“I’m not. I just never—” Whatever he had been about to say was stalled by a slowly spreading grin. Only for a second, though. “Tell me, is there a lot of dough in what you do? I only ask because I hear bakers make a shitload of bread. And does that explain why you’re reluctant to drop your pants and show the world your hot buns?”
Jaymes followed up by laughing aloud at his own joke. And just like that, the jury returned its verdict. Judge Polly had been right all along. Guilty as charged. Cousin Jaymes was a total and utter prick.
“You truly are a heathen, aren’t you?”
“More Buddhist than pagan. But seriously, Nate—”
“Nay-than. It’sNathan. Two syllables, if you can manage that.”
“Come on, Nathan. Was that your life’s ambition? To bake loaves of bread for a living? Like a Crumbington Paul Hollywood?”
Jaymes had no idea how much his joke had hit a nerve.
“It’s a family business. I helped my father all through school and took over when he died. Although it’s also a front for my other job as a professional hitman. Someone who quietly takes care of people others don’t particularly like. Such as irritating relatives with puerile senses of humour.” Most annoying of all, Jaymes found this diatribe hilarious. From the corner of his eye, Nathan spotted pink Polly returning and breathed a sigh of relief. “What do you do for a living that’s brought you to our little shithole of a village? No, let me guess. You’re on long-term unemployment and claiming social security, which is why you’re couch surfing?”
“I work for the Forestry Commission. I’ll be working over in Mosswold for the next few months before scooting over to Southeast Asia for a stint,” said Jaymes, wiping the corners of his eyes and bringing his laughter under control. “I’m an environmental specialist. PhD in ecology, forestry and land management at Durham Uni. So tell me, Nate, which baking university did you attend?”
“Have a nice life, Jim.”
“I’m only kidding, Nate. Nathan.”
Ignoring the raucous laughter behind him, Nathan strolled across to the bar and thumped down his empty glass before catching Polly on his way out. She knew him well enough to tell that he was rattled.
“What has he done?”
“Your cousin’s an asshole of the highest order.”
“Tell me something I don’t know. Will I see you on Sunday? After the game?”
“Are you bringing the Neanderthal?”
“I imagine he’d have found like-minded apes to hang with by then,” she replied, smiling at their shared joke.
“In Mosswold Forest? Doubtful, but we can always hope,” said Nathan, scowling.
“He’s actually harmless,” said Polly, sighing before kissing his cheek and looking over Nathan’s shoulder. “Bit of an acquired taste, I grant you. But his heart’s in the right place.”
“Shame it’s his arse he talks out of.”
“I promise I’ll be there Sunday. You?”
“After the game. Around twelve-thirty. See you, Polly.”
“‘Night, Nate.”
Nathan had been about to kiss her back on the cheek but froze, took a step back and eyed her dangerously.
“Sorry, darling,” she said, grinning. “Couldn’t resist. See you Sunday,Nathandarling.”
Chapter Four
Celebrity
There was no way Nathan was going to have a good game on Sunday. He had woken that morning filled with anxiety about finding the right moment to tell the team—his friends—about Arlene’s master plan.
When the final whistle blew, they’d managed an acceptable goalless draw—no thanks to him. In the changing rooms afterwards, he showered and changed quickly as the usual banter carried on around him.
“What was up with you today, Fresher?” asked the fullback.
