A Shot at Love

by T. B. Markinson

  “What? Burning your fingers?”

  “Not that part. You taking care of me. It’s just nice.” Josie shrugged, because her inner thoughts were hard to explain to herself let alone to Harry.

  “Of course, I care. You’re a guest in my home, and I burned you.”

  “For the record, the pan burned me. Not you.” The words guest in my home ping-ponged in Josie’s head. Was that the sole reason for Harry’s TLC? Was she simply concerned about getting sued? Were Brits as litigious as Americans? Josie remembered breaking her arm when she fell out of her best friend’s tree. Her friend’s mom had called Josie’s mum asking if they planned on suing. Eugenie had been floored and assured the woman she had no intention of doing that, saying, “Kids will be kids.”

  Harry pressed, “I was the idiot who dropped the pan.”

  “Because I startled you.” Now, Josie tried to determine if Harry was just being British. Helping because that was what a proper Brit would do. Meaning, Harry didn’t feel a connection with Josie, because why would she? Especially after the Andrea story. Josie wanted to bonk her head, but she kept her hand under the water.

  Harry stood closer to Josie. “Are you really okay?” Her voice was caring and compassionate, confusing the heck out of Josie.

  Josie swallowed a lump in her throat. “Yeah.”

  “Let me get you something for the pain.” Harriet disappeared before Josie could say a word.

  Josie wasn’t in much pain, or any at all, now. Lust. Pure animal need. What would Harry do if Josie shoved her against the pale-yellow wall and kissed Harry? Hard. Maybe slow to start, but deepening it.

  Harry returned. “Do you have any allergies, aside from bees that is?”

  “Nope.” Josie licked her lips, eyeing Harry’s mouth, catching a glimpse of her pink tongue.

  “You’re being very brave,” Harry said.

  “Not really.” Considering Josie was terrified to make the first move or to even say, Hey, do you feel this connection between us, or am I imagining things? Josie was nowhere in the brave zone. Coward. That was more like it, because if she made a move and Harry shot her down, it would crush Josie.

  Harry placed two white tablets in Josie’s good hand, followed by a glass of water after Josie popped the pills into her mouth.

  After drinking the water, Josie blurted, “Chinese!”

  Harry looked over her shoulder. “Where?”

  Josie laughed. “For dinner. Let’s order Chinese.”

  “Oh. That makes much more sense.” Harry’s cheeks tinged pink.

  “You really are adorable. You know that?” Josie’s face inched closer to Harry’s.

  Harry locked her eyes onto Josie’s.

  Neither of them moved or said anything.

  Josie’s stomach grumbled.

  Harry smiled. “I’ll order from my favorite place, or do you have a preference?”

  “I trust you, Harry,” Josie said with meaning.

  Harry didn’t break eye contact for several ticks according to the noisy, but adorable sheep pendulum clock, which had a tail that moved side to side, on the kitchen wall.

  To Josie, so much more had been conveyed during those silent moments than all evening. For one thing, Josie was sure, beyond a doubt, that Harry did feel the connection between them. Also, like Josie, Harry was scared to make a move. The latter may have been discouraging, aside from the feeling Josie suspected Harry was the type to figure things out and wouldn’t let a little thing like fear keep them apart. Not in the long term. They were both in it to win it. Josie wanted to do a happy dance, but she contained herself. First, she needed to survive the rest of the evening without inflicting more damage. Then, she needed to kiss Harry. Oh God, she really wanted to kiss the serious but sweet and fucking sexy woman.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Two Friday nights after having Josie over, Harriet, with Camilla in tow, arrived at The Golden Fleece a little after eight. Work had kept Harriet from the pub the past week, and before that, when she stopped by, Josie had been too busy to say more than hi. Constantly thinking about Josie was probably why Harriet had to work late hours to get everything done. Too much daydreaming about emerald eyes and a dimple.

  Clive drifted over to them before they could reach the bar. “What can I get you lovely ladies?”

  “My usual.” Camilla linked her arm through Clive’s, and Harriet was in the path of Beatrice’s menacing glare at Cam.

  Harriet took a tiny step to the right to be out of the line of fire.

