A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) (5 page)

T
hree hours later
, when Scarlett walks into the game room brandishing a bottle of Pinot Grigio and three glasses, my borrowed flannel shirt is wet, I have a small cut on my thigh from where I dropped a knife, and my hair has fallen so far out of its ponytail it’s not even up anymore. I take an empty glass with a tired smile. Half a glass is only one hundred calories. I’ve earned at least three.

“You made it,” Scarlett says, twisting the cap off the wine as she plonks down beside me. “Congratulations and well done.”

“Thanks.” I hold my glass out for her to pour.

“You did great, Bea,” Claire says. “Really, for your first day, you were ace.”

For my first day. I have a feeling if Lou was still here, she’d disagree, but she didn’t demand I leave the kitchen and never come back, so I’m counting it as a win. She did tell me to make sure I got some sleep before the Fisher party arrives on Friday, but I don’t know if that was related to my performance tonight or not, and I was afraid to ask.

“Thanks, you guys, for your help. I promise I’ll study the menu so I know what goes with what,” I say.

“There’s plenty of time for that.” Scarlett finishes pouring Claire’s glass of wine and raises her glass. “For now, we need to toast to a great British summer.”

“Hear, hear,” Claire says as we clink glasses.

The wine tastes amazing, cool and crisp. I take a big gulp and say, “Wow, I needed that.”

Scarlett laughs. “I know what a light weight you can be, so let me know now if we need someone on standby to get you back to your cabin because you’re not crashing with me. I’m taking up my entire bed and then some tonight.”

I sink back into the soft leather couch. “I’ll happily sleep right here. Besides, I don’t want to crash with you because you snore.”

Claire laughs. “She does. Oh my God, when we went to London last summer, she kept me up half the night. I seriously thought about going to camp out by the ice machine down the hall for some peace.”

I laugh and Scarlett does too, even though she gives Claire the finger. “I’d love to go to London.” I change the subject because Scarlett really does snore and it’s something she can be super sensitive about. She says she has a deviated septum or something, which might be true, but the bigger truth is she’s tried every remedy under the sun to stop it. Unfortunately, the only thing that works are those little strips you stick on your nose. Not exactly sexy. The first time Scarlett broke them out in our dorm room – night three of us being roommates, I think – I laughed and she burst into tears. I felt terrible, but it also cemented our friendship. The “perfect” exterior packaging was not the girl, after all.

“Well, obviously, you two should go together since you’re such delicate sleepers,” Scarlett says.

“Oh, come on. We love you, even if you sound like a tractor stuck in the mud,” Claire says. “Seriously, we should do another London trip. Or even Edinburgh. Although London would probably be more exciting for Bea.”

“And for you,” Scarlett says. “As I recall, you enjoyed London very much last time.”

Claire reaches across the low coffee table to swat Scarlett, but misses. “Let’s not give Bea the wrong impression on her first day.” She turns to me and says, “We met a few blokes, but it was very tame.”

“If you call making out with a stranger on Tower Bridge tame,” Scarlett says.

“That’s as far as it went.” Claire sounds defensive. “Considering how it could have gone, I’m calling it tame.”

“Fab point. Remember the guy who kept grinding up against you in that one club we went to?” Scarlett says. “There was a strong possibility of him ending up in our hotel room.”

Claire laughs and turns to me again. “He was hot, but he knew it, which is never a good thing.”

Scarlett glances at me and I know she’s thinking of Theo, so I say it before she can. “I was engaged to a guy like that.”

“Scarlett said you were engaged.” Claire nods. “Aren’t you the same age as us?”

I feel the heat begin to creep up my neck. “Being engaged at twenty-four sounds dumb, but it seemed like the right thing at the time. Theo is a little older and he wanted to move things to the next level.”

“Wow.” Claire takes a long swallow of wine. “And you didn’t, I assume? Judging by the past tense you used.”

“I did for a long time.” I let out a sigh. “Until I didn’t.”

