As they walked to the pub, Rosie wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t made that joke. She glanced at Charlie from the corner of her eye. She walked with a different gait to anyone she knew — spine straight and chin up. She’d probably been taught to walk like that in the army.

“Welcome to the Dog & Duck,” Rosie said, and held the door open for Charlie.

She walked in behind her and glanced around. It wasn’t too busy — yet. They should be able to have a quiet drink. At least until the crowd arrived for the pub’s weekly karaoke night. But as far as pubs went in Otter Bay, the one owned by Amy’s parents was the only option.

“What can I get you?” Rosie asked after they’d found a table.

Charlie looked at her with sparkling green eyes. “Surprise me with a local brew.”

Rosie nodded. “Very well.”

She headed to the bar and said hello to the bartender, Dave, who smirked at her. Oh great, it was starting already.

Rosie placed her order and didn’t give Dave any information on who she was with. She and Amy might have spent an inordinate amount of time perched on a stool at this very bar when they were still together, but that didn’t mean Rosie owed him any explanations.

Dave put two glasses of Cornish cider in front of her. “I wish I could give them to you on the house,” he said. “For good luck and all.” He winked at her.

He knew well and good Rosie would never accept a free drink from this particular house. She paid for the drinks and headed back to the table.

“What have we here?” Charlie studied the liquid in the glass.

“Local cider,” Rosie said. “The same one I was drinking at the beach pub earlier this week. I hope you like it.”

“Let’s see. That tumble down the hill has left me quite thirsty.”

Rosie watched Charlie bring her lips to the edge of the glass and take a tiny sip. The corners of her mouth drew down.

“Yum,” Charlie said.

Rosie chuckled. “Maybe it’s a bit more of an acquired taste than I remember.”

“I’m sure the second sip will be better, what with the taste acquisition process steadily progressing.” She drank again and made a visible effort to smile right after.

“I can get you something else,” Rosie said. “This is supposed to be an enjoyable evening.”

“It is.” Charlie briefly looked her in the eye. “Honestly.” Charlie averted her gaze and Rosie followed it. “Pub games,” Charlie almost-shouted. “They’ve definitely gone out of fashion in London.”

“Wanna play?” Rosie arched up her eyebrows.

Charlie nodded and got up. She came back with one of the boxes of skittles.

“This seems to be the most popular game in town.” Charlie sank her front teeth into her bottom lip. “You’ll have to teach me.”

Rosie tilted her head. “You’ve never played skittles?”

“As I said, pub games are terribly out of fashion where I’m from.”

Rosie nodded. “And you being such an on-trend bird…”

“Exactly.” Charlie’s eyes narrowed as she smiled.

Rosie moved the cider glasses aside and set up the game.

“It’s tiny bowling,” Charlie exclaimed.

Rosie chuckled. “Exactly.” She wondered, not for the first time, if Charlie was even from this planet.

Rosie explained how the game worked, showing Charlie how to wind the string around the ball and how to launch it at the pins. They played a few rounds, all of which Rosie won.

“You should start a petition to get games like this back into London pubs,” Rosie said. “So many of you come down here for the weekend, only to make fools of yourselves at skittles.”

“Truth be told, I’m more a wine bar kind of girl,” Charlie said.

“I’d gathered as much.” Rosie pointed at the game. “One more round?”

Charlie looked around. “How about a game of pool instead? I’d like to beat you at something today.”

“Oh, the game is on.” Rosie jumped to her feet.

“Yes, it is.” Charlie followed her to the pool table. She seemed more confident about this and opened the game, pocketing a ball straight away. “Impressed yet?” She stood there grinning with the cue in her hands.

“A tiny bit more than I’ve been thus far this evening.” Rosie’s hands itched for her turn to come around.

Rosie almost missed Charlie’s next ball going in because her gaze had drifted to the outline of Charlie’s behind in her jeans as she leaned half her body over the pool table.

Charlie turned around and looked at her triumphantly. “I guess I’m better with balls than with tiny bowling pins.”

Rosie didn’t reply. She was still processing how good Charlie looked in skinny jeans — she looked nothing like the woman in the Paul Smith jacket who had bumped into her at the station two weeks ago.

Charlie missed the next shot.

Rosie was up. She pushed the thought of well-fitting jeans from her head and focussed on the task at hand. She scanned the position of the balls on the table. If she could concentrate, which was not a given in these circumstances, she could have a good run. Or maybe she should just let Charlie win, what with her having lost at skittles already. But Rosie couldn’t do it. And Charlie had grinned at her with a bit too much confidence in her pool skills just a minute ago.

Rosie pocketed the next four balls. After she missed the fifth by a hair, displaying her skills regardless, she took a step back and waited in silence. If she could remain focussed, this game was hers for the taking.

“It’s definitely on then.” Charlie looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “You’re a worthy contender.”

Rosie refused to let her gaze wander while Charlie manoeuvred around the pool table. She kept her attention on the table alone.

“How about we make this a little more interesting?” Charlie asked. She came to stand right in front of Rosie. “I saw on the blackboard they’re having karaoke here later. The loser has to sing a song for the winner.” She plastered a huge grin on her face.

