Seriously, Was It The Dog?
Nine Days Later – A Monday in May
I STOOD BACK, MY electric trimmer in my hands, as I checked out Portia the poodle’s final trim after her cut and blow-dry. Most of my clients brought their dogs in just to keep their coats in check, but Portia was a pedigree show dog and her trim had to be done to precision. She shook her head and sat proudly as I examined her, swapping my trimmer for a small pair of sharp scissors to snip away the odd bit of fur. She was a gorgeous two-year-old bitch, but it made me sad to know that she was never allowed to just be herself, to be able to run off lead, fetch sticks, jump in puddles, and roll in the mud like normal dogs. She’d won one of the UK’s most prestigious dog championships last year, which meant her breeding status had her as the hottest property in the country, with poodles from all over being vetted to be a stud for her.
‘Poor thing,’ I muttered as I gave her a doggie treat for sitting for me so patiently. Not only was she told when she was going to mate, but she had her partner chosen for her as well. There’d be no sniffing each other’s butts in the park and sussing out whether she liked him more than the next dog before some quick illicit doggie action behind a tree. I hadn’t had sex in over two years, but I’d still want some sort of control over the who, the where, and the why of it all.
I grinned and danced across the floor of my parlour as my mobile started playing Who Let The Dogs Out by The Baha Men, unable to resist singing along to the catchy tune, which Abbie had chosen as my ring tone. I froze as I picked up my phone and saw that it was Weston calling me. I’d been home for over a week without hearing a word from him and I’d given up hope, chalking up our brief flirtation to the madness of the heat of a foreign climate. I mean, who waited nine days to contact a girl after a first date, when they’d said “I’ll call you soon”? After three days of constantly checking my phone, I’d wrapped myself in a blanket, tub of ice cream and spoon in hand, to watch My Best Friend’s Wedding as a reminder that happy ever afters were never a guarantee. My finger hovered, ready to swipe right to answer, as I bit my lip trying to decide what to do.
Nine days was a long time to not call someone you were supposedly into. It was one day off ten, and there were classic warning signs about the number ten. Take the films 10 Things I Hate About You and How to Lose a Guy In 10 Days. Ok, technically they’d actually ended better than the titles sounded, but still. I decided I was being silly, that maybe he hadn’t called because he’d had an emergency leg amputation or a heart attack from an overdose of running. It was always the fit ones that had shocking exits from life. All that time spent honing their bodies, only to die on the treadmill or out jogging around the local park. Keeping fit was extremely hazardous to one’s health. Look how he’d lost his balance and fallen over while ogling me on the beach. As a personal trainer, he must see hundreds of pretty, scantily clad women, so falling over in his business was inevitable, which would lead to plenty of broken bones. The thought of him looking at other women the way he had me sent a surge of irrational jealousy through my body as I prepared to answer his call and offer my sympathy, for whatever accident had befallen the lecherous, and impossibly gorgeous and infuriating, Weston Argent. Who’d kept me waiting nine days for a damn call.
‘Georgie Basset of Pretty Paws & Dapper Dogs speaking, how can I help you?’ I breezed, not wanting him to know that I’d saved his number and had been questioning my self-worth as I waited over a week for his call. ‘Hello?’ I pulled the phone from my ear to look at the screen, only to realise I’d dithered too much and missed it. Portia let out a whine behind me and I sighed as I looked over at her, making her cock her head in response. Maybe having men of a certain pedigree lined up to have sex with you wasn’t such a bad thing, as I wasn’t exactly doing great trying to get a date on my own.
‘Oh, hello,’ I murmured as my mobile pinged to let me know I had a voice message. I hit play and put it on speaker phone as I gave Portia a gentle scratch behind the ears.
‘Ermmm, hi, Georgie, it’s Weston. Weston Argent. The guy you met in Mexico,’ he began, sounding adorably nervous. Did he think I had Alzheimer’s? We’d been on a date, for goodness sake, I wasn’t likely to forget who he was so fast. ‘So … I’ve been meaning to call you, but … well, time got away from me and I’ve been rather busy.’
‘Ogling scantily clad gym women and falling over,’ I muttered with a roll of my eyes and a pang of jealousy again.
‘Well, I was just wondering if you’d like to get that coffee sometime? If so, give me a call. Great … well, ok then … I guess that’s all. Bye.’
‘Seriously? Nine days and that’s what I get? “I guess that’s all. Bye.” Don’t sound so enthused,’ I stated, as I stabbed a finger at the phone to end the call. I picked up a comb to tease Portia’s fur into place while I silently mulled over his message. Was it too much to expect a “I really enjoyed our odd date and can’t wait to see you again?” Or a “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since I got home?” As I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him, even though our date hadn’t exactly been the best.
