The pub was buzzing with post-barbecue energy, despite earlier rain. Ed was stacking glasses in the dishwasher. ‘Hey, Kieran!’ he said. ‘Fancy a pint?’
‘A plate of chips will do. And maybe a pint if I’m feeling reckless.’
Ed grinned. ‘Beth’s nipped outside. Busy day, but I reckon she needs cooling off more than the ovens.’
Kieran frowned. ‘Is she OK?’
Ed hesitated. ‘Between you and me, Angela caught her earlier muttering to herself about the pinball machine.’
‘Pinball machine?’ Kieran repeated. His brows knitted. ‘What pinball machine?’
‘A relic from the past. It’s been down in the basement for ages.’ Ed dried his hands. ‘Sorry, mate, there’s a queue forming. Catch you later.’
Kieran’s curiosity sharpened. Beth, muttering about a pinball machine? She’d mentioned otherworldly things before, but not an ancient arcade game.
Outside, a mild drizzle dampened the air. He spotted Beth perched on a bench, hunching slightly against the mist, stroking something furry and familiar.
Kieran blinked. Twice.
‘Isn’t he a handsome guy?’ Beth asked, running her fingers down Prom’s chin, eliciting purrs of biblical intensity.
‘As he’smy cat, yes,’ Kieran said. ‘I can confirm he is, indeed, handsome.’And as unpredictable as the Scottish climate.
‘Your cat?’ Beth stared at Prom, startled.
Kieran nodded. ‘Prometheus. Master of mischief. How did he—’ He groaned. ‘I forgot to lock the door again, didn’t I?’
Beth shrugged. ‘He’s safe. Though we’re all getting damp. Do you want to go inside and dry off? You can take him home afterwards.’
He hesitated. She looked pale and worn. The kind of worn that wasn’t fixed by a good night’s sleep.
‘Sounds like a plan. Can I buy you lunch?’
‘I … don’t know. I’m technically on a break…’
‘Prom’s smitten,’ he said lightly. ‘Just a quick bite.’
Prom rolled onto his back and exposed his belly in agreement.
Beth’s lips curved faintly. The tiniest smile.
‘OK,’ she said softly.
And for reasons Kieran didn’t fully understand, relief blossomed in his chest.
Chapter Seventeen
‘Let’s go all seventies and eighties retro,’ Ed had announced two days before the pub quiz, clapping his hands like an overexcited game-show host.
‘The fifties and sixties might be more suited to some of our customers,’ Angela teased, taking a sip of tea and raising an eyebrow at her partner.
‘Well, in my humble opinion, the seventies and eighties produced some of the best films and music ever,’ said Ed. ‘Even if I wasn’t born until the nineties.’
Beth sat at the bar, laptop open, tapping out menu ideas with the fervour of someone trying very hard to pretend she wasn’t thinking of hallucinated genies. A retro theme meant retro food which, thankfully, meant uncomplicated dishes. Comfortingly naff. She typed:prawn cocktail, creamy mushroom vol-au-vents, pork pies and pickles, cheese-and-pineapple hedgehog, Black Forest gateau, Arctic roll.
She’d never served a hedgehog of any kind before. First time for everything.
‘How’s it looking, team-wise?’ Rose appeared with a tray of tea and coffee.
