“Making scarecrows of course.” He doesn’t say anything in reply but one side of his mouth lifts in a grin. I go on, “We’re grouped up and competing with other groups. I plan to be the spirited cheerleader of our team.”
He snorts before pulling into a parking spot not far from the square. I let myself out and inhale clear, cool air. I can smell a hint of campfire and something spicy too, like they’re making cider nearby. Hell, they probably are.
Nigel walks beside me, scanning around us as we go. I stopped asking him about threats years ago. Apparently they’re always there. Creepy letters, DMs, videos, snail mail at Clark HQ in London. Lots of people claim they want to kill members of one of the world’s richest families. He could have an entire team of men around us and hopefully, I’ll never know if they’re there, or why.
The handful of paps who must stalk the events website of this town come to life as we draw near to the activity. I smile and wave to the photographers in a way that says I’m not coming over to chat. I’m eager to see Janie and just what exactly she’s signed us up for. I can see banners blowing in the breeze and hear a crowd, music, a hum of excitement. A thrill runs through me to match.
“Benedict!” Janie calls from the farthest corner. I smile wild involuntarily. There she is, in a spot tucked away from the crowd, looking incredible. Flowing brown hair, perfect ass and long legs under tight black leggings. I drag my eyes up away from the body I find myself daydreaming about like a damn teenager. Her angelic face is frowning, of course, and I notice her whole ensemble is black, head to toe. Such a New Yorker. Meanwhile her townspeople flit about like social butterflies—the monarch variety, dressed in every shade of yellow and orange and plaid. Quite a bit of flannel.
“Should I buy some flannel?” I think aloud as I finally reach her.
“Flannel? What?” she says. I feel the whole crowd of people, nearly a hundred, watching us.
“Just a joke, love,” I say before gathering her to me. I think she mumbles some kind of objection into my shoulder but I squeeze her so tight I can’t hear it. She sighs and I know she’s rolling her eyes into the thick tweed of my coat. My hand on her lower back itches to head south but, as I’m a gentleman, I refrain. I smile again and then kiss her head twice. She smells like…I don’t know? Honeysuckle? Good. Damn. She smells good.
She tries to pull away but I don’t let her. I hear her mumble my name into my coat. I laugh and release her. She’s so easily bothered. She’s so fun to bother.
“Well. That was the longest hug I’ve ever hugged in my life,” she says, patting down her coat like it’s ruffled, even though it’s not.
I lean into her space and enjoy her quick inhale of breath, “Would you rather I have kissed you? Because the whole town is watching intently.”
She glances around, as if remembering our situation, then smiles wide. It’s a hilariously fake smile.
“Relax, darling. As you said, it was history’s longest hug. Convincing enough.”
She shakes her head. “Okay. So. You did read the spreadsheet I sent you, right?” She glances over my shoulder.
“Yes?” I turn to look behind me.
“Okay, here they come.”
“Here who come?”
“The people! The people on thepeopletab of the spreadsheet I sent!” she’s whisper-yelling now and I’m trying not to find it cute.
“There was a second tab?” I wince.
“Oh no. Just follow my—hiiii Aunt Bobbie, Aunt Kim,” she says, eyeing me as she hugs two short, round, very pale women. Theyboth look about seventy years old. First was Bobbie, second Kim. Got it.
“Ah, the famous Aunts! We finally meet! I’ve heard so much!” I gush as I grab Bobbie’s hand.
“Wish I could say the same. Barbara Ann Crawley,” She says. “But I suppose you can call me Bobbie.”
“And Aunt Kim?” I ask the second.
Janie catches my attention, “He said he understood how I call you all thateven though you’re not actually Gran’s sisters,he said it was very British of us.”
“Ah, yes, right, term of respect.” I nod in understanding. “Very British indeed. Old School.”
“That shoe’ll fit,” Aunt Kim replies as she takes my hand. “So, Janie says you swept her off her feet?”
“Other way ‘round, I’m fully swept,” I say with a wink and Aunt Kim blushes.
Old ladies love the wink.
“Hm. We all thought she’d marry Theo,” Aunt Bobbie says, eyes narrowed.
Okay then. Not all old ladies love the wink.
