I throw a look over my shoulder, looking him up and down as he follows me. “I think I’ll be okay.”
We reenter the morning room, everyone in the same position since we left.
“Excellent. Now we can get started with the activities.” Harrison indicates that we should all follow him.
“Ten bucks says that his daughter leaves and this becomes a wild sex orgy,” Gavin whispers in my ear as we follow Harrison to the back of the house. His voice still sounds rougher than it usually is.
“God I hope not. But I’m also not taking that bet.”
Harrison opens a set of French doors into his backyard. I take a deep breath as I walk out, inhaling the fresh air, which carries a salty hint of the nearby sea. The large space isn’t fenced in, and the manicured English-style garden (complete with statues) fades to the wild chaos of nature. And we can see it all from the terrace we’ve walked onto.
We walk down a set of stairs and away from the house, toward a table set up with shooting implements. In front of the table, targets are set up at various distances.
In retrospect, I probably should have known there would be a shooting event at this country house party, if we were keeping with the English house party rules.
I learned to shoot specifically for events like this because it’s a great way to network. If I didn’t do it I would immediately be excused. Everyone would be nice about it, offering to let me stay inside so I don’t have to be around the guns. But then I miss the deals.
I tried staying and not shooting, but not participating seemed to put people off talking business with me.
At least I didn’t have to learn how to play golf. I’m glad that making a deal on the golf course is a dying practice. At least with our buyers and sellers it is.
“Let’s get some shooting practice in to start the weekend. There’s a sink over by the house to wash hands and also some food for lunch over on that table. Enjoy.” Harrison encourages us to step up to the table, with a large collection of guns and ammunition. Some of the pieces are antiques, and those I do like shooting, because I start imagining the lives of the people who’ve shot them before me.
I pick up a Webley Revolver, the weapon that the United Kingdom gave to its military from the late 1800s to the 1960s.
“If you’re afraid of the weapon, I’m sure Harrison wouldn’t mind if you stayed inside and drank some hot cocoa,” Gavin whispers from next to me.
“You know, I think I’ll be okay. But your concern is plain adorable.”
Harrison has us step back up to the line, two people at a time. Gavin volunteers to go first, along with Harrison’s VP, Nate.
Once they start shooting, I take back all the irritated things I thought about this choice of activity, because Gavin is terrible at it. He doesn’t even hit the target for five of the ten shots he takes, and the other five are barely on the sheet.
This makes up for taking the week away from work, having to compete with Gavin for the job, and me having all these amorous thoughts about Gavin. Watching him be human, with something he isn’t naturally amazing at, is the most fun I’ve had in a while.
Gavin walks back to where I’m standing when he’s done, head down and shoulders hunched. He’s much more reserved than when he sauntered off. Now I feel a little bad and I swallow the snarky comment I was about to make.
“Those antique guns are finicky at the best of times. Even when they weren’t antiques, if we’re all honest.” I try to make him feel better. I never thought I’d be standing here trying to make Gavin feel better after a failure, but I want him to get back to the arrogant man I feel comfortable insulting. Otherwise it’s kind of like kicking a hurt puppy. And that takes away from the joy I felt at his misfortune.
He doesn’t take my olive branch for what it is. Instead, he narrows his eyes at me for having witnessed his failure, sullen in his silence.
“Next round of shooters,” Harrison calls out.
“I’ll go.” I volunteer, along with Harrison’s wife. Anything to get away from the guy who’s acting like Charlie Brown after Lucy pulls the football away.
Nate is still at the table when I step up. “Do you need any help setting up or shooting?” he asks. Unlike Gavin, he has a genuine smile on his face and I don’t feel like the offer comes from a place of wanting to make me look stupid.
But I still don’t need the help. “No, thank you. I’m good.”
“Are you sure? The old guns can be a handful.”
Okay, the first offer was sweet, the second is moving on to annoying. “I’ll manage.” I don’t know if I’m baring my teeth at him, but he doesn’t ask a third time, so I might be.
I step up to the line and take the gun that Harrison’s staff hands me. I check it’s loaded and line up my sights. Taking a deep breath to make sure I’m relaxed, I pull the trigger. The shot lands in the center circle on the target, to the right side of it.
I do that a few more times until I’m empty and put down the gun. I nod at my target; I’m not going to win any sharpshooting awards, but it’s respectable.
“Good shooting, Priya.” Harrison pats me on the back as I turn from the table. Good, he’s impressed, making all those hours I spent in that shooting range worth it.