‘Georgie, is it safe to come in?’ came Juliet Bradley’s voice from outside, interrupting my ponderings.
‘Give me a minute, I need to put Portia in the cage,’ I called. ‘The last thing I need is to have to explain to Mrs. Potts that her pedigree poodle, who’s been saving her virginity for a high-class stud, has lost it to a fat and odorous sausage dog called Simon.’
‘I take offence to that! And so does Simon,’ Juliet retorted as she pressed her face up against the window and gave me a mock scowl, her smile giving away her amusement at our regular banter. ‘Besides, that’s the whole point of him coming twice a month, for you to make him smell better.’
‘Juliet, trust me, there’s only so much a doggie bubble bath will do. I can pretty him up on the outside, but that breath? That’s a whole other issue out of my remit. There you go, Portia, your mum will be here to pick you up anytime now,’ I reassured her as she pranced over to one of the large cages I was holding open for her.
‘Anyway, you’ve seen his little legs,’ Juliet continued. ‘He’s so short, he could walk under her with plenty of headroom. He’d need a set of doggie mounting steps to get him high enough to even do the deed. The closest he’s come to sex with anything at his level recently is with my resident hedgehog, and one attempt was enough to put him off for life. You should have heard the howl he made.’
‘Him or the hedgehog?’ I chuckled, quickly grabbing the disinfectant spray to clean down my waist-height, stainless steel grooming bench. ‘I’m sure there’s a prick joke in there somewhere. Come on in.’
‘Simon’s so excited about his visit, I can’t tell you. He was yapping all the way here. You have such a way with animals, Georgie. I’ve never seen him as happy as he’s been since we started coming to you. Sometimes I wonder if I should leave him here, I think he’d prefer to live with you,’ she added, as she opened the lower half of the stable door and led the man of the hour in.
‘I prefer to have the lining of my nostrils intact, thanks very much,’ I replied with a smile, turning to start filling the dog bath with warm water. ‘My God, what are you feeding him? You’ve seen how sausages on the barbeque burst, that will be him soon!’ His rotund tummy was practically dragging on the floor.
‘It’s not his fault he’s big boned,’ Juliet protested, as she shut the lower half of the door and unclipped his lead. ‘And he’s going through a drastic menopause this week, they say that piles on the weight. At least that’s the excuse I give everyone for my ever-expanding waistline.’
‘Menopause? Last I checked, Simon was a boy,’ I laughed. ‘Don’t tell me I’m wrong or I’ll have to rethink this whole career of mine.’
‘He’s a boy for sure,’ she nodded with a sigh as she picked him up and put him down on my workbench. ‘I stupidly didn’t put my medication away when I picked it up from the doctor’s the other week. Ten minutes I was out of the room for, ten minutes,’ she emphasised with both hands in the air as she wiggled her fingers. ‘That’s all it took for him to decimate the bag, box, and contents. A whole month’s worth of hormone replacement therapy pills in one go. Talk about an oestrogen boost. I swear he’s put on weight. Where his nipples are he now has rows and rows of inflated boobs, and his sex drive, which was non-existent, has gone into overdrive. He’s virtually turned into a bitch on heat.’
‘Ah, humping the hedgehog makes sense now,’ I giggled as I tested the water temperature.
‘He’s had the most awful mood swings too. I swear, he’s on a come down, it’s the first time he’s wagged his tail since before he ate them all. Honestly, he’d have been down the local supermarket buying up the entire chocolate aisle if he’d been a woman on that dose of hormones.’
‘Oh, poor Simon,’ I sympathised as I gave him a stroke and lowered my face to his level to look in his rich coffee-coloured eyes. ‘You’ll soon be feeling right as rain. The best way to relax a hormonal woman is a pamper session. I’ll give you a good brush and trim, then a nice bubble bath, massage, and blow-dry, then a pedicure. What do you say?’ I received an enthusiastic face licking in response, seconds before he tried to straddle and hump my arm.
‘No news from Miller?’ I asked Abbie. She’d come over for a takeaway and we were now curled up on the sofa in front of a roaring log fire, with a nearly empty bottle of wine and two glasses on the coffee table in front of us.
‘No.’ She gave me a crooked smile that told me how much she was really hurting, though she did a good job of hiding it from people who didn’t know her as well as I did. ‘I know I need to contact him, I just need a bit more courage and a decent plan. How about you, nothing still?’
‘I’m thinking it could well have been nothing,’ I replied, pulling a face as I tapped on my phone to play her the answer machine message.
‘He’s been “busy” for nine whole days?’ she scoffed as she air quoted the words, reiterating my thoughts that it sounded like an excuse. ‘You know what “busy” really means.’
‘“Busy is another word for asshole,’” we both cried out in unison, quoting one of our favourite lines from He’s Just Not That Into You before bursting into laughter.
