Читать книгу Playing With Fire - Kat Black - Страница 12

Aidan watched Annabel’s every move carefully as, back in the carpark, he secured the bike and collected their helmets. After the way he’d shocked her, she’d be justified in bolting.

When she refused point-blank to set a foot through the front door of the old timber-framed building, he led her around the side, following the signs to the beer garden.

Even getting her onto the grounds was more than he’d really dared hope for. He’d known pulling something like this would be a huge gamble, but it was one he’d decided had to be worth the risk. Because while on the surface Annabel Frost appeared to be thawing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that surface-deep was as far as it went; that she was going through what she thought were the right motions, but without the emotional depth to back them up. He’d begun to realise that if he wanted to get deeper, and he did, he’d need to start pushing.

As they rounded the building and came to the long stretch of green lawn behind, he left her to decide where to sit. Of the dozen or so wooden picnic tables spaced out on the grass, only a few were unoccupied and she chose the one furthest away from the building, where the lawn sloped away to meet a tiny stream. She sat on the bench with her back to the building, almost vibrating with tension.

Leaving the helmets and his gloves while he went to get drinks and menus, Aidan hoped he’d called this right. As far as he could make out, the pain of losing her father and this place when she was so young and vulnerable had become the defining influence on her life. She was so used to protecting herself that it was proving hard to get her to open up. Maybe showing her that she had nothing left to fear here would help unlock her emotions, let them flourish.

Approaching the rear entrance of the inn, he couldn’t help throwing a glance over his shoulder to check Annabel was still where he’d left her. He ducked through the door. Inside, the décor was typical of the evolved style of the English country inn – the dark traditional interior giving way to the modern rustic look favoured by the weekend gastropub crowds. The low ceilings and time-worn flagstone floor remained, but other ancient features such as the original exposed beams had been stripped and limed, the plasterwork and wood panelling painted in light chalky colours.

He headed to the bar and ordered two orange juices from a skinny young man uniformed in white shirt and black trousers. As he handed over a banknote in payment he asked for a couple of lunch menus.

‘That’s all right, Josh, I’ll see to it,’ said an extraordinarily pretty blonde woman dressed in matching white and black who stepped up beside her colleague. She turned big cornflower-blue eyes on Aidan and sent him a radiant smile. ‘I can bring those to you if you like. Where are you sitting?’

‘We’re outside.’ He smiled back. ‘I don’t mind taking them myself.’

‘It’s no problem.’ The radiance shone brighter. ‘Go and enjoy your drinks and I’ll follow you out in a minute.’

Aidan rejoined Annabel, who muttered, ‘There’d better be vodka in this,’ as she grabbed the glass of orange juice. Coming from someone who didn’t drink alcohol, the comment was telling.

He unzipped his jacket and removed it before settling himself on the bench opposite her and raising his glass. ‘Here’s to you, and to courage.’