As I take a gulp of wine, Scarlett says, “Theo is the quintessential perfect boyfriend.”

“Ah, hence the problem?” Claire says, nodding.

“Sort of.” Gah. I hate this twisty feeling I get whenever I try to explain what happened with Theo because nothing ever feels like a good enough explanation. “He’s great. He really is.”

“Oh, Bea, he’s not.” Scarlett scowls at me. “He’s perfect on paper, but I’m sorry, any man on the planet who says you need to go running more because, well, your genes work against you, don’t they, is shite.”

“He said that?” Claire’s mouth drops.

“He did, but I don’t think he meant…”

“He did.” Scarlett bangs her hand on coffee table. “I’m sorry. He had his good points, but at the end of the day, Theo wanted a Barbie doll. And I’ll give credit where credit is due, you tried very hard to be one, but --”

“Everyone knows traditional Barbie dolls are completely unrealistic in their proportions. Even her head is out of line with the measurements of a real woman,” Jasper says from behind me.

Oh. My. God. I pray for a sinkhole, an errant castle ghost, or a sudden power cut to save me from having to turn around and see the look on Jasper’s face. Because judging by the remark he just made, he heard more than enough of our conversation for me to feel like a complete moron.

Scarlett nods. “Exactly my point.”

She looks like she’s gearing up to continue, but Claire interrupts. “You know, who decided Barbie dolls represented the ideal woman, anyway? I mean, now they have the more realistic Barbies, but the traditional one is iconic and it’s not like she’s been forgotten. Even if we all know she’s unrealistic, the seed’s been planted she’s the ideal.”

Scarlett nods again as Jasper slips into the wingback chair beside Claire and picks up the bottle of wine. “Any more glasses?” he asks.

“Drink from the bottle. We’ll get another one,” Scarlett says. She turns to Claire. “The media, in general, does women no favors in representing the so-called ideal. Even the fact there is such a thing is degrading. It certainly doesn’t take into account any kind of diversity. Haven’t you seen those things on Facebook about beauty standards around the world? What’s considered beautiful in South America is very different than what’s considered beautiful in, say, New York, but media consistently holds up New York as the ideal, period.”

Jasper takes a swallow from the bottle and I allow myself a glance at him, finally. He’s still wearing the trousers he had on before, but has ditched his sweater for a simple gray T-shirt. His hair is more tousled than it was this afternoon and it looks better, not worse. He puts the bottle back on the coffee table and says, “Let’s not pretend it’s only women. I know physical standards are more exacting for women, but there are pressures on men as well.”

Scarlett scoffs and says, “Okay, but it’s like comparing apples to oranges…”

Claire leans in and murmurs, “And they’re off.”

I straighten, but don’t let myself look at her. If I had any doubt she intentionally threw me a save, it’s gone now, though I’m not sure why she did it. Was it because she could sense I was embarrassed by Scarlett raking Theo over the coals? Or was it because she could sense I didn’t want Jasper weighing in on a conversation about my love life? If it was the latter, I assume it was because Claire wouldn’t want a guy she barely knows judging her ex either. But my brain niggles at me until finally my admonishment is as clear as if I said it out loud.

You know what happens when you assume. You make an ass out of you. And me.

D
ay two at Castle Calder
, I wake at ten to a note on the table from Claire telling me to take it easy and rest today, so I promptly go back to bed, letting the rain lull me back to sleep until mid-afternoon. I’m exhausted from such a long day yesterday, but the three bottles of wine at the end definitely didn’t help – especially with Jasper in the mix.

As I carry my second cup of tea back to my bedroom, I groan, recalling the argument we had about cycling as a valid form of transport and the need for dedicated bike lanes in major cities. We were actually on the same side; the argument came when Jasper suggested certain roads could be dedicated to cycle traffic only and I cited the traffic problems in Atlanta as a reason why that would be impossible. Less roads to choose from would increase congestion on existing roads, I said. He countered with the argument that lessening available routes would force people to change their habits, and it escalated from there.