‘I’m so confused, Abbie. I mean, he rang, right? He didn’t have to ring, but it takes five minutes to make a call to fix up a date, why wait so long?’
‘Either he’s the nervous type, which I can’t imagine an ex-Army guy being, or he’s not sure he wants a relationship. But it’s not about him, what do you want?’
‘I’m not sure,’ I shrugged. ‘Despite what I told him, I actually feel like I am ready to start dating seriously again and I mean, obviously anyone in their right mind would find Weston attractive, but … there’s just something about him that makes me slightly nervous.’
‘Me too,’ she nodded, sweeping up her wine glass from the table to drain the remaining contents. ‘No one in their right mind should wait nine minutes to snap you up, Georgie, let alone nine whole days.’
One Month Later – A Saturday in June
‘See you soon,’ I called, waving goodbye to my last appointment of the day, Karen and her full-of-life shorkie Max, who’d just been in for his regular trim and had kept me entertained for the last hour. I cleaned up the parlour in preparation for Monday’s bookings and headed up from the garden, using the back door into the utility room, then through to my kitchen where I flicked on the kettle. I was looking forward to putting my feet up and having a night in after a hectic week. I made myself a cup of tea and cradled it in my hands as I leaned back against the kitchen sink and smiled to myself. Life wasn’t so bad. Ok, I was single, but I felt like Greg was completely out of my system, business was booming, and I’d never been more at home anywhere than in my little cottage, which was all mine.
It was similar to Abbie’s, but not quite as big. Whereas hers was painted white with sage green windows and front door, mine was the reverse, sage green with a white front door and windows. All four cottages in the lane were classic-looking chocolate-box thatches, and we often got ramblers coming past taking pictures, using the many public footpaths around Dilbury. Inside, my kitchen had been separated from the dining room by a wall when I’d moved in, but I’d had the plasterboard removed to reveal some old beams. I had left the brick in the lower half, but had removed it from the waist up to give an open-plan feel. It also had the benefit of letting the light stream through to the kitchen from the large French doors that led from the dining room to the back garden and terrace. I had a small utility and boot room off the kitchen, complete with toilet, sink, and shower. The shower was really useful for cleaning myself up if I’d had a particularly messy day in the parlour.
The hallway was small and functional, with just enough room for a coat rack, shoe bench, and telephone table. My lounge was the last room downstairs and was a fairly decent size. I’d kept it cosy, with cream walls, dark wood furniture, and a deep conker brown leather sofa and two armchairs, with accents of gold or bronze in my pictures and ornaments. Also in the lounge was a recess under the stairs that I’d turned into a mini home-office area, to try and keep on top of my business paperwork. To be honest, I tended to just pile all my receipts and bills together and Abbie, being an accountant, sorted them all for me on “mate’s rates.”
The cottage walls were so thick that it felt sauna-like when I had the fire going, but kept ice box cool in the summer. Upstairs, I had two bedrooms and a small bathroom, with just enough headroom for a shower to be put in over the bath. My guest room was really only used by my parents on their occasional visit, but they preferred me to go to their spacious, three-storey Georgian mansion in the Cheshire countryside when we got together. Greg had dreamed of converting the guest room into a nursery one day, but while I hadn’t vocalised it, secretly I’d never really had that maternal urge. The whole issue of when we were going to start a family once we were married had finally been put to rest once we’d split up.
I jumped and nearly spilled my hot tea on myself as some loud raps signalled someone at my front door. Abbie and Daphne always used the back door to the utility, the postman had already been, and I wasn’t expecting any visitors. I headed to the hall, opened the door, and let out a soft gasp of surprise to find none other than Weston standing on my front step. He hit me with a killer smile that almost knocked me flat on my backside while his blue eyes roved over my face, trying to read my expression.
‘Hi. Sorry to call around unannounced, but I was in the area taking the dog for a walk, and well … you didn’t reply to my voicemail, so I thought I’d chance it. Of course, if you not replying was your way of politely telling me you weren’t interested in another date, you can just shut the door in my face and I won’t bother you again.’
I opened my mouth but no words came out. I wasn’t sure what to say, and I could barely hear myself think over the thudding of my heart in my chest. He had a way of making me feel like a giddy schoolgirl faced with her celebrity crush whenever I saw him. I was just so shocked to see him standing there after four weeks of radio silence since his less-than-enthusiastic voicemail. Daphne had given me a good talking to a while before, saying I needed to ring Weston back and agree to a date, but my head and my heart were extra cautious after Greg. I’d set Weston a secret mission, so secret even he had no idea he had one. I’d wanted him to chase me again, to let me know he was serious about wanting to see me, before I put myself out there. He’d obviously failed by not calling me again, making me give up hope. But suddenly here he was, standing on my front doorstep, looking every bit as dashing and gorgeous as he had in my frequent dreams of him.
