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“Why is this so important to you? She’s one gymnast. Go find someone else.” That was probably harsh, but I want him to go away.
“Your sister has something rare.”
He’s persistent, that’s for sure. Ainsley’s talented, but so are many of the other girls.
“Why aren’t you talking to Harriet Reynolds’ parents? She was the one who took home gold last weekend.”
“Harriet’s parents are doctors. They intend for her to follow in their footsteps. She doesn’t have the determination to go the distance.”
“Is this guy bothering you, Nel?” Christopher asks, grabbing our attention.
“Mr Lightwood was just leaving.” We both look at the guy in question. He hesitates before reluctantly clearing off. “This isn’t over. I’ll catch you some other time,” he shouts over his shoulder.
“Are you okay?” Christopher asks. He places his arm on the top of my car door while he looks down on me.
“I’m having a bad day, and he didn’t help.” I’m relieved Christopher was here to help me get rid of Mr Lightwood, but I’m hoping he won’t poke further into my business.
“At least I’ve helped you with one of your problems.” He leans in toward me, showing his pearly teeth as he smiles.
Usually, I don’t accept help, but while he’s here, I might as well get what I can from him. “Any chance you know anything about cars? Mine’s playing up.” I pat the steering wheel before giving it a rub.
“I can take a look.”
We trade places so he can assess the car. Like a traitor, the engine starts first time. He must have a magic touch. I wonder what else he can do with his working hands.
Woah, I can’t think like that. Christopher doesn’t want more than flings, and he’s a customer in the bar I work in. Lust can only lead to awkwardness, and I need to shut it down.
“Everything seems okay to me.” He turns to face me.
“Hopefully, whatever was wrong has sorted itself. Thanks. I’ll see you tonight with your date.” I smile.
“Maybe.” He waves and starts to walk away.
He’s predictable, so I doubt he’ll go somewhere else for his evening. Once Christopher is out of sight, I let out a sigh. My decision to escape to the car wasn’t because I had somewhere to go. I’ve got a few hours to kill before Ainsley needs driving home. Digging out my phone, I google McNabb Farms, trying to find Christopher.
McNabb’s Equestrian and Dairy Farm comes up, and I find a picture of three men. He seems to follow in the footsteps of his father and grandfather. Three generations of farmers, award-winning horses, and picturesque lands. There’s a picture of Christopher and his grandfather holding up a cowbell. They’re both laughing, and they both look genuinely happy. A smile creeps onto my face as warmth fills my core. What would Ainsley and my life have looked like if we had better parents? I never knew my dad, but he can’t have been that great because he didn’t stick around. We have no pictures that burst with happiness the way these do.
My attention focuses on Christopher. In these pictures, he’s far from the well-groomed serial dater that comes into Sweet Cocktails. This man is someone I like as more than bar candy. He looks real. He doesn’t need the glitz and glam he’s been chasing around the city. He needs someone down to earth. Someone homely, hardworking, and patient.
I could be all of those things. Shaking my head, I push away the thoughts. So what if he’s attractive? It doesn’t give me the right to fantasise about a future that’s not going to happen. Wake up, Nellie.
He isn’t the man for me.
CHAPTER Four
Christopher
I pull out my Victoria Ainsworth one-of-a-kind suit and hold it up. During last year’s London Fashion Week, I bought this outfit and, usually, I wouldn’t hesitate to put it on. The wool woven herringbone is dapper, as my grandfather would say. It’s the sort of suit that turns heads.
Glancing back into my wardrobe, I touch my plain blue Ralph Lauren polo shirt. It’s designer, but not as flashy as the suit. Jeans and a shirt are the modest option. Toning down my image isn’t for anyone else’s benefit, although it’s inspired by Nellie’s words. I’m trying to think simpler, which could save me from a repeat of last weekend. Maybe I shouldn’t take out women I don’t share any values with.
I put the suit in the wardrobe and pull out my phone from my jeans pocket. Unlocking the screen, I fire up the dating app, finding tonight’s match. Carrie is a self-made millionaire from Essex. She’s in Liverpool for the weekend on business and staying in one of the luxury apartments in town. On paper, she sounds perfect. She’s not local, so I won’t have to avoid certain places, her career is her main priority, and surely, she isn’t looking for a long-distance relationship.
My finger hovers over the reply button. Carrie looks nice and easy-going, but for some reason, I’m just not feeling it. I shoot her a quick message: I’m going to need to take a raincheck. Sorry to let you down.
She sends me a frowning selfie, but I don’t message back. I’ve done the right thing. One last first date isn’t what I want, and it’s better to end it now rather than figuring all this out while at the bar.
Grabbing my polo shirt, I pair it with black jeans. Once I’ve put on my cologne, I go to find my grandfather.
