“Let me think.”
How many women did Eugenie plan on tossing in Josie’s path?
“What about Vera’s daughter?” Eugenie sounded excited.
“Married.”
Eugenie made a tsking sound. “Oh, that’s a shame.”
“I hear the woman is difficult, so she may not be permanently out of the running.”
“Which one?” Eugenie asked.
“I don’t remember.”
“Guess it doesn’t matter. Both are gay.”
“Good point.”
The women laughed.
Isabel shrieked, “I know!”
“Tell me more.” Harriet could picture Eugenie making a gimmie gimmie motion with her fingers.
“My neighbor’s sister’s cousin is a lesbian!” Isabel slapped a hand on the tabletop.
“And available?”
“I think so. We should set them up on a blind date.”
“I’ve been banned from that.”
“Oh dear.”
“We’ll have to arrange a meeting.” There was an evilness to Eugenie’s pronunciation of arrange.
“How?”
“Family reunion?”
“They’re not your family. Or mine.”
“True.” Eugenie was silent for a moment. “Maybe claim they won a raffle and their entire family won a free meal at The Golden Fleece.”
“How do you ensure they bring the cousin?”
“Make it a stipulation one is an eligible lesbian.”
The two cackled over this.
Finally, Isabel said, “We’ll think of something.”
“I have been considering setting up a dating game of sorts and holding it in the pub.”
“That’s an idea. With a mum like you, Josie won’t be single for long. Not if you have your way.”
Chapter Thirteen
Josie spun in front of the full-length mirror, checking out her outfit one final time before heading out for the night. It’d been the first outfit she’d attempted, ixnayed, and then tossed on again after the fourth, when she’d exclaimed, “Are you out of your mind? You can’t wear that to Harry’s.” While she still wasn’t certain about the choice, Josie also didn’t have any other options, considering many of her things were still in America. Josie spun again and then sighed. “It’s as good as it’s going to get.”
“Mum! Clive! I’m leaving.” Josie did her best impression of a queenly parade wave.
Her uncle whistled.
Josie, feeling somewhat bolstered, asked, “That good?”
“Better than good. Smoking!” He touched her with a finger and then yanked it away as if it’d been singed.
“Thanks, Clive. Are you sure you can manage tonight?”
Clive’s eyes panned the two patrons, and then he said in a dramatic voice, “It’ll be rough, but I think I’ll survive.”
“Just checking. I know actual work isn’t your thing.” Josie waggled her brow.
He belly laughed, not seeming to take offense. “Please. I know you girls prefer doing everything and then saying I don’t pitch in enough. We all have a role to play. Mine is punching bag.”
“Is that right?” Josie shook her head. “It amazes me. The script you have in your head and how you cater to it.” She circled a finger around her temple.
He placed a finger to his lips. “Don’t blow it for me, or I’ll take away your allowance.”
“It’s called a paycheck,” Josie scoffed.
Her mum came through the front entrance with Winston right on her heels. “Are you wearing that?”
Josie looked down at the casual floral dress that clung to all the right spots. That was if Harry was actually interested in Josie. If she wasn’t, the dress was a wasted effort. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing if your goal is to get lucky.” Her mum’s eyes bulged.
Josie mentally ticked the that’s my goal column but said, “Oh, please. I just tossed this on without a second thought.” She gripped the wine bottle in her left hand tighter.
“It’s so low cut you don’t have to strip to show all the goods. Just lean over.” Her mum tsked.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Josie said in a playful voice while making note of that nugget in case Harry needed an extra shove to act. All she had to do was accidentally drop something and then lean over to pick it up.
Winston, breathing heavily, plopped down on his bed, not bothering to shake off the rain drops. Josie smiled at the ham. Neither of the kittens were in sight. More than likely the pair were curled up on her mum’s bed. British cats seemed to have the same knack as American ones, knowing which family member didn’t like them as much and then annoying the shit out of said person.