‘Ok, I can take the hint. It really was good to meet you, Georgie,’ Weston said with a sigh of resignation. He turned to head back up my front path and almost tripped over the lead he was holding as it extended fully. The small dog that I hadn’t spotted before attached to the other end had braced his stocky little legs and refused to follow him.
‘Oh! Hello, gorgeous, I didn’t see you there,’ I cooed, dropping to a crouch to face the most adorable, mud-splattered, young French bulldog. He started wagging his tiny tail and bouncing on his front feet, excited that I’d noticed him. I cradled his face and gently massaged it, and he stuck out his tongue and lashed at my wrist enthusiastically. Abbie’s large English bulldog had been golden and white, while this little bundle of cuteness was a dark shade of grey with a white bib and had soft shining brown eyes. ‘He’s adorable, Weston.’
‘I’m a little bit confused now. Do you want me to stay or go? If you ask me to stay, I’ll always be wondering if it was the dog you were more interested in,’ he said with a nervous laugh.
‘I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude or confuse you,’ I smiled, as I ran my eyes up over his snug-fit dark blue jeans, past his navy jumper with white shirt collar peeking out, and up to his handsome, chiselled face. My dreams hadn’t recalled just how vivid those blue eyes of his were. ‘I’m happy to see you, both of you. You just kind of took me by surprise. I mean, I hadn’t heard from you in a month, then you just show up?’
‘I actually think it was me that hadn’t heard from you in a month. I left a voicemail asking if you wanted to go out sometime, I’m assuming you didn’t get it?’
‘I got it,’ I nodded, blushing as I considered how I was going to explain not responding without seeming like I had a bag full of relationship issues. ‘I just … my relationship track record isn’t great, I guess I wanted to see if you’d be persistent, to make sure you were interested before I agreed to a date.’
‘You said you didn’t want to rush another relationship, so I was trying to give you space,’ he replied, tilting his head as he waited for my reaction.
‘Oh, so you were backing off to not pressure me? That’s why you’re only just asking me on a date?’
‘Yes, and another date,’ he corrected. ‘Although the first one won’t go down in the annals of successful first dates, I still came back for more. I’m here, aren’t I?’
‘You are,’ I nodded, surprised by how happy I was about that now that I was over the shock of finding him outside my door. I let out a laugh as his dog put his front paws on my knees and jumped up to try and lick my face. ‘He’s so friendly. What’s his name?’
‘His name? It’s … ermmm … Bertie, Bertie the …’
‘Bulldog,’ I finished for him as he paused and looked down at the podgy pup at his feet. ‘A French one too. My favourite breed, closely followed by the English bulldog.’
‘I remember,’ he replied, obviously recalling our conversation over dinner in Mexico.
‘You never said you had a dog. How long have you had him?’ I asked, giving Bertie a kiss on the forehead before gently setting his front paws down and standing back up.
‘He’s new, so new it feels like only this morning,’ he laughed as he tugged on the lead, trying to stop Bertie from venturing into my house and failing miserably.
‘Well, you have a lot to learn by the looks of it,’ I observed. ‘You’re the master, not him. You have to keep him at your heel at all times or he’ll never be obedient.’
‘Trust me, I’m trying. He’s pretty stubborn and pig headed, and strong for such a tiny thing,’ Weston responded with another smile that had me smile back shyly in return.
‘So, is this a fleeting visit or do you have time to come in?’
‘I was hoping you’d agree to come into Shrewsbury with us for afternoon tea and a walk.’
‘Oh, that sounds lovely, but I’m actually shattered after working all morning and I don’t exactly look my best. To be honest, I was looking forward to putting my feet up. And haven’t you already taken him for a walk? You don’t want to wear him out.’
‘I thought dogs loved walks.’
‘They do, but he’s still a puppy and there’s a limit to how much you should exercise him at that age. And looking at the state of him, you’ve already dragged him through some rough terrain. For someone who loves dogs, you really don’t seem to know a lot about them,’ I added, eyeing him curiously.
‘It’s one thing loving your friends’ and family’s dogs, a whole other thing becoming a dog owner,’ he confirmed, grimacing as he tried to pull Bertie back by his side.
‘Well, why don’t you come in?’ I suggested. ‘I’m sorry I’m in my scruffy work clothes, I’d just finished for the day. I must look frightful.’ I looked down at my old, ripped, skin-tight jeans and worn black t-shirt that had Max’s hair on it. I had no makeup on and my hair was pulled up in a messy bun. I felt my cheeks turn scarlet, mortified to be caught looking like this, while he looked like he’d just stepped out of an Abercrombie & Fitch catalogue.
‘You still look gorgeous to me,’ he murmured sincerely, his eyes skimming my form-fitting clothes before returning to meet my embarrassed gaze.
