A Season for Second Chances(36)

Paul grinned as Annie took another drag.

“I feel so . . . funky,” she said.

Paul chuckled. “Funky?”

“Yeah,” said Annie. “And smooth like a peach only wobblier like a goo.”

“Man, I wish I was in your head right now,” said Paul.

By the time they left, having shared the joint sixty/forty in Paul’s favor, Annie’s limbs felt deliciously soft, the grass beneath her feet a thick bouncy underlay that cushioned her every step. She found it impossible to stop giggling in a high-pitched “Squeee,” especially when everything around her seemed so hilarious; that squirrel was definitely strutting like Mick Jagger and she was pretty certain the herring gull on the church roof had just screeched “Fuck off, Melvin!” to the gull on the flagpole.

Paul decided it would be best to do a couple of laps around the village before reintroducing Annie to society, so by the time she entered the pub, she was relaxed and rampantly peckish.





Chapter 28



Hi, Raye,” Annie called over the bar.

If Annie had had to guess what the Captain’s Bounty’s interior would look like, it would have been exactly this. Strings of multicolored fabric birds with tiny bells between them hung down the black wooden joists that punctuated the long, dark pub. The uneven plaster on the walls was painted a deep Moroccan orange, which burst like a warm sunset between the wonky crisscross of beams. A visual anthology of Willow Bay’s nautical history decorated the walls; black-and-white photographs of fishermen past with their boats sat beside paintings of clipper ships, coastal maps, and cottages—some of which Annie recognized from her hazy village tour.

A band was setting up in a cleared space opposite the bar. Raye gave a cheery wave, and Annie saw her nudge Aiden conspiratorially. Paul rested his hand in the small of Annie’s back and guided her toward the far end of the pub, to a table for two by the fire. For Annie, a woman sex-starved and mildly stoned, a hand in the small of the back was practically foreplay.

They started the meal with salt and pepper squid with aioli that melted in the mouth.

“Oh my God, I’m so ready for this,” said Annie.

“That’s called the munchies,” said Paul, a knowing smile playing at his lips.

“I am a chef, you know,” said Annie. “I don’t need to be stoned to appreciate good food.”

“No,” said Paul. “But maybe it takes your appreciation to another level.”

Annie wanted to argue but she was too busy eating to speak. Paul chose beer-battered Dover sole and thrice-fried chips for his main, and Annie had pan-fried plaice with Hasselback potatoes and samphire. She would have dearly liked to sample Aiden’s famous tiramisu, but in the event of the evening taking the turn she hoped it would, she didn’t want to be too full of mascarpone to enjoy it.

The thronelike wooden benches on which they sat had high backs, and floral motifs had been cut out of the wood so that the light filtered through them and danced patterns on the table. Annie ran her hand idly over the undulating wood. She saw Paul watching her.

“You made these,” she said.

He smiled. Not his cocksure grin but a softer smile.

“I did,” he said. “The benches and the bar. They’re all me.”

“They’re beautiful,” said Annie. “You’re an artist.”

Paul’s smile widened and he looked down at his plate.

“I’d best get you drunk before you start to find flaws in my work,” he said.

Annie laughed. “I didn’t have you down for modesty.”

“First impressions can be deceiving,” said Paul.

Annie felt a warm feeling that was more than weed and wine. The evening passed in a pleasant haze. The folk band played the right amount of wistfulness and hope to fill the atmosphere with positively charged pheromones. The flames danced in the hearths, and the regulars, merry with hooch and warm of feeling, danced on the flagstone floor. Annie danced with Paul, her bashfulness soon unwoven as the music plucked at the stitches that bound her. His arms felt nice wrapped around her, the heat from his palms splayed out across her back.



* * *



—

“Thank you for a lovely tour,” said Annie, as they meandered back through the quiet, dark streets.

“You’re welcome,” said Paul.

The cold night nipped at Annie’s fingers, but her body felt warm and the air between them was thick with expectation. They had reached the end of the path by which they must decide whether to continue the date or end it on a delicious good night. Annie’s heart was racing. She wasn’t sure which outcome she was hoping for, but she felt giddy with the excitement.

“Would you like to come back for a coffee?” Paul asked.

“Yes,” said Annie, and the decision was made.





Chapter 29



Annie lay very still. She hoped Paul was still asleep. She had woken after a fitful snooze and lain awake thereafter, pondering as the black slash of night between the curtains was slowly diluted by the encroaching dawn. She had a crick in her neck from sleeping on the small sofa in Paul’s bedroom. Things had not gone as she’d hoped.

She had expected a night of passion but instead ended up playing multiple games of pool downstairs in Paul’s games room until the early hours of the morning. Whereupon rather the worse for wear, she had collapsed onto the sofa among Paul’s discarded clothes and fallen asleep. What had begun as a night full of anticipation and sexual sparks had ended as a snogging shipwreck.