Full English

by Rachel Spangler

  “Not me,” she corrected. “Lady Victoria didn’t invite me anywhere. Not even to do her landscaping or tend her bar this time. She invited Emma, a totally talented, graceful, and famous author.”

  “Emma invited you, same difference.”

  “No,” Brogan said quickly. “I’m the only person she knows, and she doesn’t know any better yet.”

  “She knew enough to kiss you.”

  “Not really. She hardly knows anything about me.”

  “She knows your full name, your address, several of the places you work, a couple of your siblings, and that you’re a lesbian, which is the big one if you ask me, though I’ve kissed a couple girls I haven’t been sure about on that front.”

  She rolled her eyes, though if pressed, she’d have to admit to going further with women she knew less about, too.

  “She knows you’re hardworking and generous and a good cook,” Charlie reasoned. “She’s seen where you live and how you dress, so she knows you’re not posh, but she’s also seen you help people out, including her on more than one occasion.”

  “No more than anyone else around here would.”

  “Debatable,” Charlie said, “but I guess that’s the point, right? Why would you want to debate this? And you obviously do.”

  “I don’t.”

  “I don’t know how many women you’ve slept with in the last ten years. Seriously, please don’t tell me, but I never got the sense any of them caused you much hesitation. I know for sure none of them left you brooding over a bottle of wine, or restless enough to confess even vague details to me. They all came and went without issue or comment.”

  She didn’t argue with any of those facts.

  “Why are you fighting this one so hard?”

  “It’s . . . she’s . . . well.” She sighed. “Emma’s different.”

  “Yeah, I got that, but different in a good way, right?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “Descriptive.” He took a swig from his glass of wine and waited.

  Brogan’s cheeks burned under his patient scrutiny, until she finally blurted, “She’s too good for me, okay?”

  He laughed. “That’s never stopped you before.”

  The words hit her in the chest, and she must have paled, because Charlie’s face went white, too. “Shite, I didn’t mean that. You know it’s not true.”

  “It is true. We both know it.”

  “I don’t. I thought you were being a numpty to get out of telling me the real reason.”

  “No, you were bang-on the first time,” Brogan said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as thick as her throat felt. “I’m always punching above my weight with the women who come through here. They all have real lives with jobs and homes and friends so far out of what I know or could ever feel comfortable with, and that’s fine, because I’m never going to be part of any of those things. I’m a holiday fling, a good one, I think, but that’s why it works. I know it. They know it. No one pretends I’m anything else. That’s what I’m good for.”

  He shook his head. “Brogan, that’s the biggest load of shite I’ve ever heard. If I’d known you believed that, I would’ve . . .”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know, probably told Mum or Nora or someone useful, someone who’d do a better job of talking some sense into you, but honestly I don’t know why I have to. You have women throwing themselves at you every summer.”

  “Yeah, every summer,” Brogan said, “and then what? Do you see any of them trying to move up here? Any of them asking me to move down with them? Any of them wanting to have a go at a long-distance relationship?”

  “Do you want that?”

  She shook her head. “What’s the use in wanting something you can’t have? Why not learn to like what you’ve got?”

  “Yeah, not a bad plan, but it seems to me like what you’ve got is Emma. She’s here, she interested, she’s—”

  “She’s hurting and lonely and coming off a breakup with a woman who didn’t deserve her, but none of those things are going to last. She’s on the equivalent of a long holiday.” Brogan recited the speech she’d been giving herself for weeks.

  “Fine,” Charlie said. “What if you’re right? What if Emma wants you for a while, and then she goes back to New York? You said yourself you’ve learned to want what you’ve got open to you. If you believe that, then why not enjoy more of the same with her?”

  “Because she’s not the same. She’s special. She’s full of contradictions. She’s strong and fragile at the same time. Brave and afraid. Beautiful and broken. She’s not in need of a break from her hectic schedule or tedious job. She needs time and space, and someone to believe in her. She needs a friend. And I’d like to be that for her.”

  “But you’d also like to be something more. Admit it.”

  “Yeah, in a perfect world, maybe I would, but we don’t live in a fairy tale,” she said, wistfully remembering the adventure Emma had been concocting in her head. Brogan had seen the resemblances to their own circumstances, but unlike Emma, she could see the ending. A woman courageous enough to sail across the sea in search of herself wouldn’t settle for the tedious life of a village fisherman. She’d learn what she needed to learn to weather the storm, and then she’d sail on. So would Emma, eventually. She was too good not to.

  She pushed back from the table. “You said it yourself. You got a degree, you have credentials, you have skills and a personality, but has Lady Victoria ever called you in for drinks?”

  He snorted.

  “And you’re not holding your breath, are you?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not her type.”

  “I’m not either, and it doesn’t matter how gay I am, or nice, or hardworking, because at the end of the day, people like her don’t fall for gardeners or bartenders or clerks or temporary help of any kind.”

  “You’re much more than you give yourself credit for,” Charlie said, “and actually being a little unfair to Emma, too, because if what you say about her is true, she didn’t get rich and famous by some accident of fate.”