  “Of course, love.” He gently patted Camilla’s hand. “Harry?”

  Harriet looked at Josie, who was deep in conversation with a stunning and much younger woman Harriet didn’t recognize, but she remembered Eugenie’s mission of parading all available women for Josie to take her pick. “Tell you what? I’m not sure what I want yet. Why don’t I get this round?”

  The two accepted the offer faster than Harriet anticipated, ditching her in the middle of the pub.

  When Josie met her eye, Harriet thought she detected an ounce of happiness in Josie’s expression, but she returned her attention to the woman.

  When Harriet reached the bar, Eugenie pounced. “What can I get you, Harry?”

  “Uh.” She looked to Josie.

  “We’ve made the first batch of mulled wine,” Eugenie offered in a tone that said, Take that or nothing at all.

  “Sure. And two Stellas.” Again, Harriet tried to engage Josie’s eye.

  “Go have a seat with Clive and your cousin. I’ll bring the drinks out in two shakes.” Eugenie’s expression was even bossier than her tone.

  Harriet, shoulders slumped, made her way past Beatrice whose stink eye intensity had been significantly upped, making the hair on Harriet’s forearms stand on end, and Harriet heard the Psycho soundtrack play in her mind. She sat at the table with Clive and Camilla, but the two had their heads huddled together, not taking much notice of Harriet. She pulled out her phone and started reading a Guardian article about the Brexit mess, but her mind wandered. She casually glanced in Josie’s direction to see Josie’s head tilted back, laughing. The pretty woman’s shoulders also bucked up and down as she laughed along with Josie, grating on Harriet’s nerves. Could she somehow focus Beatrice’s laser-like stare from hell to intimidate the other woman?

  “Here you go, Harry.” Eugenie placed a mulled wine and a mince pie on a small chipped white plate in front of Harriet.

  “My feet are killing me tonight.” Eugenie sat down across from Harriet, blocking her view of Josie. “I’ve been thinking. You haven’t interviewed Agnes about her safaris in Africa for your paper. She’s here tonight. You should ask her to tell you everything.”

  Before Harriet could explain this wasn’t the right atmosphere for an interview, Eugenie was waving Agnes over. Surprised Eugenie beckoned Agnes like a servant, Harriet didn’t know what to do. She jumped to her feet, but she was too late.

  “Harry wants to interview you. Isn’t that nice?” Eugenie’s sickly-sweet, but victorious, smile was like a punch to Harriet’s chin.

  Josie’s mum didn’t want Harriet to interact with Josie. Period. Harriet had put a permanent stop to the ginger ads, making her wonder if Eugenie’s dislike originated from a different source. Or was Eugenie the type to hold a grudge for decades? This wasn’t good news. Not one bit.

  “Really?” Agnes beamed.

  “Yes.” Harriet still stood. “When would be a good time for us to meet? We’d need a chunk of time and some quiet.” Harriet hoped the last part wasn’t overly obvious. She was already on Eugenie’s naughty list and didn’t want to incur even more wrath.

  “It’s not too loud in here tonight,” Eugenie countered, but as luck would have it, a group of tourists started singing a bawdy rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town,” waving their pints in the air, German beer-hall style.

  It may have been the first time Harriet was grateful for drunk and obnoxious American tourists.

  Agnes tutted, but
her face was still aglow with the interview prospect. “Would Monday at my cottage work?”

  “Monday is perfect!” Harriet wanted to kiss Agnes.

  Eugenie’s deep inhalation and tight smile made Psycho music play once again in Harriet’s head.

  “I should get back to work.” Eugenie lumbered to her feet.

  “Thanks for your help. Agnes will be the perfect subject for a concept I’m working on,” Harriet said in hopes to ease some of Eugenie’s dislike, but the comment seemed to put Eugenie even more on edge.

  Agnes retook her seat, picking up a copy of Sense and Sensibility.

  Josie still chatted with the mysterious woman, but Josie went out of her way to wave at Harriet. There was that dimple again. Harriet could sit for hours to catch glimpses of the adorable depression in Josie’s cheek.

