myself look presentable because if I’m going to run into Greyson, I’m not going to look like a schlump.

  I heave myself off Scarlett’s bed and pad down the hall to Jasper’s room. No cute outfits have appeared in the wardrobe since I’ve been gone and my choices are jeans and a jumper or a skirt and said jumper. For a second I let myse
lf mourn the fact that I left my blue cashmere cardigan at home because it reminds me of Hugh. Or, more specifically, it reminds me of Hugh at his most charming, complimenting how the color matched my eyes before he slowly took it off me, letting his fingers brush my bare skin underneath, kissing my shoulder and the hollow of my throat.

  For the love of God. A familiar emptiness hits me in my solar plexus like a hockey stick. And that’s why I left my blue cashmere cardie at home. If it wasn’t quality cashmere, I’d probably have given it away by now, but it’s good for nights when I want to wallow.

  Which is not tonight. Tonight I’m going to… Well, I don’t know what, but not wallow. I might kiss Greyson Vaughn, which, publicity stunt or not, are words I never thought I’d string together in a sentence. I need to focus on that.

  So focus, I do. I pull my hair back in a loose ponytail and carefully line my eyes in purple eyeliner. I skipped it last night, but I know it makes my eyes pop and I like the effect, especially combined with my lavender jumper. It’s not the blue cardie, but it’s a close second, especially with my grey wool mini skirt and black boots.

  Scarlett would say I look more professional than party-ready, so I stop in her room on my way through the apartment and grab a handful of her silver necklaces to wrap around my neck. They look strange on me, but I leave them. I don’t have extra cash for jewelry, and the only thing I wear sometimes is my mum’s old watch, so any time I wear more than that I feel weird.

  I jingle on my way downstairs as the necklaces clink together. I’m a walking warning bell, judging by the way Caleb’s head pokes out from around the corner as I approach the bottom step.

  “I thought for a minute Father Christmas had come back,” Caleb says with a grin. “Sleigh bells ring and all that.”

  “Ha. Ha. I’m trying to be cheerful. Don’t ruin it for me.”

  “Where have you been all afternoon? Grandmother was looking for you.” Caleb falls into step beside me.