.
you laugh I’m going to have to kill you and bury you right here under this tree. Fairy rings will probably appear over your—’
‘Seriously, though, Glor. What the double actual?’
‘You said you wouldn’t laugh,’ she pouted.
‘This isn’t amusement. It’s bemusement. So come on then, you might as well tell me, what’s your spirit animal?’
Gloria looked at him like it should be obvious and when he just gazed back at her waiting she rolled her eyes and said, ‘Red panda.’
‘A red panda?’ Now his laugh escaped like a pack of hyenas had slipped the lock on its cage and thrust the doors open wide to party with it. ‘But aren’t those cute and fluffy and have those eyes that suck you in and—’
‘And what of it?’
‘Well I have to tell you that aside from the eyes, I’m pretty sure your spirit animal is more along the size and shape of—’
‘Of?’ she challenged.
‘A Tasmanian Devil.’
Fire shot through those gorgeous eyes but was accompanied by a tiny spark of something else. It couldn’t possibly be hurt but just in case it was he held his hands out placatingly and said, ‘Okay, okay, that was a little harsh. Let’s see,’ he snapped his fingers. ‘Got it.’
‘If you’re not about to say a butterfly …’
‘Butterfly? Sure. If for butterfly you mean armadillo.’
Her mouth dropped open and he felt that strange gravitational pull again. ‘Armadillo?’
He blinked. Stopped thinking about her mouth and concentrated on – he couldn’t believe it – spirit animals. ‘Yep. Armadillo. You know hard on the outside …’
‘Soft on the inside.’ Gloria nodded. ‘Makes sense, I suppose. Give me the book so I can look up armadillo.’
Seth grinned. ‘I was thinking more, hard on the outside … Kevlar on the inside.’
‘Go now,’ she said, her eyes flashing white-hot fire as she snatched the book out of his hands and held it threateningly. ‘Go before I Jason-Bourne-kill-you with this book.’
He laughed and got up.
Decided it wasn’t worth telling her he’d see her at dinner the following evening seeing as she was looking like the apple core she was holding would make an even better throwing star than the book.
The Cow, The Bitch and the Wardrobe Choice
Gloria
Gloria made her way slowly along the country lane towards Knightley Hall.
It was the perfect evening for walking, although admittedly that was mostly because who in their right mind wasted fuel driving to their own humiliation ceremony?
She frowned.
Any time she wanted to ditch the sulky attitude and come to terms with the fact that accepting defeat gracefully was the only appropriate response, was fine by her.
So what if her new moniker was about to be Whispers Wood’s Briefest Bridesmaid?
And so what if maybe the real reason she was upset was that deep, deep, deepest down inside herself she’d opened the door to being the type of person who could witness a friend getting married and think only good things about it all.
She was just going to have to deal because it was absolutely redonkulous to be this upset when she only had herself to blame.
Out of nowhere a tatty old punctured football landed at her feet with a soft thud.
Her gaze went from the football to the cow now standing in front of her.
Oh, for Friesian’s sake.
‘Gertrude, I don’t have time for this,’ she muttered.
Gertrude’s hoof kicked playfully at the ball again, missing it because, you know, cow, and Gloria responded by swiftly kicking the ball solidly into the hedgerow. ‘Not Messi,’ she said shaking her head and pointing at Gertrude. ‘Cow,’ she explained. ‘Your job is to stand in a field, eat grass and produce milk. What part of that don’t you get?’
Bypassing the bovine she carried on determinedly to the Hall, her feet crunching purposefully along the gravel driveway.
Wanting more than anything now to get her fate over and done with, she nearly jumped out of her skin when a voice behind her asked, ‘Why is Gertrude standing in the lane looking like a kicked puppy?’
She whirled around. ‘Seth? What are you doing here?’
He grinned and she was reminded he was the cause of her not being able to sleep last night on account of endlessly asking herself what the hell had been the deal with the apple and the oral play yesterday? Honestly, it had been one step away from tying the apple stalk into a knot with his tongue and her heart did a juvenile skipping-a-beat thing every time she thought about it.
He’d completely messed with her circadian rhythm, getting all x-rated eating habits with her like that. Was it any wonder she’d kicked a cow when she was down?
‘I live here, remember?’ he offered.
‘Right.’ Why hadn’t she thought about that and why, she now thought suspiciously, hadn’t he mentioned he’d be here when she’d told him she’d been summoned to dinner? The very last thing she needed was for him to see her being given the, ‘It’s not me, it’s definitely you,’ speech.
She made a shooing motion with her hand. ‘Well, skedaddle. Go find Beth or someone. This is not an episode of “You’re Fired”. I’m not going to give you an interview afterwards.’
‘Don’t worry. If it comes to it, I’ll put in a good word for you,’ he said amiably.
She gave him a little side-eye. Him being here like he wanted to provide her with some friendly support – like he knew she was maybe struggling with what was about to go down – had her heart pitter-pattering at a level she was worried might actually require medical assistance. ‘No thank you.’ She did a passable example of a sweet smile and carried on up to the main door. ‘I’m quite capable of fighting my own battles and if I needed help the very last person I would pick would be you.’
‘What’s wrong with me?’
‘Apart from the fact that you can’t be serious for longer than five minutes?’
‘I can do serious. I can do very serious, when I put my mind to it,’ he added, his voice deepening so that it did very serious things to her heart rhythm again.
Putting the sexual twist on his gravelly voice down to some weird side-effect of her man-ban made it so much easier to ignore. Not.
And of course she knew he could do serious. It was the fact that others couldn’t that made her so mad sometimes.
‘Loving the subliminal messaging by the way,’ he told her.
She stopped a couple of steps from the heavy double arched doors. Was that a reference to the apple stuff yesterday? Did he think her body was somehow transmitting ‘Eat me’ signals?
Holy hell.
Her heart was now thudding in a way that gave every impression it had been borrowed from a hard-living, hard-drinking, sex, drugs and rock and roll body tasked with completing a Joe Wicks style workout on the village green.
Every