“Ah. He’s one of those.”
“Yep. This area has quite a few in that category.” Harriet sipped her drink. “What night suits you for dinner?”
“I happen to have an in with the owner and can make any night work. Since you’re cooking, what works for you?”
“Tuesday?”
“Perfect. It’ll be slow in the pub, making me feel less guilty.”
“Any food allergies I should be aware of?”
“Allergies, no. One or two dislikes.” The dimple made another appearance.
“Care to share?”
“I think I can roll the dice. Live on the edge. Unless you were planning on serving me escargot or frog legs.”
“No French dishes. Got it.” Harriet tapped the side of her head.
Theo had moved on to chatting with William, which resulted in some sharp words, shocking the hell out of Harriet. William wasn’t the type to engage.
Eugenie returned from the kitchen, worry creasing her brow.
Josie met her mum's eyes, getting an approving nod. “I think I need to have a talk with Theo.”
“May the force be with you,” her mum said.
“One thing about my previous job, it taught me how to diplomatically handle the idle rich with a not-so-hidden agenda.”
Chapter Eleven
Sunday night, Josie asked, “Mum, would it be okay for me to take Tuesday night off?” She plucked a glass out of the dishwasher, the steam still billowing out, and proceeded to dry it with a cloth.
Her mum leaned against the bar. “What do I get in return?”
Josie placed the glass on the shelf behind the bar and took another one out of the washer. “A hug.”
Her mum crossed her arms, but Josie suspected she’d done so because her lower back ached, not because she was actually cross with Josie. “You usually give me a hug every day.”
“What can I say? It’s the American in me, and we show affection, unlike you stiff-upper-lip types.” Josie put away the glass and reached for another.
“I know. Your father was the same way.” Her voice sounded wistful.
Josie set down the half-dried glass and wrapped her arms around her mum. “I miss him, too. He always seemed to know exactly what to say in every situation.”
Her mum hugged Josie back. “That he did.”
“There are days when I still reach for the phone to call him.”
“I want to wake him and tell him about a dream I had.”
They clutched each other tighter.
“Am I filling his shoes okay? I know I’m more reserved than he was.”
Josie stepped back to make eye contact. “Of course. A girl couldn’t ask for a better mum.”
Her mum smiled, wiping her nose on a tissue she usually kept stored in the sleeve of her sweater. “Thanks, love. That’s good to hear.”
“You still rock the bossy category. Dad was never good at that.”
“That’s because you had him wrapped around your little finger from the day you were born.”
“Yeah, he was a good man.” Not for the first time, Josie wished she could find a woman who was just as good, but feared no one would ever measure up in the partner for life column. “All set for Tuesday, then?” Josie picked up the wet glass again, getting back to work. One of the kittens walked along the bar top. The other slept on the bed with Winston.
“Still haven’t heard what I get in return.” Her mum’s voice was teasing but not completely.
Josie had always enjoyed the banter between them. “Are you saying you want something besides a hug from your loving and devoted daughter?”
“Now what kind of mother would that make me?” Her face intentionally morphed into the definition of innocent, a trick Josie had witnessed and mastered herself.
“Conniving. Manipulative. Honest. Take your pick.” Josie held up three fingers.
“I choose the latter.”
Josie placed the towel on her shoulder, leaning against the bar. She loved the end of a shift when the pub only had one remaining drinker. The last few nights, she and her mum had engaged in conversations much like this one, bringing them closer after living on opposite sides of the pond. “Okay. Hit me with your demand.”
Her mum’s eyes sparkled. “Let me set you up on a blind date.”
Josie imagined her eyeballs bulging out of their sockets like she’d seen on cartoons.
“Don’t act that way.”
“Total shock.” Josie ran a palm up and down in front of her face to enforce the feeling. “You really need to rein in your expectations for a simple favor.”
“Just listen—”
“Nope. Putting my foot down.” Josie stomped hers on the floor, ending up looking much more childish than she’d intended.
“Guess you don’t want the night off, then.” Her mum shrugged.
“Guess you don’t want me to continue working in the pub,” Josie countered, her temper flaring. One of the not so great traits she’d inherited from her father, meaning no one was perfect.
“Are you saying you’ll quit if I don’t give you the night off?” Her mum sounded floored, but a smile nibbled at the corners of her mouth.
“I’m saying I won’t be forced into dating. Not by my employer.”
“I’m also your mum!”
“Who pays me. This is the twenty-first century. Arranged marriages don’t happen—well, not legally—in this country. I don’t think, at least.” Josie consulted her random facts file lodged in her brain but came up empty. Harry would probably know the answer.
Her mum blew an angry zerbert with her mouth. “I’m not arranging a marriage—”
Josie put a finger on her mum’s lips. “You’re not setting me up on a blind date either.”
“What if it wasn’t a blind date? What if I arranged a dating show or something? We can use the pub for it.”
“That sounds like a great idea for the pub,” Josie said, meaning it.
Her mum squealed and did a happy jig.
Josie pushed the final nail in. “As long as I’m not involved in any shape or form. I have zero interest in dating. Especially now. I feel like my life is swirling around me, and I need to step back for a bit to regain control.”