‘Thank you.’ And right back at you, I thought. ‘Come on then, I’ll make a hot drink and start the fire, then we can take Bertie into my parlour and give him a bath, get rid of all of this mud. I was going to order Chinese for dinner if you want to join me?’
‘Oh, ok,’ he responded, pulling a frown as he checked his watch. ‘I guess I could.’
I bit my tongue as I gestured for them to come inside. I just couldn’t work him out at all. One minute he did and said things that told me he really was into me, then he’d blow that out of the water with this air of casual indifference. Like taking the time to get to know me was an inconvenience. Was he looking for a relationship or just casual sex? If it was the latter, he was in for a rude awakening, as that wasn’t something I’d ever be up for, even with someone as hot and intriguing as him.
‘Bertie,’ I laughed as he rolled in the dog bath, sloshing water all over the sides and onto my t-shirt. Weston stood with his arms folded, one hip resting against my workbench, his bright blue eyes keenly watching my every move. His rich laughter as he studied us both made my toes curl with delight. ‘Come on, out you get, baby boy,’ I coaxed, as I grabbed Bertie’s wriggling wet body and hoisted him out onto the freshly heated towel. I quickly wrapped him in it until just his face was showing, then gently rubbed him dry, making sure to get into all his soft folds of skin.
‘He looks like E.T.,’ Weston chuckled. ‘You’re so good with him.’
‘It’s my job, but it helps that I love it. You know, he really doesn’t like the name Bertie, he doesn’t respond to it at all. Was it something else before you got him?’
‘Hmmm, Bouncer,’ Weston nodded. Bertie’s head snapped to fix him with an inquisitive look as soon as he heard the name.
‘See, he knows that name, but I do like Bertie better. It suits him. Bertie the bulldog has a much better ring to it than Bouncer the bulldog. Bouncer’s more a name for a big rough–and-tumble dog, like a retriever or labrador.’
‘Then Bertie it is,’ Weston nodded, smiling again as he caught my eye. I felt a stirring of butterflies in my tummy every time he smiled at me, and the way his eyes lit up as he watched me reassured me that regardless of the less-than-glamorous state he’d found me in, he was every bit as attracted to me as I was to him. So far, though, just like on our date, I seemed to be doing most of the talking.
I changed into some clean clothes while Weston stoked the fire, Bertie having fallen sound asleep next to it in one of the spare dog beds I kept for emergency sleepovers. I did my best to tease my hair into some kind of styled mess before heading back down, then went to find a bottle of wine to have with our dinner. I groaned when I realised that Abbie and I had drunk the last bottle the night before. I grabbed my purse and stuck my head into the lounge to find him checking out my bookshelves.
‘Do you mind sitting here while I run to the shop? I’m out of wine.’
‘Where’s the shop? I can drive you there,’ he offered.
‘It’s ok, it’s only across the field, up on the main road in the village. I’ll be five minutes, ten tops if Mrs. Vickers is in one of her chatty moods.’
‘Mrs. Vickers?’
‘The shopkeeper, though it’s up for sale. She’s just been diagnosed with dementia, poor thing. Easily confused. Can talk the hind legs off a donkey.’
‘Well, if you won’t let me drive you, I’ll walk with you.’
‘I’m perfectly safe on my own. It’s Dilbury, not a rough city.’
‘Maybe I just want to spend more time in your company,’ he replied, holding my gaze for a moment and making my stomach flutter again. ‘Do we wake sleeping beauty?’
‘Have you never heard the phrase “Let sleeping dogs lie”?’ I gasped with a shake of my head. ‘He’s out for the count. Just put the grate in front of the fire and he’ll be fine for five minutes. Trust me, I’m a doggie professional,’ I added, then gasped as he burst out laughing. ‘You know what I meant!’
‘Maybe, but that’s information every guy loves to hear from his date,’ he grinned.
‘Men,’ I huffed. ‘All sex mad. What with Simon trying to mount a hedgehog last month, and now you with your double entendres.’
‘Does Simon have dementia too? I seriously hope so if he’s into hedgehogs,’ he uttered as he covered the fire and doubled checked on Bertie before coming to join me.
‘Simon’s a dachshund with an overactive sex drive,’ I reassured him.
We headed out and he raised his eyebrows when he saw I didn’t lock the front door. People just didn’t get how safe Dilbury was. Neighbourhood Watch had nothing on our villagers’ propensity for peeking through their net curtains. We headed over the stile and trudged through the paddock to come out behind The Cock & Bull, then turned up Ivy Lane to reach the Post Office and local shop on the corner. Mrs. Vickers was behind the counter, with her husband just visible through the open door behind her, sitting in their lounge watching the TV with half an eye on her. If I was him, I’d keep both eyes on her, and ears too. She was becoming a complete liability. Poor Mr. Bentley had been the talk of the village a few months back when she’d told everyone he had erectile dysfunction. She’d confused his need for Miracle Grow for his floppy petunias with Viagra for a floppy penis.