Her mum crossed her arms. “I thought this was a business opportunity. If it’s a date, say so. And, if it is a date, I doubt this is the look a respectable woman would appreciate. Having one Don Juan in the family is too many.”
“Who said I wanted respectable?” Josie eased her jacket on, not wanting to wrinkle the dress too much. “Oh, wipe the shock off your face. It’s just a business meeting,” Josie said with as much conviction as she could summon. Because, really that was all it was, right? If Josie believed that, why was she wearing this outfit? How had Harry gotten her to this point? Not knowing what she truly wanted but also knowing what she wanted. It was fucking confusing.
“Are you interviewing to be an escort? If you hate tending bar that much, just tell me. We can put you in charge of the books or something. Don’t stoop to this level.” Her mum made erratic motions in the air with a finger.
“Did you just call me a sex worker?” Josie tried to sound as if she were joking, but the comment had struck a nerve. Was the dress too much? Would it turn off Harry, who was a reserved Brit?
Her mum looked Josie up and down, her eyes landing uncomfortably again on Josie’s rack. The silence was damning.
Josie did her best to shake it off and kissed her mum’s forehead. “Please stop worrying about me. I know what I’m doing.” Did she?
“Never going to happen. I’m a mother. There’s no expiration on the worrying side of things.”
“Do what you need to do.” Josie waved bye, not wanting to waste another second, or she’d be late.
Clive hollered from behind the bar, “Have fun!”
Her mum harrumphed but said, “No matter what, I love you.”
Did that mean even if Josie were a call girl? The sentiment was nice, but the jab not so much.
Josie opened her umbrella. She shivered slightly, not expecting it to be this chilly, even if it was nearly winter. She crossed the footbridge, the very one where she’d spied Harry on the first night they’d met. Was Josie wrong in thinking they’d shared a moment? Although there had been a fair distance between them, something had happened, hadn’t it? As if the world had stopped for the moment and only the two of them mattered.
Josie had to laugh at this thought. When had she turned into this woman? The romantic type that believed in things like fate and soul mates? She’d never much trifled with romance on any level in the past, always too focused on her career. Now that it was dead, was she trying to replace the void with a relationship? Or was there more to it? Was Josie ready to find the one? Oh God, she was sounding like her mum. But…?
Josie followed the path on the far side of the shallow river, past the old stone mill with a red brick chimney, making it stand out from all the yellow stone, and then turned onto Nevern Place.
Her eyes noted each of the attached residences, as she occasionally glanced down to follow Harry’s written directions to a T, the paper getting damp. She was supposed to go by a house with a bright blue door and rose garden. Then a cottage covered with vines. When Josie approached Harry’s address, she stopped to compare it to the rest on the street. It stood out for one particular reason. The lack of living plants. Every other abode had colorful gardens, the bushes bursting with autumn colors. Harry had a collection of various bushes in diffe
rent stages, from yellowing to beyond dead. Josie brushed a hand to one of them, all the leaves snapping from the branches. How was it possible when the English weather did most of the work, raining the majority of the time?
Josie had to smile, though, since it seemed to fit Harry’s personality. Passionate but also somewhat ignorant of details. What Harry needed was a woman like Josie who excelled in the little details most ignored, while Harry continued her quest to conquer the world, telling one human story at a time.
Holy moly.
Josie placed a hand to her forehead. Where in the fuck did that come from? Like she wanted to be a lesbian housewife from the 1950s, even if that really wasn’t a thing. At least, not openly.
Josie shook her head as if wanting to dislodge the idea from her mind. Checking her dress one last time and using the camera on her phone to ensure the rain hadn’t caused her mascara to run, she finally knocked on Harriet’s crimson door.
Seconds later, Harry opened it, her jaw momentarily dropping, before she said, “Hi, Josie.”