Both of our arguments were valid; it was how vehemently we defended them, sounding pompous and self-righteous, that feels even more cringe-worthy to me today than the amount I drank. Especially remembering Claire’s knowing half smile, which convinces me that in less than one day she’s got an inkling of the secret I’ve hidden from Scarlett for two years.

At least I feel too hungover to eat, so that’s a small blessing. I cup my hands around my tea and close my eyes. But they fly open a second later as the door to the cabin rattles and I hear Scarlett call, “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

“I’m awake,” I say, but my voice is small and I have to clear my throat and try again. “What’s up?”

“You’re still in bed? Oh my God, I’m so jealous.” Scarlett stands in the doorway, dressed in a long black jersey skirt and an oversize blue button-down she could have stolen from her dad. It looks effortlessly chic except for the black eyeliner, which makes me smile.

“You look like you might be better off in bed yourself.” I scoot over and she collapses next to me, taking half my pillow. “Feeling rough?”

“My bloody head. And Mum got me up at nine to help make up the beds.” She reaches for my tea. “I’m dying.”

“You never can handle your wine. Remember the one time --”

“If you speak of it, I’ll volunteer you for the kitchen tonight.”

I sit up and fumble for my phone on the bedside table. “Shit. Am I supposed to be there? It’s already 3:12.”

“Emma’s here, so you’re good, but if you get cheeky about my past, ahem, indiscretions, I’ll get Lou to send Emma home.” Scarlett closes her eyes and holds the tea out to me. “You know I’d do it.”

I lean back and take the mug from her hand. “You’re hiding out here, so I actually don’t think you would.”

“I came to see if you were as worse for the wear as I am, but sleeping in obviously has restorative effects.” Scarlett smiles, her eyes still shut. “Jaz was a little green this morning, too.”

“Was he drunk?” He didn’t seem drunk to me, just animated.

Scarlett lowers her voice. “Well, you know, Bea, cycling as a primary mode of transportation rather than simply an alternative makes excellent sense on several levels.”

I groan and squeeze my eyes shut. “Oh, God. Tell me that conversation wasn’t as painful to listen to as it was to participate in.”

“Both of you were very, very committed.” Scarlett turns to face me. Her face is close enough I can see the small clump of mascara on her left eye. “I’m not used to that side of you.”

Right. Which takes us right back to Theo, where this whole thing started last night. Because, truthfully, would I have stood my ground so firmly with Jasper if I wasn’t holding onto the Barbie doll comment somewhere in my head? Even now, I bristle. “That’s not fair.”

“You’re normally more about keeping the peace is all I’m saying,” Scarlett says. Judging by her posture, she either doesn’t hear my change in tone or she’s choosing to ignore it.

“I like to choose my battles.” Before I say anything else, I jump up from the bed.

Scarlett asks, “Where are you going?”

“I’m going to shower. I should at least pretend to be a functioning adult today.” I head for the bathroom as she murmurs and sinks down, pulling the duvet up over her shoulders. Knowing hungover Scarlett like I do, I’m pretty sure she’ll be sound asleep by the time I’m finished and it will take the four horsemen of the apocalypse to wake her.

Thank God, because the only things I’ve unpacked so far are my robe and the clothes I threw on yesterday. I have to rummage around in my open suitcase on the floor to find something to wear and, while I’m at it, I decide to hang up the most wrinkled things, scraping the closet door open with a wince. Scarlett doesn’t move, though, her breathing deep and even. I debate drying my hair, but I’m not sure she’d sleep through that, so I pull it up into a wet ponytail, pull a zip-up sweatshirt over my capris and T-shirt, and softly close my bedroom door.

For the time I’ve spent in the cottage today, I’ve been focused on the most direct path from the kettle to my bed, but now that I’m up, I realize it looks a lot more lived-in than yesterday. Claire’s sneakers are by the front door and a packet of crackers is open on the counter next to an empty glass. Judging by the crackers and Claire’s closed bedroom door, I wonder if she’s succumbed to feeling hungover too, even though she didn’t seem too bad last night.