  “No,” Brogan agreed. “She’s smart and creative and passionate about what she does. She has everything going for her.”

  “Then why do you think she’d be wrong about what she wants, just because what she wants right now is you?”

  “I don’t think she’s wrong about what she wants right now,” Brogan said, “but I’ve been wanted before, lots of times, by lots of different women. It always passes, and maybe this time around, being wanted for right now isn’t good enough.”

  “Why?”

  “Because with someone like Emma, a moment isn’t going to be enough.”

  £ £ £

  Emma examined the black dress that had arrived in the mail and studied her thin reflection in the mirror. Reggie looked up from where she’d been digging around in the lower corner of the terraced garden. Emma suspected the kid wanted something to do in some place she felt welcome and useful, so she didn’t point out there wasn’t much real gardening left to do. She didn’t mind the company or having her youthful energy around every now and then.

  “What do you think?” Emma asked her.

  Reggie shrugged.

  “Not impressed?”

  “I don’t like dresses much,” Reggie said, “but I bet you will look pretty.”

  She smiled at the simple statement that likely said much more about Reggie than she realized.

  “Do you like it?” Reggie asked, standing up and wiping her dirty hands on her jeans.

  “I don’t know,” Emma admitted, holding the dress out away from herself. “I can’t decide if it’s too plain, or too much.”

  Reggie frowned. “Can it be both?”

  “You wouldn’t think so, but it’s all one color, and the cut of the front is rather plain, but the back—” She turned it around to show the swooping dip from the neckline to well past studious. “I worry from the front it’ll look like I’m headed to a funeral, and from the back
it’ll look like I’m headed for an—” She remembered who she was talking to and said, “Embarrassment.”

  Reggie’s eyebrows knitted together as she inspected the dress more closely, as if trying to see what Emma was talking about, but in the end, her innocence and tomboyishness combined to block any real understanding, so she offered the best suggestion she had. “My mum likes dresses. Maybe we should ask her.”

  Emma shook her head. “I’ll figure it out.”

  “Are you sure?” Reggie asked. “She’s going up to the pub soon. My uncle Charlie might go, too, and Brogan is always there early. We could take a vote.”

  She blushed at the idea. She didn’t need her evening wear subject to popular approval. And the idea of asking Brogan specifically made the concept even more daunting. She had yet to fully process the kiss they’d shared on Monday. Maybe “shared” was too strong a word. Brogan had certainly leaned into the experience, but Emma had never lost sight of the fact that she’d been in control. Or maybe “control” was also too strong a word, because she hadn’t exactly planned the kiss, or thought it through, or even unpacked it after the fact, but she had been the one to start it, and keep it going, and then end it, all of her own doing.

  She’d also been the one to walk away, and to stay away, choosing to immerse herself in her new writing project. The world of fiction she’d created, full of turbulent seas and pirates and rocky shores, surprisingly felt much less complicated than her real life, and she’d chosen to hide there. It was a convenient hiding place because it looked like progress. The words spilled out of her in ways she couldn’t have dreamed of even weeks ago, and rich worlds filled her waking hours. She stayed busy, both physically and emotionally, and everyone from her old life would’ve been so proud of the strength and creative fortitude she’d employed to jump back into writing with such complete abandon.

  Only she understood the real abandonment was of the feelings Brogan sparked in her.

  “Are you okay?” Reggie asked.

  “What?”

  “Your eyes looked sad, or maybe mad?” The girl observed her with insight beyond her years. “Are you sad-mad about the dress?”

  “No,” she said quickly, refusing to add that she might have been a little sad-mad about herself. “But I’m not ready to make a decision yet.”

  “Where are you going to wear the dress?” Reggie asked.

  “To a cocktail party at the castle.”

  “With Lady Victoria?”

  “She’s the one who invited me, but I’m actually going with Brogan.”

  Reggie laughed. “Aunt Brogan would look funny in a matching dress.”

  “I don’t know that she’ll wear a dress,” Emma said, sharing a chuckle at that image.

  “What’s she going to wear?”

  “I don’t know,” Emma said honestly.

  “What’s she supposed to wear?”

  “I don’t know,” she said again. “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to wear. I’ve been to book launches and fundraisers, but none at castles. And usually my agent tells me how formal to dress, or the invitation might list a dress code.”

  “People tell you what you have to wear to their parties?” Reggie scoffed. “Rude. If I had a party, I’d let people wear what they want.”

  “But then wouldn’t everyone want to wear pajamas?”

  “Yes! I’d love a pajama party, but my mum likes to get dressed up all posh. She went to a thing at the castle once for something or another.”

  “Really?” Emma asked, chewing on her lip a little bit. It wouldn’t be terrible to talk to someone who’d been to a similar function, but she barely knew Ciara. She did know Brogan, though, which didn’t make her feel any better. She either had to ask a near stranger for advice, or the person she knew best, but she wasn’t ready to confront how well they’d connected. No, actually, she’d have to face both of them at once, because they were in the same place. A public place. She checked her watch. It was four thirty. Hopefully there wouldn’t be much of a crowd at the pub, which didn’t start serving food until later, but the thought offered small comfort.

