walking there as we speak.”
I had to admit that the prospect of seeing all my old friends after so long was very tempting. And the pub made toffee shortcake
that just couldn’t be duplicated anywhere on the planet. The girls were practically asleep on their feet, so a tour of the
house would be wasted on them.
“All right. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you there.”
Her squeal of delight cut off abruptly as she snapped her phone shut.
When I went back into Lissa’s room, carrying my leather bike jacket, the others had gone. “Not your mom?” She pulled her coat
off the trunk at the end of the carved Victorian four-poster and hung it in the wardrobe.
“No. My friend Carrie, from the village. Everyone is getting together at the pub to welcome me home. I said I’d go.”
“Everyone?”
“All my school friends. I’ve known most of them all my life.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Want to come?”
She’d taken out her contacts, and gave me a look over the tops of her narrow black glasses. “Don’t think so. It’s you they’re
expecting. I’d just be butting in.”
“Not if I’ve invited you.” She shook her head, and her blonde hair rippled in the lamplight. “There will be guys,” I said
slyly.
She looked up. Talk about weaknesses. I may not have known her as well as I knew Carly or Shani, but I did know that. “What
about the others?”
“They’re probably exhausted. We can do the tour tomorrow. Come on, I told her I’d be there in twenty minutes.”
“No, you go. I’ve already taken my contacts out and my eyes are so gritty I’ll never get them in again.”
“Nobody cares about your glasses, Lissa.”
“If there are boys there, I care,” she said. “Deeply.”
“All right. Your loss.” I slipped my jacket on.
She blinked as if I hadn’t been standing there the whole time with it over my arm. “You’re riding a motorcycle?”
“Dirt bike. How did you think I was going to get to the village? Walk?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea where it is in relation to where we are. All I know is, it’s dark and freezing out there. Are
you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. I do it all the time.” The zipper sang up its track.
“History repeats itself,” she said thoughtfully.
“What?” I turned at the door.
“The last time I was here, you rode off as well. Only then it was on a horse.”
I laughed, as if she’d made a joke. “No chance of that, at least. Selkie and Ambrose are in winter stable at a farm five miles
from here.” I hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen door, where it was a short jog across the courtyard to the garage.
It had been a carriage house a hundred years ago, but now instead of housing barouche landaus, it kept the Range Rover, the
Mercedes, my Ducati, and my dirt bike snug and dry.
I tugged on my helmet, fired up the bike and raced down the driveway, the engine smooth and tuned, the gears cold under my
hands. All of it combined to erase the sound of Lissa’s voice, her quiet words repeating what my guilty conscience already
knew: I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be making my new friends comfortable and serving them hot chocolate until everyone
nodded off where they sat. Not dumping them flat and riding off to see my old friends.
The pub in the village wasn’t really a pub—more like a family restaurant that served the local brew, housed in a stone building
that had been there since people’s great-great-grandfathers were young. On the walls were pictures of kids from the forties
at their gymkhanas, pictures of fishermen, pictures of me—but only a couple of those. Dad had offered the pub samples of his
homemade whiskey, but Blythe Rose, the proprietress, had suggested that as a brewer, he made a wonderful earl.
Poor Dad. His gifts always seemed to lie outside his passions.
I pushed open the door and was swarmed immediately by all my old crowd. “Mac! You’re back!”
“We
I had to admit that the prospect of seeing all my old friends after so long was very tempting. And the pub made toffee shortcake
that just couldn’t be duplicated anywhere on the planet. The girls were practically asleep on their feet, so a tour of the
house would be wasted on them.
“All right. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you there.”
Her squeal of delight cut off abruptly as she snapped her phone shut.
When I went back into Lissa’s room, carrying my leather bike jacket, the others had gone. “Not your mom?” She pulled her coat
off the trunk at the end of the carved Victorian four-poster and hung it in the wardrobe.
“No. My friend Carrie, from the village. Everyone is getting together at the pub to welcome me home. I said I’d go.”
“Everyone?”
“All my school friends. I’ve known most of them all my life.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Want to come?”
She’d taken out her contacts, and gave me a look over the tops of her narrow black glasses. “Don’t think so. It’s you they’re
expecting. I’d just be butting in.”
“Not if I’ve invited you.” She shook her head, and her blonde hair rippled in the lamplight. “There will be guys,” I said
slyly.
She looked up. Talk about weaknesses. I may not have known her as well as I knew Carly or Shani, but I did know that. “What
about the others?”
“They’re probably exhausted. We can do the tour tomorrow. Come on, I told her I’d be there in twenty minutes.”
“No, you go. I’ve already taken my contacts out and my eyes are so gritty I’ll never get them in again.”
“Nobody cares about your glasses, Lissa.”
“If there are boys there, I care,” she said. “Deeply.”
“All right. Your loss.” I slipped my jacket on.
She blinked as if I hadn’t been standing there the whole time with it over my arm. “You’re riding a motorcycle?”
“Dirt bike. How did you think I was going to get to the village? Walk?”
“I don’t know. I have no idea where it is in relation to where we are. All I know is, it’s dark and freezing out there. Are
you sure you want to do this?”
“Of course. I do it all the time.” The zipper sang up its track.
“History repeats itself,” she said thoughtfully.
“What?” I turned at the door.
“The last time I was here, you rode off as well. Only then it was on a horse.”
I laughed, as if she’d made a joke. “No chance of that, at least. Selkie and Ambrose are in winter stable at a farm five miles
from here.” I hurried down the back stairs to the kitchen door, where it was a short jog across the courtyard to the garage.
It had been a carriage house a hundred years ago, but now instead of housing barouche landaus, it kept the Range Rover, the
Mercedes, my Ducati, and my dirt bike snug and dry.
I tugged on my helmet, fired up the bike and raced down the driveway, the engine smooth and tuned, the gears cold under my
hands. All of it combined to erase the sound of Lissa’s voice, her quiet words repeating what my guilty conscience already
knew: I shouldn’t be doing this. I should be making my new friends comfortable and serving them hot chocolate until everyone
nodded off where they sat. Not dumping them flat and riding off to see my old friends.
The pub in the village wasn’t really a pub—more like a family restaurant that served the local brew, housed in a stone building
that had been there since people’s great-great-grandfathers were young. On the walls were pictures of kids from the forties
at their gymkhanas, pictures of fishermen, pictures of me—but only a couple of those. Dad had offered the pub samples of his
homemade whiskey, but Blythe Rose, the proprietress, had suggested that as a brewer, he made a wonderful earl.
Poor Dad. His gifts always seemed to lie outside his passions.
I pushed open the door and was swarmed immediately by all my old crowd. “Mac! You’re back!”
“We
Similar Books
