“And I ate at your desk this morning. But we can’t live on bacon rolls and stress.”
“Can. Have. Do.”
This needed a different approach. “Okay then.Ican’t live on bacon rolls and stress, so I’m going into the village, and I’m going to eat somewhere that’s actually nice. You’re welcome to join me.”
And while Jennifer didn’t say yes, she did get up, grab her bag, and follow.
* * *
It was late enough in the day that the eateries of Crinkley Furze had opened, traded, and then closed again, which meant that Audrey and Jennifer’s choices for dinner were restricted to the village’s two pubs, the Duke’s Arms and the Rusty Badger.
“Overpriced crap?” asked Jennifer, indicating the Badger. “Or just regular crap?” She indicated the Duke’s Arms.
Audrey gave a smile that was just shy of a smirk. “You make them both sound so tempting. Let’s go overpriced, I’m sure we can afford it.”
The Rusty Badger was the studied kind of rustic, the sort of place that had tables where you could still count the rings from the tree and chairs that felt hand-carved but almost certainly weren’t. Running her eyes down the menu, Audrey was pleased to see itfell on the acceptable side of rip-off, which meant her only problem now was working out how to navigate dinner with a foul-mouthed, habitually confrontational workaholic she’d spent more time fucking than talking to.
“So,” tried Audrey, “this is nice.”
“I’m beginning to think I should have stuck with the bacon.”
“Just trying to get the ball rolling.”
Jennifer’s gaze was momentarily withering. “And you decided to start with ‘This is nice’?”
“It worked, didn’t it?” Audrey pointed out, determinedly unwitherable.
“It did not. It was shit.”
“But you are actually speaking to me.”
“Only about how shit your opening line was.”
Under normal circumstances if you went on a date—not that this was a date—and it started with the woman you were not-on-a-date with telling you that you were shit at mouth words, it would be a bad sign. Of course, maybe the fact Audrey wasn’t seeing it as a bad sign was, in fact, a bad sign. “And how would you have started?” she asked.
“I’d have said”—Jennifer withered harder—“‘Given the myriad challenges facing the world today and the existential absurdity of living a finite life in an endless cosmos, how about we shut the fuck up and eat?’”
“Is ‘shut the fuck up’ and verb your rule for all interactions?”
“Yes,” said Jennifer Hallet.
“Okay.” Audrey glanced at the menu. “Do you want to split the cassoulet?”
“Do I want to what?”
“They do a cassoulet that serves two. Do you want to split it?”
“Sure.” Jennifer made a subtle but unmistakably commanding gesture towards a waiter and, when he hurried over, immediately said, “We’ll have the cassoulet, a coffee, and…” She gave Audrey a pointed look.
“Glass of the house red,” said Audrey. And then when the waiter had gone added, “Well that was very take-charge of you.”
“You’re the one who said get the cassoulet.”
Audrey looked at Jennifer coyly over her glasses. “Not complaining. It was very sexy and domineering.”
“Oh fuck off.”
“Really, I’m feeling very into you right now.”