Her mum stopped dancing. “You drive me insane.”
“It’s part of my job description as your child. Didn’t you read the fine print when you decided to have me?”
“Babies don’t come with warnings, or no one would ever have them.”
“Yes. That’s how getting knocked up by strange Americans blowing through the village, works.” Josie placed a hand on her hip.
“I’ll have you know your father wasn’t a stranger when we conceived you.”
Josie stuck her fingers in her ears. “Nope. Still don’t want to learn the sordid details involving my conception.”
“Why do you need Tuesday night off, anyway?”
Josie was about to spill the beans about going to Harry’s for dinner but thought better of it considering her mother’s dislike of the newspaper woman, not to mention Josie’s own hesitation over trusting Harry completely, even if Harry seemed genuine. Josie had to admit her attraction to Harry grew with each interaction. Half the time, Josie wanted to throw caution to the wind, and the other half, she was reminding herself not to let her guard down. Reporters were the enemy.
“I’m meeting with someone about a potential business deal,” she hedged. It wasn’t a complete fabrication since they intended to talk about the possibility of Harry starting a podcast. It wasn’t a date or anything. Just two lesbians having dinner together at Harry’s place to chat about chatting. Totally innocent.
“Really?” Her mum sounded much more enthusiastic about the idea than Josie thought she would be.
“It’s just the preliminary stage, so…” Josie finished the statement with a flick of a hand.
“That’s great, though. You’ve always loved to stay busy. You started your first business when you were five, although t
hat involved fleecing your mother.”
“Charging you for pulling weeds wasn’t a con. In case you don’t know, child labor is evil. The least you could do was pay a fair wage.”
“A dollar a weed in the eighties was fair?” Her mum shook a finger.
“If I remember correctly, you haggled me down to ten cents a weed.”
“I had to!”
“That’s what happens when you have a kid with an American. We’re extremely capitalistic, and you guys, what with your socialized health care, just don’t understand how the economy functions.” Josie grinned.
“Yeah, yeah. The NHS system is terrible compared to health care in America. Everything is going so much better in the US.”
“Hey. We’re making America great again. Just saying.” Josie made a talk to the hand motion.
Her mum laughed. “Back to your demand. Yes, you can have the night off. When do I get to hear more about the prospect?”
“If it actually turns into something other than an idea, I’ll be happy to share.” Josie felt slightly ill for not filling in her mum because there wasn’t anything to hide. Business. That was all there was to the dinner.
Then why did the thought give Josie warm, fuzzy feelings that had nothing to do with business?
Chapter Twelve
Monday morning rolled around, and Harriet needed to escape her home after spending most of her weekend researching podcasting, which ended up with her ordering a microphone, downloading Audacity on her laptop, watching YouTube videos, and buying a handful of books on the subject.
She longed for fresh air, but trudging around in muddy fields didn’t appeal to her. Not to mention, the wind howled and somehow smacked Harriet in the face no matter what direction she turned. Harriet scuttled her first plan, which was rambling through the woods, and headed to her favorite coffee shop on the square.
Sitting at a table, partially hidden in the corner, Harriet sipped a fancy cup of coffee, because why order a simple one in a shop specializing in different brews? Harriet plumbed her mind to put a finger on what was causing her to feel somewhat off since waking this morning. No, the mood had been plaguing her for days, if not since October. But what was the source?
The paper? The stress of keeping it afloat never seemed to give her a moment’s peace. Would starting a podcast be the best course of action?
On the con side, she noted: possible time waster, her fear of public speaking, and…?
She moved to the pro side: drive more people to The Chronicles website, could increase advertising revenue, increase more income funnels, help fill her time, and Josie.
Harriet shook her head. Why did she list Josie in the pro column? Clearly, Harriet needed more caffeine, and she made her way to the counter.
Back at the table, Harriet pondered other causes of her uneasiness. While she was relieved Camilla had left early Saturday morning after being summoned by work, Harriet couldn’t shake the feeling of being lonely. Not solitude, which she enjoyed, especially when considering a new project, but loneliness.
She started to jot down possible podcast names but didn’t get far. Not being able to think of words was a terrible sign for a journalist and would-be podcaster.
Unable to boot whatever weirdness was crowding her mind, Harriet closed her notebook and reached into her bag for a novel. If she couldn’t think of words on her own, she’d bury her head into someone else’s, not the things troubling her subconscious. Especially a certain someone with a dimple in the village. Because there was no way that person would consider the middle-aged Harriet as anything but a friend. Harriet was menopausal for Christ’s sake. That fact alone, even if she was quite young for this particular stage in life, lumped her forever into the friend zone.
Harriet cracked open a paperback copy of Pet Sematary by Stephen King. She’d recently read an interview where the author stated it was his most disturbing book, so when she stumbled on a well-worn edition in a charity shop, she couldn’t resist. Surely a novel that King found upsetting would keep her mind off the things she’d rather not focus on. Pointless longing was excruciating. There, she admitted it. Harriet wanted Josie, but she’d never have her. Best to accept that right then and there. Josie could be a friend and nothing more. Now it was time to move on. Pining over something that was never going to happen was useless. Harriet wasn’t the type to waste time.
