“Yup.” He nods. “You should come join us.”
“Thanks, we’d love to.” Miles grabs my shoulder, squeezing it so hard I wince. “But not tonight. We’re needed elsewhere. Definitely another time though, mate.”
“Great. Look forward to it.” He salutes and walks into the pub we’ve just left. It’s the only reason I don’t take after him because I know Story isn’t in there.
I take a minute, stuck on the spot as my brain whirrs. I know Miles is staring at me, waiting.
“Don’t say it.”
But obviously, he does. “Still think staying ‘friends’ with Story is a good idea?”
CHAPTER 18
Story
Hell is working construction with Hendricks Burlington.
“It doesn’t go there, Hen.” I point at the very clearly labeled instructions where end A is supposed to be placed. “See?”
He waves the curved piece of plywood at me. “Stor, it says that A goes into B.”
“But you have to attach these wiggly things first.” I open my hand, revealing said wiggly things, which I’d been holding on to for him. “Otherwise, it doesn’t slot properly.”
He tuts, lets out a big huff, and snatches them from my palm. Armed with a screwdriver and an Allen key, he tries again. Unsuccessfully.
“Seriously, how can you stitch up a wound on an injured animal and not figure out basic assembly instructions? It’s like you’ve never put IKEA flatpack together before.” I’m joking, though the way he glares at me makes me think I’ve touched a nerve. And I know Burlington Hall is filled with priceless antiques, but he went to university. Students live off IKEA furniture.
“These aren’t instructions.” He whips up the paper and waves it at me. “They’re drawings and not very good ones. And I have no idea what it is, but I know thisisn’tIKEA. There isn’t even the correct number of wiggly bits.”
My lips roll together. I so desperately want to laugh at how annoyed he is, mostly because he’s used to excelling at everything. “Okay, I concede, not enough wiggly bits. Can’t we just get one of the Burlington staff to do it? You must have a carpenter on call.”
He peers over at me, though he’s bending over the instructions so he’s more looking up. His brows drop. “There aren’t Burlington carpenters. Besides, that’s cheating. But”—he pulls out his phone—“I can get some better tools sent over.”
“Using your powers for good.” I sit back against the wall and grab one of the beers I brought—something told me I’d need them—and wave it toward the wood scattered all over the floor of the village hall. The scene for today’s debacle. There’s also a length of red fabric that I can’t figure out. “Where d’you think she got this all from anyway?”
“Mrs. Winston’s House of Crap,” he grumbles, only to burst out laughing a second later and slump next to me. “Reinforcements will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Thank God.”
We sit there in silence, both of us drinking quietly. “I’ve never put IKEA furniture together. I’ve never been to IKEA.”
My entire body twists toward his. “What? How is that possible?”
He shrugs. “Why would I have gone?”
“To experience the meatballs, buy a Billy bookcase,coat hangers . . .” I hold a finger up for each one. “What about all the kids’ storage? That’s invaluable. I’ve always used it in my classrooms. You can’t get better anywhere else.”
“I didn’t realize you were so passionate about IKEA.” He laughs.
“But what about when you were at university?”
“I lived in Eaton Square, remember?” he shoots back, mentioning his family’s London house, which is about as far away from student accommodation as one could get.
“But what about when Max was born?”
“All the furniture for his room came already assembled.”
“Of course, it did?—”
