“Nothing is wrong. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m working.” He handed over two glasses of wine to the man hovering at the bar and took payment.
“We can talk about it here if you like. I’m sure your customers would all have an opinion on it.”
He gave her an exasperated look and then glanced at Matt, who was working alongside him. “I’ll be five minutes.”
“No worries, boss.”
Tristan followed her out to the back of the pub. They stepped onto the street and he leaned against the wall and looked at her. “Whatever it is you want to say, say it quickly. It’s hot out here and sweating and burning in the sun isn’t going to make me less grumpy.”
“It’s gorgeous.” She shaded her eyes from the sun. “It’s a perfect day. Don’t you remember those horrible rainy days in January and February? This is blissful—”
“Ev, there’s only so much of your relentless cheerfulness I can handle in one day. Get to the point.”
She let her hand drop. “Tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m a grumpy person and you need to accept that.”
She pulled him into a small patch of shade and linked her arm with his. “You’re not a grumpy person. You’re grumpy today, and I want to know why. What happened? Is it your dad?”
It was a moment before he answered. “We had a conversation five minutes before you arrived. Bad timing, that’s all.”
“And how is he?”
“Frustrated by his lack of ability to move around as freely as he used to, but still well enough to point out in detail all the things I’m doing wrong. Every conversation is a joy, particularly when you’re in the middle of hauling heavy weights around a cellar.”
She knew how conflicted he was about the situation.
“It’s hard for both of you. It must be frustrating for him not being able to do all the things he did before the accident. He’s having to adjust to a new normal.”
“We’re all having to adjust. What I don’t understand is whyhe can’t let me get on with it my way.” He looked down at her. “Why are you smiling?”
“Because it’s obvious.” She squeezed his arm. “He’s trying to stay involved, Tris. This place was his life. Letting go of that is a process. Telling you where you’re going wrong is probably what’s keeping him going.”
“Maybe. But you’d think he’d be happier that I’m back, seeing as this is what he always wanted. Instead, everything I do irritates him.”
Her heart ached for her friend. “He wanted you to be running it together. And has it ever occurred to you that he might be irritable because he feels guilty?”
“Guilty?”
“Yes. Because he knows this wasn’t what you wanted and yet here you are. He feels bad.”
There was a long silence.
He eased his arm away from hers. “Do you always have to be so insightful? It can be annoying.”
“Because you want to be left to sulk in peace, you mean?”
“Something like that.” He ran his hand over his face. “I hate to admit it, but I know you’re right. It’s tough for him. I should be more patient.”
“It’s tough for you, too. You’re allowed to be occasionally grumpy.”
“We should probably clarify this. How many hours each day am I allowed to be grumpy?”
“You’re allowed five minutes, morning and evening. But not when my guest is around. I’ve told her you’re approachable, so you need to be approachable. No glaring. No sighing. No muttering. And no looking at her shoes while doing that whole raised eyebrow thing you do.”
He glanced at her, curious. “Who is she exactly? Apart fromsomeone who has no idea what shoes to wear in a Cornish fishing village. She’s going to break her ankle. Shouldn’t someone tell her?”
“No. We’re going to treat her like an adult and let her figure it out for herself,” Evie said, “and hope that happens before she breaks her ankle. And to answer your question, she’s an extra pair of hands. Head office arranged for her to come and help out.”