‘Evening, Mrs. Vickers,’ I called as we made our way into the small shop, crammed from floor to ceiling with all sorts of supplies.
‘Oh, hello, Bobbie, how’s the toilet cleaning business going?’ she beamed.
‘Really well, thank you,’ I replied, grinning at Weston with a gentle roll of my eyes.
‘Bobbie? Toilet cleaning?’ he mouthed.
‘I told you, she gets confused,’ I whispered. ‘She’s called me Bobbie from day one, and somehow confused dog for bog and thinks I clean toilets and unblock drains for a living. It’s just easier to go along with it than correct her. I even had to come around with a plunger to sort hers out after Mr. Vickers had a bad case of vindalooitis and she called me in a panic. Let’s just say a hot curry isn’t the way he should have been dealing with his two-week constipation, he nearly backed up the entire village sewer system.’
‘Oh my God,’ he chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. I really liked the way his face lit up when he smiled. He had such a serious look normally. Handsome, but serious, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.
‘Is that your fiancé with you? Surprised he took you back after that whole affair with Rowena,’ she called, craning her neck to get a better look at Weston. I grimaced and let out a sigh as my shoulders slumped in defeat. How could she remember the hussy barmaid’s name and not mine, and think that I’d had the torrid affair with her, not Greg?
‘No, it’s not Greg, Mrs. Vickers,’ I replied, as I picked up a bottle of white Chardonnay and showed it to Weston for his approval. Not that we had a lot of choice in here. He nodded curtly.
‘Well, I said to Mabel … Mabel, I said, did you hear that Bobbie the toilet cleaner ran off with Rowena? Broken-hearted Greg was over it all. Mabel said she thought you’d have been too ashamed to show your face in the village again, but you turned up at the village fête bold as brass. Mabel was so shocked she needed her smelling salts, but I said to her… Mabel, I said, she’s the best with a plunger in miles! Reg has stopped worrying about straining now he knows you can clear the toilet when he does eventually go. You’ve done absolute wonders for his piles. Hasn’t she done wonders for your piles, Reg?’ she hollered over her shoulder.
‘Who you telling about my piles now, Sheila?’ called Mr. Vickers, as I tried to let the fact I’d been village gossip roll off me.
‘Only Bobbie. You ought to let her take a look at them, she must be experienced with them in her line of work.’
‘No, thank you,’ Mr. Vickers and I responded forcefully in unison. In what universe did a toilet cleaner look at people’s piles anyway?
‘Is she for real?’ Weston asked under his breath as we headed to the counter, with me carrying a couple of bottles of the wine we’d settled on.
‘Sadly, yes,’ I replied, setting them down by the register.
‘So, who’s this latest in the long line of loves and losses of Bobbie Basset?’ Sheila asked, folding her arms as she looked over the top of her half-moon specs at us both, then ran her gaze up and down Weston a few times.
‘This is Weston.’
‘Heston? Well, I never. He’s so much better looking in person than on the television.’
‘On the television?’ I asked, shooting Weston an incredulous look. He’d kept that quiet.
‘I’ve never been on the television. I think you must have me confused with someone else,’ he replied.
‘We tried that slug porridge of yours not long ago. Can’t say we really enjoyed it, did we, Reg? Reg? I said we didn’t really enjoy it, did we? Too slimy,’ she called over her shoulder. Weston gave me a wide-eyed look as I tried not to laugh when I realised who she’d confused him with.
‘What’s that, love?’ Reg called.
‘Slug porridge. Wasn’t very nice, was it?’
‘No, dear. But I don’t think you were supposed to use our garden slugs, I think it was supposed to be snails.’
‘Well, we have lots of those, too,’ she nodded, turning to face us. ‘You’ll have to write down the recipe for me, Heston, make sure I get it right this time. Fancy you being able to bag someone so famous for a boyfriend, Bobbie, with your reputation as well!’
‘He’s not Heston,’ I asserted, trying not to let her snide barb affect me. ‘He’s Weston. And he’s … a friend.’
‘Actually, I’m her boyfriend and I’m not sure it’s appropriate for you to be talking about her in that manner, Mrs. Vickers. It was Greg that cheated on her, not the other way around, and she deserves to be treated with a little more respect than to be the victim of incorrect and malicious village gossip.’
‘Feisty one, aren’t you? I don’t remember you being feisty on television.’
