“The cats are optional. Get rabbits or potbelly pigs for all I care, but I want to see you happy.”
“I’d rather have the cats and not the lady. And, I’m not even a cat lover.”
Her mother inhaled sharply as if needing extra moments before blowing her stack.
“Don’t start, Mum. I’ve only been here two weeks.”
“It’s closer to three. That’s another thing. How long do you plan on staying?”
Josie faked a coughing fit, not wanting to delve into a topic she knew would lead into an argument.
“In that case, it’s time you stop wallowing and get back to work.”
Josie closed her eyes and groaned. “I don’t want to write speeches anymore. That part of me is dead.” Not by her choosing, which made it an even more difficult pill to swallow.
“You still have dramatic flair, though.”
“I’m a woman. It’s in our DNA.” Josie boosted a hand in the air matched with raising her shoulders, insinuating it couldn’t be helped.
“I wasn’t going to tell you to go back to politics. I never liked that life for you. All the traveling. The stress. And for what? Every time, it crushed your heart. Politics isn’t for good people, and you, my darling daughter, have a heart of gold.”
And Josie missed all of it. Even the stress.
“You might be slightly biased.” Josie held a finger and thumb an inch apart. Sighing, she said, “The thought of finding a new career is beyond me at the moment. I really don’t know what the next stage of my life will entail, but it’s going to be epic.” She flashed her most confident smile.
“How very American of you. I’m not suggesting you figure your life out right here and now. What I’m proposing is much simpler. You should start working in the pub.”
“You want me to pull pints?”
“Why not? Is it not good enough for the fancy-schmancy speechwriter?”
Josie showed a palm. “I didn’t mean it that way, I promise. I just hadn’t considered the possibility. That’s all.”
“It’ll do you some good. Give you a chance to interact with some of the people here.” Her mum sipped her coffee. “You know, Natalie Hill plays for your team. I’m friends with her aunt Yolanda.”
“And what team is that?” Josie teased.
“The girls who like girls team.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Maybe we should have had the birds and the birds lecture after all.”
“Oh, you mean she’s gay. Why don’t you fix her up with Helen?” Josie pantomimed a light bulb going off over her head. “By Jove, that’s what I’ll do. Become Upper Chewford’s matchmaker à la Hello, Dolly!”
“Given your track record with women, I don’t think that’s a good fit for you.”
“You’re only proving I shouldn’t be in a relationship.”
“Or you should let me pick the woman for you.” Her mum’s expression perked up.
“Yeah, that sounds like the best idea ever.” Josie’s gaze flicked upward. “I wouldn’t let you select a goldfish for me.”
“Why are you so difficult?” Her mum’s exasperation was getting dangerously close to her breaking point, which only egged Josie on as if she were a surly teenager once again.
“I don’t know, Hells Bells. Why don’t you tell me?”
“I’m going to kill your uncle.”
“For busting you?” Josie quirked her brow.
“For turning my own daughter against me by spreading malicious lies.” Her mum hugged her chest.
“Oh, that’s not possible. A girl couldn’t ask for a better mum.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.” Her mum’s posture dramatically softened.
“I know.” Josie yawned again. “I think you’re right.”
“About you settling down? Shall I get you either Helen’s or Natalie’s number? No, wait, leave it with me.”
Josie wouldn’t turn down Harry’s number, but she couldn’t picture Harry going on a date for some reason. She seemed way too serious, and more than likely, only weird facts, like dimples being a defect, got the woman excited.
“Hard no. Fun fact, not all lesbians are attracted to any available lesbian. It’s a difficult concept for most people to understand.”
“You haven’t even given either of them a chance!”
“Another fun fact, I’m not looking for any type of relationship, given my life has imploded.” Her mum started to speak, but Josie motioned for Eugenie to zip it. “What I was going to say is I think you’re right about me working in the pub. It may be just the thing I need. Give me something to do that isn’t too taxing on the brain.”
“You have such a high opinion of my business.”
“I didn’t mean it that way. After I return from my visit with my friend in London, I’ll get back behind the bar.”
“Who’s this friend again?” Her mum sounded hopeful.
“He’s a guy I went to college with.”
Her mum’s smile fell. “Does he have a lesbian in the family?”
“Not that I remember. Should I ask for you? Maybe one of his great-aunts or someone might be interested in a sexy lady in her late fifties. My team is always looking for recruits, no matter the age. I’m one conversion away from receiving an all-expense-paid trip to Maui.”
Her mum groaned and shook a fist at Josie. “Why do I even bother?”
“It’s a mystery for both of us. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been telling you I don’t like being micromanaged, yet you keep trying.”
“You need it now more than ever!”
“And you think you’re up for the task. You can’t control your brother, the ginger sex machine.” Josie mimicked a middle-aged white man who thought he had impressive dance moves, singing bow-chick-a-wow-wow, while flapping her arms about.
Her mum did her best not to laugh.
Josie downed the rest of her lukewarm tea and then rinsed her cup. “I’m going to go for a run now that I’m waking up some.”
