Page 58 of Romantic Hero
Bridget takes hold of my hand. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. I know how much you adore the man.’
‘I properly messed it up,’ I say with a sigh. ‘He was kissing Marisol Keats. The poet.’
‘Ooh, she’s gorgeous,’ Bridget says apologetically. ‘I love love love her Instagram. Sorry.’
‘No, I get it,’ I huff. ‘So chic.’
‘SO chic.’
‘What is her IG?’ Mrs Casablancas asks. ‘Do you think she would like a hat? A chic hat made by me?’
As Bridget helps Mrs Casablancas to find Marisol’s account, Henry’s face flashes into my mind – the way he looked at me when he saw me on the first night in Little Crumpet, full of possibility. And now it’s all over. Last night I was mostly angry and embarrassed about the whole thing. But today? Now it’s sunk in that he was kissing someone else. That he had possibly been kissing someone else for quite some time. Isn’t this what I was most afraid of? Shouldn’t I have at least shed a tear by now?
‘You didn’t “properly mess it up”,’ River cuts in, pulling me out of my pondering. ‘You were wonderful in Little Crumpet and honestly, Henry is …’
He trails off and I notice Mrs Casablancas giving him a curious look as she furtively pops another sugar lump into Bridget’s tea. ‘It just tastes better,’ she whispers to me.
‘Look,’ River continues as Squish, now asleep in his arms, starts to snore, every puff of breath making a lock of River’s hair waft upwards. ‘If Gertie finishing her final Bedlam Creek novel is the only way I’m getting out of here then we need to figure out another way to make that happen. Something that doesn’t involve Henry. We need to help herstart writing again. Not to put a rush on it or anything, but it’s pretty vital that I get back home. In two weeks, the town council are auctioning off the land behind my ranch. I need to be there to buy it up so that Buddy McGinty doesn’t use it to build a fucking mall or a dude ranch or, God forbid, a high-end gym. The landscape could be ruined. So many local businesses could potentially be in danger. The wildlife could …’ He turns to me. ‘We need to get you writing again, Gertie. We have to find a way to finish this story.’
‘And this …’ Mrs Casablancas says, standing up grandly and spreading her arms widely. ‘Is where I think I may be of assistance.’
‘I am not doing another manifestation ceremony!’ I grumble. ‘No way. It’s too unpredictable. And anyway, there’s no full moon at the moment. It wouldn’t work.’
‘No more manifesting,’ Mrs Casablancas says firmly. ‘What I was going to say is you need some practical, real-world help. Some actual intel.’
‘So why didn’t we just do that in the first place?’ I cry.
‘Because that wouldn’t have been anywhere near as much fun for me.’
‘What practical advice do you have, ma’am?’ River asks hopefully.
Mrs Casablancas peeks at her watch. ‘I’m actually short on time right now as my date is in a few hours and I need to go wax myself. I assume you’re still okay to take Squish for the night?’
‘Of course.’
‘I’m not yet sure what time I will be back,’ MrsCasablancas tells us. ‘Possibly tonight, possibly tomorrow – depends how it goes with Desmond. I am hopeful that since your manifestation worked, that mine will too and that Desmond is the answer.’
‘Wait …’ I scrunch my nose. ‘You said you’d manifested for an exciting creative opportunity to come your way?’
‘River, be a dear and put away the biscuits, won’t you?’ Mrs Casablancas says, lowering her voice once he’s on the other side of the room. ‘I did! And also to get a good old-fashioned rogering. I’m a woman in my prime of life. I have needs.’
I blink and try to keep my face passive. ‘Okay then. Good for you,’ I say.
‘Ditto,’ she replies, tilting her head towards River in the kitchen and wiggling her eyebrows.
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I say primly.
‘Oh, I know the face of a well-rogered woman when I see it.’
‘River and I have not …rogered.’
‘Well, you must both be thinking of nothing but rogering. It’s clear as can be on the pair of you.’
‘Excuse me?’
Mrs Casablancas starts ticking off on her hands, ‘Lips plump, cheeks pink, eyes shiny like a freshly walked Squish, secret glances when you think Mrs Casablancas is not looking, you stroking your own neck, River watching you stroke your own neck—’
‘What? That hasnotbeen happening. We’re in a complete panic here. We have more important things to focus on than—’