‘Again, I’m not on television. I’m Weston, not Heston. And for the record, her name is Georgie, not Bobbie, and she cleans dogs, not … bogs,’ he stated firmly as he ripped a twenty pound note out of his wallet and slapped it down on the counter next to the wine, a look of annoyance on his face. I looked up at him, astonished at how indignant he was over her incorrect assumptions about me. Greg would never have stood up for me like that, even though in five minutes she’d have forgotten all of that and I’d go back to being Bobbie, the bog cleaner and lesbian heart-breaker. ‘I’d like you to apologise to my girlfriend right now.’
‘Girlfriend?’ Sheila and I said at the same time, me with my heart in my throat.
‘Yes, is that ok?’ he asked, looking down at me for confirmation.
‘I … I guess I just … I didn’t think we were at the boyfriend and girlfriend stage. I mean, we’ve only had one kind of weird date and now an afternoon and evening together.’
‘I stayed away because I didn’t want to pressure you, Georgie, but it made me miserable, more miserable than I thought possible. So I don’t want to play games and try and second guess what you want. You want slow, we’ll go slow, but we’re not in the playground anymore. I didn’t think I needed to ask for permission to call you my girlfriend when you’ve agreed to date me.’ He gave me a puzzled look as I floundered for a response. Truth be told, while I didn’t want to rush anything, my stomach had just started a spin cycle at hearing him call me his girlfriend.
‘We just … I just … I … well, we haven’t really discussed it, this, where we see it going,’ I stuttered. There was still so much I didn’t know about him. He wasn’t exactly a sharer.
‘So, are you dating or not?’ Sheila asked. ‘He’s a fine-looking fellow, and to be honest, with her reputation, you could do better for yourself, Heston. My niece Cerys would eat her glass eye to have a man like you ask her out. Terrible cook she is. I’ll find her number for you.’
‘No need, thank you,’ Weston said firmly, giving up on correcting her. He’d obviously come to the inevitable conclusion that it was pointless. He quickly scanned the shop, his eyes lighting up as he spotted something in the rows of loose sweets. He grabbed it, then shocked me by dropping to one knee in front of me.
‘What are you doing?’ I squeaked, as Sheila gasped and folded herself over the counter to get a better look, as Weston took my right hand and slipped something onto my finger.
‘Georgie Basset, dog groomer of Dilbury, will you take me, Weston Argent, personal trainer, to be your boyfriend? I won’t pressure you for too much too soon, and I can’t promise forever, but I can promise that each date will be better than the last. Though after Mexico, that’s not saying much,’ he scoffed, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement as he held my shocked gaze and continued to hold my hand. ‘I’d really like the chance to surprise you while I get to know you, as I … well, I really like you, Georgie. I think you like me too, and while I know neither of us is looking to rush into anything, I’d like to be exclusive while we get to know each other and see if this could actually be something. So, what do you say?’
‘I … I …’ I looked down at my hand and giggled to see a red and green sugar-coated jelly ring on my finger. He was so perplexing, he could swing from serious to fun in the blink of an eye.
‘You don’t want Bobbie, Heston. Cerys would give her false teeth for a man as good-looking as you, especially one that’s famous and cooks,’ interrupted Sheila.
‘I thought she had a glass eye?’ I murmured, holding Weston’s gaze. He was trying his hardest not to laugh.
‘That too. She hasn’t aged well, that’s for sure,’ stated Sheila with an air of disappointment that had me stifling my laughter as well. ‘When they were giving out looks and brains, she was at the back of the queue, but she’s eager to please. Very matronly hips, excellent child-bearing potential,’ she added, making her sound like she was reading poor Portia the poodle’s résumé aloud.
‘Thanks, but I’m only interested in one woman at the moment,’ Weston replied, his eyes not leaving mine for a second. ‘So, what do you say? Will you be my girlfriend, Georgie?’
‘Who’s Georgie? That’s Bobbie’s hand you’re holding. He might be good at all this fancy nuclear astronomy, but I think he’s a bit soft in the head. I’d steer clear if I was you, dear. Mind you, Cerys can’t afford to be fussy with her looks, he’ll do for her.’
‘Mrs. Vickers, really? Can you just give us one minute?’ I softly scolded, giving her a disapproving look as I tried to catch my breath. I’d thought of nothing but going on another date with Weston, despite how the first one had turned out. And he’d come looking for me after I hadn’t returned his call, which showed he had tenacity and determination to succeed. And we’d had a really fun and relaxed afternoon together. If I couldn’t say yes to dating him, a man I sparked with, I may as well give up on men altogether and go after Rowena the hussy myself. I looked back down at him and took a deep breath before answering.
‘Yes, yes, my answer is yes. I’ll be your girlfriend,’ I smiled, nodding furiously so there would be no mistaking my enthusiasm for his plan.
‘Thank God, my knee was starting to cramp up and my fingers are sticky from that jelly ring,’ he laughed as he quickly stood up. ‘What do you say to grabbing this wine and continuing our official date in private?’