“You didn’t get that gene from me.”
“Which one?”
“The exercise gene.”
“It’s the American part of me. The incessant need to stay busy.” Josie went to her bedroom to change into running pants and a long-sleeve shirt.
After fourteen thousand steps, according to her Fitbit, Josie slowed to a walk. A figure up ahead on the path caught her eye. Without thinking, Josie quickened her pace, calling out, “Hey!”
Harry turned around, the confusion on her face easing into a smile. “Hey back.”
“Sorry about that. I keep forgetting I’m in polite British society.”
“I don’t think Americans are the only ones who shout hey at strangers.” Harry’s pupils enlarged, causing a frisson of excitement in Josie.
“Are you a stranger, though? I mean, we’ve chatted at the pub on several occasions, traded barbs in what I hope was a playful way, and heck, I even know your nickname. That should edge us past the stranger category.” Josie made a motion with her hand, suggesting they’d blown past one category, landing into another.
“Heck,” Harry parroted and laughed. “I do love your Americanness. But, back to the matter at hand, to which level have we entered?”
“Good question. Possibly friends. Or at least friendly.”
“Are you starting or ending? Given…” Harry, looking slightly uncomfortable, circled a finger in the air. “I’m guessing you’re ending.”
“At being friends? That might be the shortest-lived friendship on the planet.” Josie whistled and jabbed an elbow into Harry’s side.
Harry laughed again. “I meant with your run?”
“I figured that was what you meant, but couldn’t resist. I just finished. Are you heading back?”
“I am, although I’m more of a walker who stops to smell the flowers.”
“Nothing wrong with that. Care for some company.”
“Absolutely.”
They started back toward the village center, walking side by side in silence.
Josie racked her brain for a conversation starter, but could only come up with, “I’m assuming from your accent, you didn’t grow up in Upper Chewford.”
Harry shook her head. “Correct. London.”
“What made you leave the city?” Josie pushed, wondering if Harry was always super shy or indifferent to Josie’s feminine wiles. Not that Josie was interested, but would it be wrong to have a fuck buddy while Josie picked up the pieces of her life? Harry’s short, razor-cut honey-gold hair, with a sweep of bangs to one side was sexy as hell. Then there were her piercing blue eyes behind the trendy black-framed glasses. Intelligent women were hot as hell.
“Honestly, I needed a fresh start. I’d lost my job and partner.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear about that.” Josie placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “My dad died eight years ago. Mum still hasn’t recovered.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to suggest my ex-wife died. She left me.”
Harry had an ex-wife. That shocked the hell out of Josie. Harry had fallen in love and gotten married? It was so hard for Josie to wrap her brain around the idea. “That’s rough. Why’d she leave?” Josie stopped herself from joking Harry had probably called her wife defective or something. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”
“It’s okay.” Harry turned her head away from Josie and spoke in a quiet voice. “I still haven’t quite figured everything out.”
Josie sensed Harry was the type who needed to do a full postmortem on all relationships, and perhaps she needed someone to talk to. “She didn’t give you a reason?” There was a possibility Josie was overly curious as well. If there was hope of them being fuck buddies, didn’t Josie need to know more?
“She did. You know, the usual we’ve grown apart line you say to save someone’s feelings.” Harry’s eyes stayed glued on the ground as if she needed to remind herself to put one foot forward, then the other.
“It does happen, though.” At least Josie had been told it did, since her job was the only thing Josie had fully committed herself to. Josie eyed Harry’s stiffening posture. “But you don’t believe that?”
“Not sure. It was weird since we never had an argument. And then—”
Josie bounced on the balls of her feet and made an aha gesture. “Maybe that’s the key. You have to care in order to fight.” Had Harry married a cold fish? Was that the type she was attracted to? Bad news for Josie if that were the case.
Harry stopped in her tracks. “Are you saying I didn’t care about her? Or vice versa?”
Josie suppressed a sigh. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place to play therapist. I’m just being the typical American, butting in and speaking before thinking.”
“It’s kinda refreshing. We’ve only spoken on a handful of occasions, and we’ve already had more frank conversations than Alice and I ever had.” Harry’s face paled. “I didn’t mean to imply—”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t think that.” Josie motioned to a fallen branch so Harry wouldn’t trip over it. “If it makes you feel better, I’ve crashed and burned in the relationship department on several occasions. At least you got married. I haven’t been close. Mum was just riding my ass earlier about it being time for me to settle down. I don’t think she believes me when I say I’m done with relationships.” Josie slapped her hands together in a finito manner, wondering why she made a point of saying the words and then pounding the point home to Harry of all people.
“For good?”
“Let’s just say for the moment, although I don’t think I’ll ever find the kind of relationship my parents had, and anything less wouldn’t be worthwhile.” At least that was truthful. “Not one of my exes truly got me, and I’m not interested in settling with a warm body just to have one, you know?” Josie chewed on her lip, letting that thought settle in. Was that what had stopped her all this time, and she was just figuring it out?
“My parents had a terrible relationship. Before they died, they couldn’t be in the same room without major fireworks.”