Harry’s shyness was so loveable. Josie wanted to take the woman into her arms and hold her close. Josie sensed Harry was the type who’d love with her whole heart. Treat Josie like a woman. An equal. Companion. Not as a necessary piece to complete some preconceived notion of what happiness consisted of according to “expert” opinions. Those had been the types Josie had encountered. Nothing killed romance more than expectations. Harry’s eyes conveyed she understood everything running through Josie’s mind, and she agreed.
Fuck it. Josie wanted the fifties housewife life with Harry. For Christ’s sake, they hadn’t even kissed yet. How could Josie feel this strongly about the woman standing in front of her? It hit Josie. How much she had given up chasing success in her career, only to be tossed out over something that wasn’t her fault and had been entirely out of her control. Josie was almost forty and hadn’t experienced a moment like this. Being completely in tune with another human being. Maybe her mum was right. It was time for Josie to settle down, and the way Harry stared deeply into Josie’s eyes—they belonged to each other. Now, how to convince the aloof Harry of that?
Chapter Fourteen
“Hi, Harry.” Josie’s broad smile made Harriet’s heart take flight like she’d just dived off a platform heading straight for the deepest part of the ocean, without so much as a life vest. It exhilarated and terrified her all at once. Every other part of Harriet’s body shut down, including her brain and legs.
“You going to let me in?” Josie pointed to Harriet, who was literally blocking the entrance.
Harriet’s senses slowly returned. “Oh, sorry.” She stepped out of the way, overcorrecting, allowing Josie way more room than was necessary, as if Josie had some contagious disease and Harriet didn’t want to even breathe the same air. It was a feat, given the cramped feeling of Harriet’s two-bedroom cottage built centuries before humans reached present-day height and weight. By the time Harriet grasped her second mistake in under a minute, she wasn’t sure how to correct course without drawing even more attention to her blunders.
Josie placed her umbrella in the stand right inside the door of the cottage, and then seemed at a loss for what to do or say next. Harriet dropped her gaze out of fear. If she looked into Josie’s emerald eyes right then, she might do something impulsive. Like kiss Josie. Or let out a wolf whistle, which was the first time in four decades Harriet had ever felt that impulse. Then she said something incredibly stupid. “Did you know in France a man can be fined for wolf whistling at a woman?”
“No, I didn’t. How much is the fine?”
“If I remember correctly, more than seven hundred euros.”
Josie let out a whistle. “Are you going to fine me?”
“I’ll let this one slide.”
“Too bad, sometimes punishment can be nice.”
Harriet cleared her throat.
“I’m curious. Why’d you bring up that factoid right now?” Josie causally glanced down at her dress as if she knew exactly why Harriet had wolf whistles on the mind.
“I was just reading about it.” Harriet stared at the jackets on the door behind Josie’s head.
“I brought a bottle of red. I hope that’s okay.” Josie held up the bottle.
“Red works.”
Josie laughed, looking at the bottle like it had cracked a joke. “Good. I really hate uncooperative wines.”
Harriet joined in on the laughter. “Sorry. That was a stupid thing to say. Kinda like saying it was stupid to say that. No need to point it out. I’m on a roll.” Luckily, Harriet stopped herself from saying the truth as to why she mentioned the French fine.
“Not stupid at all. I love a woman who speaks her mind, no matter what. And, usually you excel with using as few words as possible. Brevity is a speechwriter’s best friend. I can’t tell you how many times I wanted to strangle my politician for going off script.” Josie acted out wringing someone’s neck.
“I thought you gave it up.”
“Good point. But it’s a useful tool to carry on through life.” Josie offered an ambiguous smile. “It smells wonderful. I’m assuming that’s dinner cooking.”
Confused by the sudden switch of topics, Harry clarified, “Yes. I’m making a chicken dish from one of Nigella’s books. I can’t remember which one, now.”
“The dish or book?”
“Book.”
“That’s a relief. I’d be worried if you didn’t remember much about prepping the meal.”
They still stood in the front area of Harriet’s cottage, which was actually the living room. “Let me help you with your jacket.”
