His Mistletoe Proposal. Christy McKellen

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ TRIED NOT to wrinkle her nose at the smell of stale beer that seemed to rise up in waves from the ugly red-and-brown patterned carpet as they entered the gloomy pub that Alex had insisted on bringing them to.

      ‘I’m going to order a burger at the bar. Want one?’ Alex asked as she settled herself at one of the sticky mahogany-stained tables, trying to avoid sitting on a suspicious-looking brown stain on the vinyl padded bench.

      ‘Er...no, thanks. I’ll just have a drink for now.’

      He gave her a bemused frown, then shrugged. ‘Okay. What would you like to drink then?’

      She thought about it for a moment, then decided that alcohol might actually make this situation a little bit easier. ‘I’ll have a pint of the local cider.’

      His brows shot up. ‘Really? It’s pretty potent stuff.’

      She bristled. ‘I might look like a lightweight, but I bet I can drink you under the table.’

      ‘Now there’s a challenge,’ he said, grinning at her before turning away to head over to the bar.

      She watched him charm the barmaid, wondering how on earth she was going to successfully insinuate herself into his life without it looking really suspicious. She was pretty sure he’d be entirely resistant to the idea of her keeping an eye on him if he knew that was what she was really here for.

      He was so different to Amy, she mused while waiting for him to come back with the drinks. It was odd, considering that they’d both been brought up in exactly the same environment at the same time. But then she and her younger sister weren’t exactly alike either. Violet was vivacious, artsy and beautiful, the total opposite of her: sensible, conventional and, if she was being totally honest with herself, only modestly attractive. Violet had always cast Flora into shadow whenever she was around; she was just one of those people with a natural joie de vivre that drew people to her.

      Men, particularly.

      An uncomfortable tightness had formed in Flora’s throat and she coughed to clear it as Alex finally returned to the table with her cider and a pint of lager for himself.

      ‘Thanks,’ she said, forcing her mouth into a smile as she took her drink from him.

      He gave her a nod and sat down in the chair opposite. ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?’ he asked.

      She shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’ll have something when I get home.’ She really didn’t fancy eating here. Their table looked as though it hadn’t been wiped in ages, which didn’t give her much confidence in the state of the kitchen.

      Picking up her drink, she took a few good gulps of it. The alcohol warmed her as it rushed down her throat to her stomach, lifting her spirits a little.

      ‘So how long have you been living in Bath?’ she asked, watching him knock back half of his own pint in one go.

      His eyes met hers and she saw a reaction in them that she couldn’t quite decipher. Wariness, maybe?

      ‘Just over a year. I was in London for a long time, but then I got together with the band I play with now. They’re mostly based in Bath, so it made sense to move here so I could practise with them more easily.’

      ‘Amy told me you play jazz.’ She hadn’t meant that to sound so derisive, but she’d never understood the lure of jazz and couldn’t imagine how anyone would want to listen to it every day, let alone make a career out of playing it.

      A flicker of annoyance crossed his face, but he didn’t pick up on her disparaging tone. ‘Yeah, we specialise in thirties-inspired jazz and blues, but sometimes we give our sets a more modern slant if we’re in the mood and the occasion calls for it.’

      ‘And how’s it all going?’ she asked, this time making sure to keep her tone upbeat. ‘Is it fulfilling? How do you make it lucrative? Do you play at weddings and parties?’

      He gave her a look that made her stomach clench with discomfort.

      ‘It’s not all about the money for me.’ He rested his arms on the table. ‘Look, I know jazz isn’t to everyone’s taste, but it’s worth giving it a chance before you write it off,’ he said bluntly.

      She wondered whether there was an underlying meaning to that. Don’t write me off until you know me better, perhaps. He had a point, she supposed. It was wrong of her to judge before she had all the facts.

      ‘Perhaps I could come to one of your gigs some time?’ she said, trying to pull back favour.

      He nodded and smiled in a manner that made her think he was just humouring her. His food arrived then and he thanked the server, then tucked straight into it as if he’d not eaten in days.

      This wasn’t exactly going how she’d planned. She’d really not expected him to be like this: so...blasé. If she so much as thought about Amy, her whole body flooded with a heavy sort of dread and she had to think about work or something practical so as not to start welling up.

      There was a good chance he was burying his pain though, so she needed to be patient and vigilant—ready to support him as and when he needed her.

      ‘You okay?’ Alex asked after finishing the last bite of his food, his satisfied expression morphing into a worried frown.

      She realised with a start that she’d been staring at him.

      ‘Fine. Just thinking about my week at work,’ she lied.

      ‘Want to tell me about it?’ he asked, though she could tell from the edge in his voice that he was really hoping she wouldn’t.

      Pushing aside a sting of hurt, she shook her head. She didn’t want him to know how difficult she was finding it to impress her new boss. ‘I’d rather just forget about it,’ she said, picking up her drink and taking a few more gulps of it for courage.

      He nodded but didn’t say anything.

      ‘So when is your next gig?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone light and conversational.

      ‘In a couple of weeks,’ he said, spinning his now-empty glass between his hands and glowering into the distance, as if picturing it unfavourably.

      ‘You know, I really would love to come,’ she said.

      He turned to shoot her a look of deep scepticism. ‘I got the impression it wasn’t your type of music.’

      She felt her face heat, embarrassed now by how dismissive her tone had been. ‘Yes, well, perhaps I should give jazz a chance.’ This struck her as funny for some reason. ‘Hey, you should work up a marketing campaign with that as your strapline. Give jazz a chance.’ She guffawed at her own joke, but for some reason Alex didn’t seem to find it funny.

      Grump.

      ‘But seriously,’ she said, rearranging her features back into a sober expression. ‘I really would like to come and support you.’

      ‘Well, that’s very selfless of you, Flora, but I’m afraid the gig’s sold out.’

      ‘Oh.’ This news shocked her. Perhaps СКАЧАТЬ