‘An excellent idea,’ I agreed. ‘But let me pay for the wine, Weston, it was my idea and you won’t be able to have much as you’re driving.’
‘Don’t worry about it,’ he replied as he pushed the note towards Mrs. Vickers again. ‘It’s the least I can do after you gave Bouncer a free grooming session.’
‘Bertie,’ I reminded him as I picked up both bottles. ‘Well, thank you, that was kind of you.’
He put the change Mrs. Vickers gave him in the charity box, then placed his hand in the small of my back and guided me to the exit.
‘Reg, you won’t believe what just happened,’ we heard Sheila call in the background. ‘Bobbie the toilet cleaner has only gone and got engaged to a real-life celebrity in our shop!’
‘I’m sorry I’ve got to go, but it’s a long drive home,’ Weston advised as we stood next to his white BMW, where Bertie was sniffing around inside. He hadn’t even kitted it out with a dog cage in the boot. He was the most unprepared and inexperienced dog owner I’d ever met.
‘You’re only in Tibberton, the other side of Shrewsbury. It’s a forty-minute journey at most,’ I reminded him, really not wanting the evening to end.
‘Right, but it’s a long journey for him. So, are you free tomorrow? I thought we could go for Sunday lunch somewhere, as long as you don’t think I’m moving too fast.’
‘You’re not moving too fast, I’d love that,’ I confirmed, wrapping my arms around myself as I nervously chewed on my lower lip, wondering if he was going to try and kiss me. He couldn’t take his eyes off my lips, and while it had been some time since a man had tried to kiss me, I was pretty sure where his brain was at right now. And I couldn’t have been more on the same page if I tried. ‘Where do you suggest?’
‘You choose,’ he offered.
‘Ok, well, how about we meet at The Mytton and Mermaid in Atcham at one o’clock?’ I suggested. ‘Lovely food, roaring fires, and it’s halfway for both of us, to save you coming all the way over to me again. And we can take Bertie for a walk in the park opposite when we’re done.’
‘Oh, right. Well, I wasn’t going to bring him,’ he replied, dragging a hand over the beginnings of some dark stubble on his chin and around his mouth. He shot a look back into the car to find Bertie was now sitting in the driver’s seat, his head cocked as he watched us.
‘You can’t leave him at home,’ I objected, casting a fond look at the pup. ‘He’s obviously still bonding with you and you’ll ruin all of your hard work to date.’
‘Seriously, is it me you agreed to date or the dog?’ he chuckled.
‘You come as a package, Weston. Him I’ve sussed, you I need a bit more time with. I don’t feel like I know much about you at all,’ I smiled, gazing up at him through my lashes.
‘Well, he has excellent taste. He clicked with you immediately.’ Weston lifted his right hand and slowly slid it behind my neck, his fingers weaving into my hair and his thumb gently brushing my jaw as he stepped closer, making my breath hitch. I lifted my chin up to hold his needy gaze, feeling the heat from his hard, muscular body pressing against mine. I licked my dry lower lip as he lowered his mouth towards mine, and it took a concerted effort not to sag against him as he lay a soft, delicate kiss on my lips that had stars explode behind my closed eyes. Before I had a chance to grip his biceps for support and kiss him back the way I was desperate to, he’d stepped away and was opening his car door.
I shook my head to rid myself of the giddiness I was feeling as he wrestled an excited Bertie out of pole position, then I reached up and touched my lips. My skin was humming with need for more of him as he shut his car door quickly when Bertie tried to make a bid for freedom. My limited experience with men told me a gentle first kiss like that wasn’t normal. Once they started, they usually didn’t want to stop. What had gone wrong? Had I given off such a badly scarred vibe he was terrified of pushing me too hard? I cursed myself for allowing Greg’s shattering of my self-worth to still be getting to me. I was going to have to make it clear tomorrow that as long as he didn’t propose or move his things in straight away, I was strong enough to keep this moving along at a normal pace. Which would include plenty of kissing. I quickly dropped my hand from my kiss-starved lips as he looked my way after starting the engine and eased his window down a fraction.
‘I had a really good time, Georgie,’ he said. ‘See you tomorrow.’
‘See you tomorrow,’ I agreed, reassured at the sincerity in his tone and his gaze.
He slowly reversed out of my drive and into the lane, then flashed me one of those sexy-as-hell grins and winked as he saluted me, making me blush and giggle. I waved as he made his way up the bumpy track past Daphne and Abbie’s cottages and disappeared around the corner.
‘Well, Georgie Bassett, it seems like you finally have a boyfriend again,’ I breathed, then hugged myself with excitement, thrilled to feel that sensation instead of panic or dread, and ran back inside. I wanted to sit with my unfinished glass of wine and dissect every moment of the afternoon and evening in minute detail.