The door opened, and Harriet glanced up to see Eugenie enter, her hand upraised in greeting to a lone older woman sitting at a table near the front window. Harriet reflexively hunched down in her seat, holding the book higher to cover her face, not wanting to be seen, especially by Josie’s mother.
Peeking over the top of the book, Harriet studied Eugenie’s mate to see if she recognized the woman, but Harriet was still relatively new to Upper Chewford and hadn’t been able to put a name to the majority of faces.
Eugenie tossed her arms around the stout woman, who’d lurched to her feet.
“It’s so good to see you, Isabel,” Eugenie said.
“It’s been too long, Genie. Much, much too long. I brought your favorite chocolates.”
Eugenie opened a paper bag. “Oh, I haven’t had these in I don’t know how long. How’d you get your hands on them?”
Harriet couldn’t hear the answer, but she took this to mean the woman wasn’t local or perhaps had been away awhile. Maybe an American friend or relative stopping for a visit. If that were the case, though, why hadn’t the woman met Eugenie at the pub? Surely, she’d know Josie as well. Whatever the case, the two of them talked quietly, causing Harriet to strain a bit to make out the words.
While the two women chatted, catching up as if they were friends going back to infancy, Harriet silently moved her chair to the other side of her table, to keep her back to the women and allow her to hear better.
Why did she bother?
Harriet wasn’t the type to eavesdrop on people, not even when on a job. She could never stoop to that level, although Josie seemed to think Harriet had back in London. Now, she was snooping on Josie’s mum. Hopefully, Josie would never find out about this, and what exactly did Harriet expect to hear?
Feeling slightly ashamed, Harriet buried her nose in the book, doing her best to blot out their conversation. It wasn’t right to listen in. Not in the slightest. If it wouldn’t be too obvious, she’d move back to the other side of the table or even farther away. Harriet opted to close her ears to the best of her ability.
She succeeded for the most part, until Harriet heard Josie’s name mentioned.
Isabel replied, “I didn’t know she was back.”
“For now, but I’m not sure for how long. That’s the problem I want to talk about. I adore my daughter…” Eugenie didn’t finish the sentence.
“But…?” Isabel prodded, relieving Harriet’s mind some. Why was Harriet intent on knowing the answer as to whether or not Josie would be staying long term? And, Harriet had to admit, she was dying to know Eugenie’s take on things. Could Eugenie be an ally down the road?
“I think my darling daughter thinks she’s more suited for America or even London. She sees Upper Chewford as a sleepy village in the middle of nowhere. But I know in my heart of hearts, Josie belongs here. I even got her working in the pub to tie her down some.”
“What brought her back?”
“Oh, she claims her life and career are over.” Eugenie’s voice indicated la-di-da. “You know how the young can be.”
“Dramatic, yes. Give her another twenty years, and she’ll understand life never works out the way you want it to.”
“Tell me about it. I never thought I’d be widowed in my fifties.” Eugenie’s voice came out hard.
“Do you think she’ll get fed up working in the pub and leave everything?”
“So far, she seems to like it, and she has a business meeting tomorrow night. Fingers crossed it pans out and makes her see how much the area has to offer a bright and ambitious woman.”
Harriet sensed from the excitement
in Eugenie’s voice she was crossing her fingers and toes, but hearing the dinner described as business sliced through Harriet.
“Is she dating anyone?” Isabel asked.
“That’s the other problem I need your help with. She claims she doesn’t want a relationship.” Harriet picked up on the exasperation in Eugenie’s tone and words. “She’s met Natalie and Helen, the two lesbians I know well enough in the area, but Josie hasn’t shown any interest. Well, she gets along with Harry, but—”
A man and woman walked into the coffee shop, making a ruckus. Probably American tourists who had never mastered inside voices. The coffee machine fired up, making an obnoxious hissing sound, not allowing Harriet to eavesdrop on the part of the conversation she really wanted to hear.
Probably for the best, given Eugenie’s not so secret revulsion toward Harriet. Was it just the ginger ads that hindered Harriet’s cause? And, apparently, Josie’s disinterest in relationships and Harriet in particular? Surely, that was what the but had meant.
The Americans took their coffees and marched back outside, looking as if they wanted to conquer the world.
“What kind of woman would Josie want?” Isabel asked.
“Want or need?” Eugenie asked.
“Uh-oh.” There was a rustling sound. “Problems in that department?”
Eugenie let out a sigh only a mum could emit. “My daughter is brilliant, except when it comes to women.”
“Surely, she’s not that bad.”
“She hasn’t been able to find a woman who’ll stick things out. Tits and ass are hard to resist. Relationships are hard, even good ones. I fear Josie’s terrible luck with women has turned her off them for good. I worry what’ll become of her when I go.”
Harriet glanced down at the front of her shirt, taking in her lacking in one of Josie’s must haves if Eugenie was to be believed.
Eugenie continued, “Do you know any eligible lesbians? Or bisexuals leaning toward women? I’m not picky, aside from wanting a woman from around here, not some Londoner. I’m hoping to find a selection to parade before my lovely daughter.”
A Shot at Love Page 11