Then again, Scarlett expected me to be feeling worse than I do, so maybe none of us are very good judges while under the influence.

I lift the sleeve of crackers from the table and glance at the nutritional info. One cracker equals twenty-four kcal? What the hell is a kcal? Is it the same as a regular calorie? I debate it for far less time than I normally would and grab a few crackers. As I take a bite, the flavor makes my mouth water and I reach for a few more. In my mind’s eye my mother shakes her head in that way she does, but I ignore it. I declare special hangover dispensation – and I can always run tomorrow.

With a final glance at my closed bedroom door, I slip out of the cabin. The rain is lighter than I expected, based on how it sounded falling through the trees outside my bedroom, and it’s warmer than I thought it would be too. I start for the castle; my instinct is to go to the kitchen because it’s the only place I really know. But I’m not hungry for real food yet and I don’t want to have to make small talk with this Emma person, so instead I head down the other path.

It’s quiet aside from a bird or two and twigs snapping in the brush. Compared to Atlanta, where the steady hum of traffic on the street outside, people walking by talking, and the occasional siren is the soundtrack of everyday life, the silence feels almost oppressive. I strain my ears to listen for a car or voices, but nada. It’s easy to imagine getting lost here, not necessarily in a good way.

My imagination kicks into gear and I contemplate turning back towards the castle, small talk with Emma be damned. Just as I’m about to turn around, I see the tennis court before me – and Jasper, his back to me, painting a sign under the awning of a wooden building that must be the clubhouse.

My first instinct is to turn around. Leave before he can see me and I find out exactly how dumb our conversation was last night. But then I remember it was him who Scarlett mocked, right after she said he was a little green this morning, and I think maybe it might be okay if I make a joke straightaway.

Of course, I can’t think of anything even remotely funny and I’m still standing there staring when he turns around and says, “Hey. What are you up to?”

I take a few tentative steps forward. “Just out exploring after Scarlett kicked me out of my bed.”

Jasper smiles and it’s the kind of smile that lingers on his face when he speaks. “Little sis can’t handle her wine, can she?”

I take another couple of steps until I’m at the gate of the tennis court. It would be weird to talk through the gate so I slip through. “She, uh, said you weren’t exactly feeling your best either.”

“No, definitely not.” Jasper looks down and shakes his head, still grinning. “So, how much of an ass was I last night? Tell me the truth.”

It’s my turn to grin. This Jasper – the self-effacing, easy-going, slightly disheveled guy – is the Jasper I hooked up with that weekend in Atlanta. It makes me feel more confident instead of less and I say, “On a scale of one to ten? I’d say about a seven.”

He throws his head back, laughing. “Ouch. That bad? Really?”

“Do you remember the conversation we had when you stayed in Atlanta about the proper way to eat corn on the cob?” I ask and he nods once, then starts shaking his head as I continue. “Twice as bad. At least.”

“I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. Because, as I recall, you eventually said you could see my point about the merits of eating a cone-shaped object in a circular pattern.” A smile still plays around his mouth, which gives me confidence to step forward until I’m standing next to him.

“The fact you still remember your exact argument is probably the most alarming part of this whole conversation, to be honest.” I point at the sign. “What are you doing?”

He doesn’t answer me. In fact, until I look directly at him, he doesn’t say anything at all. Once my eyes meet his, he says, “There’s a lot I remember about that weekend.”

I swallow and pray my voice doesn’t squeak when I speak. “Do you?”

“I always wished we kept in touch. I mean, not through Scarlett, but…”

“Me too. I mean, except…” How do I say except for the fact you’re my best friend’s brother and I never told her about you? I don’t, obviously. Instead, I amp up my smile and say, “Except we didn’t. But we can catch up this summer, right?”

“Sure. Right.” Jasper’s smile wavers like maybe he expected me to say more.