  Harriet gulped the mulled wine, and when Eugenie was ambushed by the singing Americans for another round, Harriet made her move.

  “I was wondering if you were going to say hi.” Josie smiled.

  Harriet’s insides went gooey.

  The woman checked her phone. “Oh, I gotta run. I’ll see you on Sunday, Josie.”

  Josie waved bye. “Do you need another mulled wine?”

  “Gin and tonic please.” Harriet sat on the stool the woman had vacated, with no intention of budging from the spot the rest of the evening just in case other beautiful women had their sights on making plans with Josie. “Your mum helped me set up an interview with Agnes.”

  “Did she?” Josie prepped Harriet’s drink, adding extra gin.

  “How’s the vibe been here since the ginger kitties arrived?”

  Josie’s eyes panned the pub. “It’s been a bit more tense. And the women involved have taken their suggestive wardrobe choices to a whole new level.”

  Harriet’s gaze landed on Celia, who had a Christmas jumper on with Mrs. Claus doing a pole-dance routine. “I see that.” However, Celia was talking with two men in their fifties and not paying Clive any attention.

  Josie served Harriet her drink and then leaned on the bar. “Clive seems to have taken a fancy to your cousin. She’s the only woman he actually talks to like he enjoys her company. Does she like Clive?”

  Harriet scouted over her shoulder and saw Camilla’s hand tenderly placed on Clive’s arm. “I think so. She doesn’t like to discuss feelings, but she keeps coming back, and I know for certain it’s not to see me.”

  “They’re kinda cute together. Clive, the simple village guy. Your cousin, the snooty Londoner. It’s like watching a real life sappy against the odds Hallmark Christmas movie.”

  “You think so?” Harriet asked, wondering if Josie thought Harriet a snooty Londoner like Cam.

  “Josie? Can you help me?” Eugenie waved her daughter over.

  Josie straightened. “Be right back.”

  That turned out not to be the case. Every time there was a chance for Josie to break free, either someone approached the bar, or Eugenie sent Josie off on an errand, although Josie made eye contact with Harriet as much as possible. And there was a lot of smiling, forcing Harriet to cross her legs. How could a simple dimple have that kind of effect on her?

  Around ten-thirty, Harriet noticed Clive and Camilla were nowhere to be found. The Americans had left. Agnes tucked her book into her handbag, her eyes lingering on the snoozing William for several moments before she left. Winston raised his head momentarily before he settled back down.

  “Whatcha thinking?” Josie leaned on her forearms, giving Harriet a peek down her shirt.

  “Why Winston is named Winston.”

  Josie cocked her head. “What should he be named?”

  “Jason.”

  Josie looked at the slumbering bulldog and laughed. “He doesn’t look anything like a Jason. Have you ever met a dog named that?”

  “No, but it goes with the name of the pub.”

  Josie started to speak, but Eugenie called her back over. “I’m getting the feeling she doesn’t want us to talk.”

  Harriet was certain that was the case but didn’t confirm or deny. “I should head back to my place.”

  “So soon?”

  Harriet laughed. “It’s well after this old lady’s bedtime.” Her words sunk in, and Harriet was convinced some evil force had made her utter them.

  Josie laughed. “You are many things, but you are not an old lady. Hopefully, I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe I’ll bump into you when I’m running or at the café gorging on your fave: black pudding.” She left.

  Harriet made the trek home, the low-hanging clouds seeming to press down on Harriet’s shoulders. When she reached the middle of the bridge, the moon made a brief appearance, and Harriet gazed at the man’s image, silently asking if she was being silly or if there was something between her and Josie. A crack of wind slapped Harriet across the face, and the moon slid behind more clouds. Harriet decided it was a sign. Tomorrow morning, she’d go to the pub and ask Josie to join her for a walk. It was time to put herself out there more to find out if it were possible for the two of them to be more than friends. Harriet glanced upward again, and the moon was in full view once more. The universe, so it seemed, approved of the plan.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Early on Saturday morning, Josie and her mum sat at one of the tables in the pub, both drinking heavily from their tea mugs.

  Josie set hers down with a little too much force, slopping some of the tea over the side. “So, what’s your deal with Harry?”