Josie turned around, allowing Harriet to remove the article. Harriet wanted to place a delicate kiss on the back of Josie’s neck, opting instead to clear her throat, yet again, as a preemptive measure. Hanging the coat on one of the kitschy birdhouse hooks on the back of the door, Harriet placed her arms behind her back, looking subservient, but how else to stop herself from reaching for Josie? What was wrong with Harriet this evening? Josie was only there to talk about podcasts, not for Harriet to grope her.
Josie’s eyes swept over the space. “Wow. It feels like I’m stepping back in time.” She continued taking everything in, nodding with each observation. The oak-beamed ceiling, plaid couch, two modest bookshelves flanking the exposed Cotswold stone around the free-standing black fireplace, which Harriet had lit to add to the quaint atmosphere.
“I had hoped for a pleasant evening so we could have drinks outside in the garden. Yesterday was lovely. Only needed a lightweight jumper. Today not so much. Typical unpredictable English weather. Some days you can experience all four seasons in twenty-four hours.” Why couldn’t Harriet stop babbling about the weather?
“The garden would have been lovely, but there’s something special about a roaring fire. Also, I’m trying to resist the urge to smoke. I promised my mum.” Josie edged farther into the room. “Oh, wow, I haven’t read her comic strip in ages.” She picked up The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For by Alison Bechdel.
“Camilla gave me that for my birthday.”
“When is it?”
“October twenty-seventh.”
“That was the day I arrived here.”
“That’s right. I remember Clive mentioning you that night in the pub.”
“I’m sad I missed my chance to buy you a birthday drink.”
Harriet was about to say there was always next year, but that seemed to put too much pressure on a new acquaintance. Her eyes once again took in Josie’s dress, which, in the full light of the room, showed how revealing it was, delightfully so. Harriet cleared her throat again. Shit. Would Josie think Harry had a cold, wrecking any chance for a good night kiss? “Would you like a glass of wine?”
“I would. Before that, though, is it possible for a tour? I love cottages like this and dream of someday living in one of my own.”
If that were true, why was Eugenie so concerned about Josie leaving the village? Or was J
osie simply being polite? Perhaps Josie wanted one in the States. Did they have cottages like this there? “Of course.” Harriet motioned for Josie to enter the kitchen.
“I adore the pale-yellow walls,” Josie exclaimed. “Oh, you’ve already set the table. The plates have polka dots.” She picked one up, running a hand over them. “So cute.” Josie replaced the plate and then gave Harriet’s arm a quick squeeze, reigniting the frisson Harriet experienced the first night on the bridge when she’d spied Josie outside the pub talking to Clive.
“The office slash guest room is right over there.” Harriet pointed to a room off to the side. “And the bedroom is upstairs…” Harriet’s voice trailed off, unsure if she should actually take Josie there.
“The bedroom is the most important room of the house.”
“I thought the kitchen was.”
“That’s where people congregate during dinner parties. At least, that’s how it works in the US. But the bedroom shows a person’s true personality.” Josie’s voice connected with Harriet in a way it shouldn’t. Harriet couldn’t dislodge the idea that Josie, the American, was simply being overly friendly. Like when Josie had flirted with Natalie in the pub. There was absolutely no way someone as beautiful as Josie was interested in Harriet. The idea was preposterous. Beautiful redheads simply didn’t come on to Harriet, and Josie had stated unequivocally that she was not in the market for a wife or what have you.
“Is that right?” Harriet asked, unable to come up with a clever response.
“Unless, of course, you don’t want me to see the goods?” Josie winked.
“Wouldn’t deny you that.” Harriet’s stomach plummeted. Would Josie think that too much?
“Good to know.”
Much relieved, Harriet smiled, but her top lip caught on her bone-dry teeth. Did it look more like a back off snarl? “Shall we?” She motioned to the stairs.
Josie took the lead, while Harriet brought up the rear. God, Josie’s dress hugged all the right spots from this angle as well. Harriet did her best to dial back the heat level surging through her.
A Shot at Love Page 12
