“I dinnae ken why they ordered you that shite. You’re clearly not a beer lass.”
“Oh yeah?” I wasn’t sure if she was insulting me.
“Aye. I can tell by looking at a person what their poison of choice is, even if they dinnae ken themselves.” She pointed to the door as a couple walked in. “He’s into the craft beer scam, so he’ll order something expensive that tastes exactly like the five-pound pint of piss in front of you, and she’ll have a white wine.” She called over her shoulder to the couple. “What’ll it be?”
“A white wine for the missus, and do you have any of that Trappist IPA beer, you know, that one brewed by the local monks?” The guy stroked his hipster beard.
“Coming right up,” Neale winked at me as she pulled out two glasses and fixed the drinks. “What did I tell you?”
“That’s remarkable.”
“It’s my superpower. That’s how I ken you’re not going to have another sip of that beer. You want tae ken what your drink really is? I’ll fix it for you.”
“Sure, why not?”
Neale grinned wickedly as she placed a glass in front of me, poured a clear alcohol in, then topped it off with tonic water and a slice of lemon.
“You’re a G&T girl. Go on, tell me I’m right.”
G&T? I guessed the T was for tonic, but what was the G? Gin? I’d never had gin before. My teenage years weren’t exactly resplendent with alcohol-fuelled parties.
I picked up the glass and took a sip. It was delicious – refreshing and zesty, with a bit of a kick. No bitterness whatsoever.
“I’m a G&T girl, and I didn’t even know it.” I grinned back at her. “Thanks.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Aye, I’m a magician. I ken it. Go an’ join your fellas and I’ll bring over some scran for you all.”
I had no idea what scran was, but if it was as good as this drink, I’d be first in line. I was starting to feel a lot better about Neale and England in general. I slid into a seat at the end of the corner booth next to Arthur. The guys raised their glasses with a resounding “cheers,” which was clearly something you said in England, and we clinked.
The booth was far enough away from other diners and drinkers we could hear each other talk. And talk we did. Corbin and Arthur regaled me with tales of the castle’s history – famous knights and bloody battles and raunchy nobles. Flynn broke in with ridiculous remarks, every word out of his mouth making me burst out laughing, even as the others groaned. Rowan remainedmostly silent, his kind eyes studying mine from across the table. I noticed that when he spoke up to insult Flynn, or recall a date that Corbin forgot, the others immediately ceased speaking to listen.
Neale dumped huge plates of meat pies (I know, WTF, right? But they were delicious), french fries (or “chips”, according to the guys) and mushy peas (not so delicious – Corbin finished off mine) in front of us. If this was English food, I could live with it.
According to Corbin, the Briarwood lord who added the Tudor wing was a royalist, and once hid King Charles in a secret room in the library for a couple of months. “I’ll show you the room later, if you like,” he said, shooting me that heart-melting smile of his.
“I’d like that very much,” I said.
By the time dessert came (Banoffee pie – another first for me, butdefinitelynot the last), my nerves disappeared. It was impossible to feel like the frumpy science geek around these guys, with Flynn squeezing my hand and Arthur’s thigh brushing against mine, and Corbin smiling and Rowan’s soulful eyes never leaving mine.
How the hell was I going to survive living with these guys without making a fool of myself?
The history lesson stopped around the Victorian period, and the guys completely avoided mentioning my mother or how they themselves ended up in the house. Instead, Arthur ordered another round (apparently, people in England bought one drink for everyone at the table, and they all took turns) and we debated the merits of various films and TV shows. I hadn’t seen a lot of the BBC shows they all knew, and anything with violence or premarital sex or magic or science fiction was banned from our house, but Flynn’s dramatic reenactments more than made up for my lack of knowledge.
More rounds came, and more food. I had no idea how long we stayed at the pub, but after awhile, I missed snatches of conversation as I faded in and out of sleep. The jet lag was catching up at last, and the G&Ts were probably not helping.
After my head nodded against his shoulder, Corbin said, “I think it’s time we got her home.”
The guys stood up, and with a wave to Neale and a promise to return, I staggered outside with them, gripping Flynn’s arm for support. Outside, I was surprised to see it was dusk already, and the cheery gingerbread houses were now shrouded in shadow. The temperature had dropped, and a crisp, balmy breeze kissed my skin. I rubbed my bare arms, wishing I’d thought to bring a sweater.
“Here,” Arthur shrugged off his coat.
“That’s okay. It’s not far to walk—” But Arthur was already fitting the coat around my shoulders. It was a long black wool trench, the shoulders sticking out like a tent from my body, and my hands disappearing into the sleeves. I wrapped it around and breathed in Arthur’s scent – smoky and sooty, like a bonfire.
As he drew his hands away, I noticed dark scars crisscrossing his lower arms around his elbows. They ran all the way around his arm. I wondered what had caused them, but it felt wrong to ask.
Arthur noticed my gaze and drew his arm back.
As we walked away from the shops and out along the country lane toward Briarwood, dusk darkened into night, and the sky opened up above us, the Milky Way scattered across our heads in vibrant steaks. It was completely different from Arizona, with new constellations visible and others obscured. I stopped in my tracks, craning my neck up for a better look.