  “Harry Powell?” her mum clarified as if there were more than one Harry who regularly came to the pub. She avoided Josie’s gaze, adding jam to her scone.

  “Yes. Her.”

  “Why do you ask?” Her mum took a bite, some crumbs falling onto the table. She wiped them into her hand and discarded them onto a napkin.

  Josie wanted to take this conversation slowly, sensing her mum’s not-so-veiled aversion to Harry. She started off with, “She seems interesting.”

  “She’s a know-it-all. Do you know the first time she met me, she asked why I was named Eugenie, saying it hadn’t become popular until Fergie and Prince Andrew named their daughter that in 1990. The next time she talked to me, she proceeded to list the Eugenies she researched, including the daughter in Gone with the Wind—the one who died in a horse-riding accident, and Empress Eugenie who married Napoleon III. They lived in exile in the UK.” Her mum harrumphed. “The nerve of the woman but pretty typical for a wanker from London. The type who comes here thinking they’re superior to us yokels.”

  Harry’s curiosity had evidently needled Josie’s mum, but Josie found Harry’s thirst for knowledge about everything under the sun charming.

  “Did you tell Harry it was your grandmother’s name?”

  “No. Why should I?” her mum snapped.

  “Because she was trying to bond with you in her Harry way.”

  “She was being haughty! She also wondered why we named the pub The Golden Fleece but didn’t have it decorated appropriately.”

  “What would be appropriate?” Josie jacked up one eyebrow, pulling one leg up onto the seat of the chair, as she checked out the leather books on the shelves and black-and-white photos of the area from a bygone era.

  “She said something about a Greek myth and Jason and the Argonauts.” Her mum made a whoop-de-do flick of the hand.

  That was why Harry had questioned Winston’s name last night. “I’m not familiar with that one.” Josie brought up the Wikipedia page on her phone. “Oh, Jason searches for the Golden Fleece. Did you know that when you chose the name?”

  “Of course, I knew that!” Eugenie said in an indignant tone that made it clear to Josie she hadn’t. “But we named it after the sheep in the area. The wool industry used to be the backbone of the Cotswolds.”

  Josie conceded the fact with a nod. “You know, Empress Eugenie was quite fashionable in her day, and there’s a hat named after her. Greta Garbo wore a Eugenie hat in the 1930’s film Romance. It was all the rage. We sh
ould get you one. You’d look adorbs.”

  “You sound just like the patronizing Harry.” Her mum’s cheeks reddened.

  Josie stopped her eyes from rolling, not wanting to agitate her mum further. “She’s just curious about things. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Luckily, Harry had only questioned Josie’s mum about her name and didn’t accidentally call Eugenie defective. Josie replayed that moment a lot in her head, and each time, she thought it so very Harry. Adorable in a special kind of way. Josie understood not everyone would appreciate Harry’s ways, but that only endeared her more to Josie. Josie got Harry. Most of the time. More importantly, Harry understood Josie.

  “What do you think of Natalie?” Her mum’s eyes lit up. “She’s your age, and she grew up in a nearby village.”

  “Meaning?” Josie had a good idea where this was heading.

  “She’s one of us.” Her mum placed a hand over her chest. “Everyone in the village thinks the world of her. She had a brief fling with a Londoner, but it didn’t last. Nothing ever does with those types.”

  Josie attempted to sound neutral. “She seems nice.”

  “Nice is a good start.” Her mum fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Oh no. Don’t go there.” Josie scraped her chair back.

  “Go where?” Her mum’s expression was blank, a clear warning sign that the hamster wheel inside in her head was kicking into manic gear.

  “Thinking things.” Josie rapped her forehead.

  “What things might those be?”

  “The Natalie is nice, and my daughter isn’t dating anyone tract. You know I don’t want you to interfere in my love life.”

  “I wasn’t aware you had a love life, and I hadn’t thought about Natalie in that way at all.” Her mum took a dainty bite of scone, getting jelly on her upper lip. After wiping her mouth with a napkin, she said, “But now that you mention it…” Her mum tapped her fingertips together, in mad plotter fashion.

  “Stop.” Josie held up a palm. “Just stop.”