Poor Charlie. She had no idea that Rosie had won trophies for playing pool at uni. Granted, she was a bit rusty. But that earlier four-ball streak was just her warm up.

“Deal.” Rosie extended her hand. Charlie shook it. Her hand lingered a fraction too long, and the prolonged touch of skin was about to lessen Rosie’s focus again. She withdrew her hand. “You’re up, Miss London.”

“Just for your information, pool is still widely played in the capital,” Charlie said before she turned around and studied the table.

Rosie watched as she effortlessly sank the next three balls.

“Just keeping things exciting,” Charlie said after missing the next ball.

“I thank you for the opportunity to kick your arse,” Rosie said. She wasn’t this cocky when she played pool at university. Then again, she’d rarely played against women like Charlie. It wasn’t just her behind that looked good in those skinny jeans. Rosie also felt quite flustered by the intensity of Charlie’s gaze when she talked to her, and the promise of an impressive shoulder line underneath her jumper.

“Are you still playing or are we spending the night here while you line up your next shot?” Charlie asked, a smile on her lips.

“I’m trying to focus,” Rosie said.

“Hm,” was all Charlie said. She walked to the other end of the table and leaned on her cue.

Rosie could swear that Charlie stood sideways like that, one hand on the cue, the other resting on a rear jeans pocket, on purpose. To distract her.

She narrowed her gaze, shifted her focus, and potted her next ball straight into the pocket. Only three more shots and she’d be crowned the winner. And Charlie would have to sing her a song. She’d get a full three minutes to ogle Charlie while she was on stage — but only if she paid attention to the game now.

Rosie hunched over the table and got ready to sink the blue ball. Just as she had started to draw back the cue, the door of the pub opened, and Amy walked in.

Rosie couldn’t stop the momentum of the cue and it hit the white ball from the wrong angle. She didn’t pocket the blue ball. The white ball hit the black instead which, agonisingly slowly, rolled to the opposite side, where it tumbled into the pocket.

“Bloody hell,” Rosie said. It hadn’t even been Charlie distracting her.

Charlie waved a fist in the air. “Looks like you owe me a song.” She sent Rosie a crooked grin. “I can’t begin to tell you how much I’m looking forward to that.”

They had polished off a dinner of fish and chips and another few drinks — cider for Rosie, white wine for Charlie — when Amy wandered across to their table.

“Evening, ladies.” Luckily, she didn’t lean in to kiss Rosie on the cheek. “I’m in charge of karaoke tonight. Can I put your names down?”

“Rosie owes me a song, so you can definitely put her down,” Charlie said.

“Does she now?” Amy brought a hand to her side. She looked at Rosie, then focussed her gaze on Charlie. She scowled. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

Charlie pushed her glasses up her nose. “I don’t think so. I just have one of those faces.” She turned away from Amy.

“I could have sworn I did.” Amy let it go and turned to Rosie. “So, I’m putting your name on the list. Okay?”

Rosie nodded reluctantly. Charlie had won fair and square. “Just give me some time to, um, limber up my vocal chords.” She grabbed hold of her glass.

With a sly grin, Amy walked off.

“Not someone you’re very fond of?” Charlie asked.

Rosie looked into her glass. No matter how much she drank, her vocal chords would never be limber enough, nor would she be able to gather enough nerve to get up on that stage in front of Charlie and Amy. Besides, she’d had more than enough cider already. “She’s my ex.” Rosie leaned over the table. “Whose family is also doing their very best to put my cafe out of business.” She took another sip of her drink. It was helping her to get these words out. Charlie looked sympathetic enough.

“The one you were telling me about?” Charlie’s eyes grew wide.

“Yup. And I can’t seem to escape her. She’s everywhere. My life would be so much better if Amy stopped turning up.”

“The only other lesbian in the village, eh.” Charlie sent Rosie a smile.

The screeching feedback of the mic interrupted their conversation. Then Amy’s voice beamed out of the pub’s ultra-modern sound system.

“The time has come, folks,” Amy said. It was way beneath her to apologise for the annoying microphone noise. “For some good old Otter Bay karaoke.”

About three people on the side of the stage clapped.

“I’m your compere Amy. Most of you know me already, of course.”

A few more people cheered. The way Amy was talking, you’d think she was introducing herself at Wembley Stadium instead of the pub in Otter Bay.

“As tradition has it, I’ll kick off tonight’s proceedings.” She chuckled into the microphone. At times like these, Rosie wondered what she’d ever seen in Amy.

Amy nodded at Dave behind the bar, who was in charge of the music. The first notes of I Will Always Love You started playing.

Rosie wished she could curl up in a ball and hide under the table.

When she glanced at the stage, she saw Amy looking straight at her as she launched into the song. Rosie closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to pretend this wasn’t happening.

When she opened her eyes again, Amy had reached the chorus, and Charlie’s hand rested on Rosie’s forearm. “Another one of those, perhaps?” She picked up Rosie’s empty glass.

Rosie nodded because she had no idea how else she was going to make it through this evening.