  “My mum loves dresses,” Reggie added, but she couldn’t stop her face from scrunching up, as if she found that fact unsavory.

  “Maybe I could Google ‘appropriate attire for cocktail parties hosted by British nobility,’” but even before the full sentence left her mouth, she realized the obscurity of those search terms.

  “Or you could ask a person,” Reggie suggested, the plainly obvious choice.

  “Right,” Emma said, not wanting to admit to a ten-year-old that she was being silly because she felt silly, for all the things she didn’t know and some of things she did, in this situation. She didn’t know what to wear to a function the likes of which she’d never imagined being invited to. She did know Ciara, who would probably love to help. She also knew Brogan would be kind and sensitive and affirming. Emma would have to face Brogan eventually, and in doing so, she’d have to face the kiss, and the way her heart still beat a little faster when she recalled the unexpected softness of her lips . . . actually, maybe, a public meeting was the best place to do that. Much less risk of a repeat or complicating behavior in a bar than in a car, and with siblings and coworkers around rather than just the two of them.

  “Yeah, maybe that’s the best,” Emma said as she worked around to the conclusion that facing a bit of embarrassment now would beat having to do so in close quarters and castles next week. She wasn’t sure if ripping off that Band-Aid with an audience made her brave or cowardly, but she didn’t have time to second-guess herself, because Reggie grabbed her by the hand and, giving a little tug, pulled her out the door.

  £ £ £

  “Did Isabelle and Simon sell their house?” Will asked, as Brogan poured him a pint of ale. “The sign is down.”

  “Yup. Edmond had me transfer the keys to them, since Joanne’s on bed rest and he doesn’t want to be away from her.”

  “Good Lord, hasn’t that woman had that bairn yet?” Tom asked. “I saw her a month ago, and she looked ready to pop then.”

  “The first one’s usually the hardest,” Diane said. “They’ll get easier after this.”

  “I don’t know,” Ciara mused. “Padrig was my last one, and he hung on the longest. The doctor had to drag him out. He gets his stubborn streak from his father.”

  Everyone laughed in unison, especially Brogan and Charlie.

  Ciara feigned offense, but before she could complain, the door to the pub swung open and hit the stone wall with a loud crack. Everyone looked up to see Reggie, her face smudged with dirt, and her red hair disheveled as usual.

  “Child,” Ciara sighed, “what am I going to do with you, tearing in here like you’re on fire, but covered with mud?”

  Brogan laughed, undercutting her sister’s exasperation. “Hiya, Reg. Way to make an entrance.”

  Reggie grinned sheepishly. “Sorry ’bout the door, but I got excited.”

  “Yeah? What’s new and exciting in the world?”

  “Emma got a new dress,” Reggie blurted, and all the air left Brogan’s lungs.

  “What?” everyone at the local table asked together.

  But before Reggie could explain, Emma stepped into the sun-filled doorway and smiled shyly. If Brogan had hoped to get her air back after the unexpected mention of her name, seeing her did little to further that aim. She felt like she was breathing through a straw as a million words and feelings sprang forth.

  Emma was stunning in the amber light, her hair long and loose in white-gold strands across her slender shoulders and fair features. They stood frozen, staring at each other for entirely too long to be casual, until Diane mercifully rescued them both.

  “Emma, how lovely to see you again.”

  Emma blinked as if she hadn’t yet noticed anyone else in the room, and Brogan knew the feeling. “I didn’t know you were open for business yet. Reggie mentioned her mom and Brogan would be here, but she didn’t say I’d be inte
rrupting an event.”

  “Nonsense,” Esther said. “We’re just a few locals who get together on Fridays before dinner. And you’re a local now. You should join us.”

  Emma shook her head. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “That can be fixed,” Tom said, grabbing another chair and dragging it toward the table for her. It didn’t go without notice that he placed it right next to his own. Both Esther and Diane rolled their eyes.

  Emma turned from him to Brogan, and her cheeks flushed as she clutched something tighter to her chest.

  “What have you got there, dear?” Esther asked.

  “Her dress,” Reggie exclaimed. “She can’t decide if she should wear it to the castle when she and Brogan go see Lady Victoria.”

  Everyone turned slowly to face Brogan, and she smiled weakly. “Did I forget to mention I’m going to miss next Friday because I’ll be accompanying Emma up to the castle?”

  “Yeah,” Ciara said dryly, “must’ve slipped your mind.”

  “Oh no,” Emma said, her hands rising to cover her mouth the way she did when overwhelmed, only this time she still had the dress clutched in her hands, so it looked like she was trying to use it to hide her face as she said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about you having to miss work, or time with friends. You don’t have to go.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Brogan said quickly. “I work all the time. One night off isn’t going to kill anyone.”

  “That’s true,” Charlie said. “I’ll cover the bar.”

  “Of course he will,” Ciara seconded, then with a little more cheek added, “We’d love nothing more than for you and Brogan to go up to some posh event at the castle.”

  “But what about her dress?” Reggie asked exasperatedly.

  “What about it?” Esther said.

  “Is it too plain or too much?”

  Emma blushed. “We don’t need to worry about that now.”