He smiled. ‘I’m a patient man. I can wait until the book comes out. For the secrets, and a date.’
Sitting here with Gideon, my dog snoozing on the sofa between us, the fire glowing, wine fuzzing my senses, I wanted nothing more than to do this again. But how could I, when Hattie had made me into a big, fat fake historical author, writing a book that would never exist?
‘Though, like I said, I’d love to spend more time with you, before then. As friends. With or without Mum joining us.’
Would it be that big a deal if we hung out a few times, went on a couple of walks, and then he discovered that my job wasn’t quite how Hattie had explained it, and there wasn’t going to be a book?
Yes!the functioning, non-lust-addled part of my brain yelled.Lying to a friend is a big deal!
I’d speak to Hattie and insist on explaining to Gideon I was helping her catalogue the attic contents. Problem solved. Friend made. Heart recklessly bouncing about in my chest.
I took a deep breath. ‘Did you have anything particular in mind?’
‘It would be remiss not to give Muffin a proper tour of Sherwood Forest.’
‘Oh?’
He’d answered quickly enough to reveal that he’d definitely had this in mind. I tried to ignore how it made my stomach flutter.
‘We can head over to the main forest. Find the Major Oak, nosy round the visitor centre. See if we can spot an outlaw or two. There’s a great place to eat at one of the nearby campsites that’s dog friendly. If Muffin doesn’t have strict rules about who she dates, then we could bring Flapjack, too.’
‘That sounds great.’
He shrugged, but his eyes shone with pleasure. ‘I thought you’d be interested in exploring some local history that goes beyond Riverbend.’
‘Okay, I’ll speak to Hattie then we can arrange a date.’ I pulled up short. ‘For our friendlynon-date.’
Gideon grinned into his wine glass.
Who were we kidding?
11
When Gideon walked me home, once we’d finished the bottle of wine and talked for another two hours about everything and nothing, I found Hattie in the kitchen with a mug of chamomile tea and a sketchbook.
‘Sophie! How was your day? I heard you and Agnes were running rampant around the village.’ She got up and fetched another mug, pouring tea from the pot as she spoke.
‘We did some shopping, yes, and she showed me the local sights.’
Hattie laughed. ‘Well, that couldn’t have taken long. The statue with no name and a few ducks.’
‘Oh, she took her time about it.’ I smiled.
She chewed the end of her pencil. ‘Well, you must have something special I don’t, because I can’t persuade Agnes to come out with me. That dinner last week was the first time she’s been here in months. I’ve tried everything, thrown all my Hattie Hood charm at her, but I can’t convince her to like me.’
‘I wouldn’t take it personally.’ I sat down opposite her.
‘I didn’t, until Deirdre told me she was gallivanting about with you.’
‘Yes, but I’m not her niece. If my job’s taught me anything, it’s that families can be complicated.’
Hattie peered at me over the top of her pink glasses. ‘Is yours?’
I clutched my mug, tears suddenly prickling the backs of my eyes. ‘No.’
Then the image of Ezra, Naomi and three fabulous children filled my head. ‘Mine is different. But not complicated. Not any more.’ I took a sip of tea. ‘What are you drawing? More arting it out?’
Hattie smiled. ‘The whole time I was speaking at the conference, I could see a murder of crows – that’s what you call a group of them together, I looked it up on the train back – strutting about the lawn.’
