Oh great. Just great.
She got to choose where she would have the memory of Nate Daley rejecting her, again. Well, not her flat. She wouldn’t have that tainted by him, and not the farm because she didn’t want everyone else to watch her heart break. Top of the hill? No, that was her and Rebecca’s place. It would have to be the pub. The Dog & Gun was close enough to her flat so she could make a quick getaway via little Sainsbury’s for heartbreak snacks. There was also fortification at the pub. A large glass of white wine would be enough to soften any blow.
‘The Dog & Gun.’
He frowned but nodded.
The silence was tense for the rest of the way home.
Nate
The Dog & Gun. He was hoping she’d choose somewhere more secluded, somewhere a bit more private for him to bare his soul to her. As it was, the pub would be full of Sunday lunchers, afternoon drinkers, students. Oh god, the students.
But it was her choice. She had to be comfortable, and if that’s what she wanted, then that’s what he would do.
‘Hey, can you take me home first? I’ll take my bag up and meet you at the pub?’
‘Sure, I’ll get you a drink.’ She’d have to come then, if he was getting her a drink.
‘Celebration prosecco?’ She laughed, but it was brittle and tight.
‘Do you want celebration prosecco?’
‘God no, it tastes like warm cat’s piss. I will have the largest glass of sauvingon blanc they can muster. A pint, a tankard, a Viking horn. Anything.’
Thank god she didn’t want celebration prosecco, because she was right, it did taste like warm cat’s piss. He’d buy a bottle of Lanson from little Sainsburys if they had any, just in case. Just in case.
Nate sat on the wall outside The Dog & Gun with a treacly pint of ale and the sharp burn of the shot of vodka he’d downed at the bar in his throat for the longest ten minutes of his life. Laurel’s largest glass of wine was getting warm. Eventually, he spotted her coming down the road and moved to the edge of the forecourt with their drinks to greet her, just like he had before. He forced himself to look away. She wasn’t his to stare at. Not yet.
‘That mine?’ she asked, when she was close enough.
‘Yeah, all yours. There’s a Viking horn with your name on it behind the bar.’
She smiled as she took the drink from his hand, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Laurel took two big gulps and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
‘Okay, I’m ready.’ She looked up at him. ‘Nate, the floor is yours.’
‘Let’s sit.’
He could delay this. He could just not say anything.
This was a lot harder than it was last night in the bathroom. A lot harder. This time, he actually had a real live Laurel to talk to.
Nate broke the tense silence when they’d found a seat by the wall.
‘Laurel, I am stupid. I am a flat earther. I am King John, too reliant on complicated military strategy that always failed.’
She snorted and a smile flashed across her mouth. He took her hand, clenched into a tight fist on her lap, and smoothed his thumb across her knuckles.
‘I found something yesterday. I want to tell you about it because I want to tell you about everything I find.’ Nate took a breath. Christ, this was hard.
‘Okay.’
There was a frown on her face and she glanced between his thumb stroking across her knuckles, and his face. He was red, blushing, desperate.
‘I took you to meet my friends and it wasn’t because I’m altruistic and you needed to relax, although that was a part of it. I know your family, your passion, your life, and I want you to know me. I want that, because I want you. I want your smile in my pocket, I want your smell on my clothes, I want your hand in mine. I want to give you everything, every part of me. Laurel, I’m freefalling here.’
Nate hadn’t taken his eyes off hers, because he couldn’t. Her lips parted and she was sucking in air like breathing wasn’t a natural physical occurrence. She was flushed and beautiful, and gaping at him, floundering.