But nope. Nope, nope, nope. I’m not going to make things eternally awkward between us on my second day. I’m not. I turn to the sign, my smile stretched thin. “So, what are you doing? You don’t strike me as the artistic type.”

“No, but…” Jasper waves towards the sign with a flourish. “I am painting the rules of the court, which sounds far more noble when you say it that way, yes?”

“Rules of the court as in ladies must carry a handkerchief at all times and men’s shorts must be an exact shade of white?”

“I wish. Regrettably, it’s more mundane things like, ‘Persons must use tennis equipment on the tennis courts.’” Jasper points to the sign, which actually does say that. “We had a few kids a couple summers ago who used the tennis court for everything but tennis. And while my father admired their inventiveness, the people actually trying to play tennis were not so appreciative.”

This time when I smile, it’s genuine. “The Brits take their tennis seriously, do they?”

“As the birthplace of Wimbledon? Of course.” Jasper grins. “Plus, it absolves us from liability to have the rules posted. Health and safety, you know.”

I glance at the sign and read rule number eight. “Players are limited to one hour on the court at peak times. Do you, like, have a waiting list and everything?”

“You joke, but when we’re busy, this court sees a lot of action. People sign up at breakfast and plan their day around their court time. I mean, imagine if you signed up for a three o’clock court time and when you got here, you didn’t get the court for another hour. You’d be annoyed.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be signing up to play tennis on my vacation, honestly.”

“Right. The whole hand-eye thing.” Jasper says this easily as if this was a conversation we had two days ago instead of two years ago.

But coupled with his earlier remark, it makes me take notice. As we’d walked through Piedmont Park that weekend we explored Atlanta together, past a group playing Ultimate Frisbee, I’d made a joke about how I couldn’t catch to save my life. In fact, if my life depended on it, I’d be dead in less than sixty seconds. We’d both laughed and Jasper swore he’d never make me play anything where catching was required.

In the grand scheme of things, it was a casual conversation, certainly not memorable, except for the flirty tone and the way we accidentally-on-purpose jostled against each other. Obviously we both remember it, which makes me wonder exactly how much more of that weekend Jasper remembers. I’d ask, except, well, I scolded myself earlier and was pretty damn clear about it.

Instead I say, “I’ve improved a bit, you’ll be happy to know. I’m not quite as dire as I used to be. Now I’d probably live for two minutes if my life depended on playing a sport involving a ball.” Thanks to Theo and his quest for us to find a sport we could enjoy together, I can actually play a decent game of tennis. Whether I’d choose to play willingly is another matter altogether.

Jasper’s eyebrows go up. “Impressive. I think I might have to see it to believe it.”

“Is that a challenge, sir?” I put on my best scowl.

“Are you taking it as one?” Jasper scowls back at me, but he can’t hide the smile lurking behind it.

“I think I might be, in fact.” I point to the sign. “Obviously our match couldn’t exceed one hour, so I’d have to beat you quickly.”

“Nor can you use a cricket bat, thinking it will give you an advantage.”

I grin, reciting rule number four. “Proper footwear is required.” I point to my sandals. “I need to unpack my sneakers before I can beat you.”

“Trainers, please. You’re in Britain now.” Jasper takes a step closer, crossing his arms over his chest. “As for you beating me, that remains to be seen.”

“Name the day and time and I’ll be there, trainers on.” I put my hands on my hips. “Unless, you know, you don’t think you’re up to it. I understand if you’re not. Some people have a thing about being beaten by a girl--”

“I am not one of those people, thank you very much. In fact, if you win, I’ll take you to dinner, my treat.”

My head screams
date
, but I stop the thought in its tracks. Well, I try. It’s still clamoring for my attention as I say, “And if you win?”

Jasper’s eyes lock on mine and I feel my stomach flutter at the intensity of his gaze. His voice is low when he says, “I’ll take you to dinner, my treat.”

Date incoming.

Date incoming.