Her insides were churned up, her emotions boiling. She’d tried breathing. Mindfulness. A few bars of Mozart on her headphones. So far nothing had worked. She had no idea how to calm herself, so she’d settled for an evening walk around the village.
On her way out she heard laughter and conversation coming from the bar and paused, torn between the lure of cobbled streets and sea air and a crisp, cold glass of wine.
It wasn’t even a contest. She’d never before used alcohol as a comfort or a crutch, but right now wine felt more appealing than a walk.
She headed back to the bar.
The outdoor garden with its tables overlooking the harbour was packed with people and inside was equally busy and no less full of charm. With its low beam ceiling and flagstone floor, the bar appeared to have changed little over the centuries, but although the bones of the place were cemented in tradition, there were stylish, modern touches. The whitewashed walls in this part of the bar were covered in framed prints—antique maps of Cornwall, black-and-white photos of fishing boats, nautical charts. The chalkboard above the bar listed all the different local ales and craft beers, along with cider and wine.
There was something comforting about gathering in a place that people had been drinking in for centuries.
Tristan was serving, which almost made her spin around and take the evening walk option instead, but she decided she wanted the wine more than she wanted to avoid him. And it wasn’t as if he’d been rude to her over the past few weeks. More wary and a little detached, as if he still didn’t quite trust her. And his concerns were justified, she thought grimly, given that she wasn’t exactly who she was pretending to be. Which made him a man of good judgement.
If she was lucky, it would be Matt with his easy smile and affable nature who served her.
She wasn’t lucky.
Tristan was laughing with a couple of locals at the far end of the bar but made his excuses when he caught sight of her.
“What can I get you?” He looked at her with those sharp blue eyes that always saw more than she wanted to reveal.
Before she could answer a young woman sprinted up to the bar. “Hey, Tris! I was hoping you’d be here tonight. I got back a few hours ago so I wanted to say hi!”
He dragged his gaze from Abby and smiled.
“Vicky.” He leaned forward and kissed her on both cheeks,which was presumably what she’d wanted given that she was all but sprawled across the bar. “You back for the summer?”
“Yep. I’m here for the next month. So if you want to get together and catch up, or something—” her cheeks dimpled and her eyes were all invitation in case he was in any doubt what the “or something” might be “—give me a call. My number hasn’t changed.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She hovered, hopeful. “Are you due a break? Because we could—”
“We’re short-staffed tonight, Vick. No break. But we’ll catch up at some point, I’m sure. Give my best to your dad.”
“I will.” Her smile dimmed a little, then she straightened her shoulders and gave Tristan a final wistful look before weaving her way through the crowd to the door.
“You could have taken a break, boss.” Matt reached for a bottle of whisky and winked at Tristan. “Made a girl’s dreams come true.”
“Don’t you have customers down the other end of the bar?”
“Serving them right now and thankfully for us, they have fat wallets.”
“Then go and relieve them of the weight of all that money before they decide to take it elsewhere.” He turned back to Abby. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. White wine, please.”
Tristan studied her face. “Do you want to be more specific?”
“No. You choose.”
“We have a delicious local white. Crisp and delicate. Light citrus notes with hints of honey...” His voice trailed off and his gaze held hers. “I thought you were the type who might care about that, but judging from your expression I got that wrong.”
“It would be great if you could stop judging me, just for thisevening. In fact it would be good if people could stop judging me, full stop.” She wasn’t in the mood for it, not after that phone call with her mother.
She was impossible to talk to. Impossible.
She thought about the easy relationship Evie had with her dad. Even Tristan and his father communicated, even if the relationship seemed to be on the volatile side. At least there was interaction.