“That sounds awful.”
“It’s been harder on my brother. He’s already been divorced three times, and he’s only two years older than I am.”
Josie guessed Harry was in her early forties. “That’s too bad. Any kids?”
“No, thank goodness.”
“I always wanted a brother.” Josie kicked a stone off the footpath.
“Do you have a sister?”
“Nope. I’m the typical only child—self-centered and spoiled if you believe most I’ve dated.” Josie laughed.
“I have a hard time believing that.”
“Give me time. I tend to disappoint women. It’s my magical power.” Josie made a wand motion with her hand, looking silly, but not truly caring. It was nice to be her goofball self around Harry instead of trying to be the person she thought she should be.
“Again, I don’t believe that.”
Josie nudged her shoulder into Harry’s. “Women. Can you ever make one happy?”
“You’re asking the wrong person. I’m thinking of adopting a dog.”
“Mum thinks lesbians should have two cats.”
“Have you always called her Mum?”
Josie gave Harry a questioning look.
“I mean, you grew up in the US. I’m surprised you don’t call her Mom.”
“Oh, that.” Josie nodded, trying not to smile over Harry’s fact-collecting ways, which Josie couldn’t help think was charming. “I’ve called her Mum for as long as I can remember. She probably encouraged it as a way to always keep a connection to here. Mum was always ensuring I appreciated my Britishness as well as Americanness. I slip from American and British words without giving it much thought, much to the annoyance of many. Sometimes it gets me into trouble because I forget not everyone is multilingual.” Josie laughed over the word choice, and Harry seemed to nod in understanding. “Once in college, I told a woman I liked her jumper, meaning sweater as you know. I touched her arm while speaking, and she thought I said I wanted to jump her. I’m pretty sure she was homophobic and wanted to twist any words I said to feed whatever thoughts were going through her head. But it was awkward. So very awkward.”
“That sounds terrible.”
“It was in the moment. Now it’s kinda funny.”
“These are the types of stories I like hearing. Not that I relish other people’s embarrassing moments.”
Josie smiled at Harry. “I knew what you meant. The woman wasn’t even my type, so she had nothing to worry about.”
“Do tell. What’s your type?”
“And take the fun out of you figuring that out on your own?”
There was a curious glint in Harry’s eyes, but the rest of her seemed to be reserved. “The other day after we talked, I did a little digging about the different variations of mom. In Little Women, the March sisters called their mother marmee. The author, Louisa May Alcott, grew up in Massachusetts, and more than likely she dropped her Rs, making it sound more like mommy.”
“I never knew that. I’ll have to tuck that away.” Josie motioned locking the fact inside her head, touched Harry had looked into it after hearing Josie say mum. It was odd but the type of peculiarity Josie found intriguing since she too was curious about the origination of words. Although Josie struggled to banish the thought no one could be as genuine as Harry, media types were not to be completely trusted. While Harry didn’t give any clue she was playing a game, Josie had been burned very recently by a journalist she had trusted.
“Do you want cats?”
It took Josie a second to comprehend Harry had circled back to the original conversation about lesbians and cats. “Never took to cats. Maybe I haven’t found the right one.” Josie scratched the back of her neck. “Do you like cats?”
“If I wanted a creature to ignore me twenty-three hours a day, I’d find a girlfriend.”
Josie chortled. “You may have a worse opi
nion of women than I do.”
“I wouldn’t say that. It’s just I’ve never had much luck in the love department.”
“You know what they say about luck.”
Harry turned her head to Josie. “What’s that?”
“I’d tell you, but it’s better if you find out on your own.”
“Well, if that isn’t a cliffhanger, I don’t know what is.”
Chapter Eight
Later that day, Harriet sat at her desk in her office, aka the guest bedroom, tapping a mechanical pencil against her forehead. Every time she let her mind wander, Harriet saw Josie’s captivating green eyes and thought about the way Josie’s laughter had filled Harriet’s ears with goodness. Harriet let out a puff of air. “She’s a spin doctor. Don’t forget that,” she said aloud as if she needed to hear the words, not just think them.
On the other hand, Josie would probably have insight about setting up a podcast. Harriet knew one thing about the possibility of podcasting: she needed help. If she had any desire to turn the business around, she’d have to leave her digital dinosaur ways in the past and step out into the unknown. The idea of her interviews reaching a broader audience was more than intriguing. Each person’s story was a stich in human history and deserved to be known.
First, though, she needed to finish crafting a crossword for an upcoming edition of The Chronicles.
Her cousin rang on Skype.
Before Camilla could say anything, Harriet asked, “What’s a five-letter word for cute?”
“Why not just say cute?”
“Because I can’t supply the word cute and have it also be the answer,” Harriet explained, not for the first time, to her cousin, who enjoyed telling Harriet she’d never attempted to solve a crossword in her life. How were they even related?
“What are you—oh, you’re working on next week’s crossword puzzle. Now, I’m following.” Camilla switched gears. “Are you coming to London soon?”
A Shot at Love Page 7
