A Brit on the Side (Castle Calder Book 1) (6 page)

This time I can’t stop the thought from taking flight, flinging itself around the corners of my brain like a bird in a cage. And when I open my mouth, it escapes. Dammit. “That sounds like a date.”

“It could be.” Jasper bites the corner of his lip in a way that makes me want to touch him. “If you want it to be.”

Do you want it to be?

It takes all of my willpower not to ask. Every last bit. Instead, I raise my eyebrows and force myself to sound casual. “We’ll see, I guess.”

“I guess we will.”

Cue another intense gaze, but this time I have to look away. “So when shall we have this epic match of ours?”

“Well, here’s the thing. You’re either going to have to find your trainers now or we’ll have to wait until Monday. The Fisher party’s going to take up the whole weekend.” Jasper’s tone is impossible to read.

You don’t owe him anything, you know.

There’s that bird in the cage again, but this one is familiar. It’s the same one that kept score with Theo. I take a deep breath. Jasper isn’t Theo. And he’s not acting like him. In fact, he’s still acting like Atlanta Jasper.

So I’m not sure why the words that come out of my mouth are, “I don’t want to wake up Scarlett, so Monday it is.”

His face falls. Just a fraction, but I see it before he rearranges his mouth into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “No skiving off from the Fisher party to get some extra practice in.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” I smile, too, and I’m about to say something about the Fisher party, but Jasper turns back to his paintbrush and I feel like I’ve been dismissed. “Okay, um, I guess I’ll let you get back to it. I should probably go find some food before dinner starts anyway.”

Jasper nods. “Good idea. Lou won’t like you in her kitchen if you’re not helping.”

He dips the brush in the yellow paint and turns toward the board. I shove my hands in the pockets of my hoodie and say, “Okay, well, I’ll see you when I see you, I guess.”

“Sure. See you when I see you.” He doesn’t look away from the board.

I wait another few seconds before I shuffle off, my sandals slapping against my heels as I start back along the path. I almost look back, but I don’t. Because what if Jasper’s looking after me?

Or worse, what if he’s not?

T
he next time
I see Jasper, it’s Saturday afternoon, I’ve got flour in my hair and chocolate smeared across my collarbone from a mishap with the mixer as I helped to make brownies. I’d feel self-conscious if not for the fact he looks worse, the front of his T-shirt dotted with red that looks suspiciously like blood and one leg of his plaid shorts covered in dirt. As he walks into the kitchen, Lou stops him. “You can’t come in here like that. Go wash yourself up first.”

Jasper shoves his glasses up his nose, leaving a streak of dirt on his face. “Please. I’m begging you. If I don’t eat something, I’m going to die.”

Scarlett, who’s been in the hot kitchen as long as I have, yet somehow looks like she stepped out of a
Cosmo
country living spread, says, “Are those vile kids still rolling down the hill?”

“They moved on to the playground, where one of them decided to try to jump from the rope bridge to the slide and cut his leg. Of course, the mother’s been drinking Buck’s Fizz all day, so when I went to get her, she was no help and I ended up hauling the kid back to Mum, screaming the whole way,” Jasper says.

“You or him?” I ask.

“I’m afraid it will be me if I have to go back out there.” He turns to Lou. “Please don’t make me face them again until I’ve eaten. I’ll wash up in the produce sink and I promise to be careful and not contaminate anything.”

Lou rolls her eyes. “Use the sink next to Bea. I’ll get you a plate. Ploughman’s okay?”

“Cheese and bread? Sure.” Jasper moves towards me. “I’d probably eat liver at this point.”

“Ew.” I grimace and stick my tongue out. “I don’t think I’ll ever be hungry enough for liver.”

“Never say never.” Jasper turns on the tap. “So what’s your Fisher horror story? Or haven’t they scarred you yet?”

“Bea’s serving tonight, so that’s not a fair question right now,” Scarlett says.

Jasper’s eyes widen as he looks at me. “That’s a big leap. I didn’t think you’d worked in a restaurant before?”

“I haven’t, but Claire hurt her knee. She’s fine to stand, but she can’t go back and forth to the kitchen all night,” I explain.

Jasper turns the tap off and turns to Scarlett. “I thought Emma was coming in?”

“She is, but she’ll never work the dining room. And the only other person is Will and he’s on the bar,” Scarlett says as she dumps a pile of potato peels into the compost bin.

“So it’s you, Bea, and me for the whole Fisher party tonight?” Jasper asks.

“You know Mum will be there to help out.” Scarlett shoots me a grin. “Besides, have a little faith. I think Bea will be fine.”

I’m about to agree with her, but Jasper says, “The second the Fishers realize she’s never waitressed before, they’ll eat her alive.”

“So we make sure they don’t realize,” Scarlett says.

But three hours later when I’ve got three bowls of broccoli-stilton soup going cold on the counter and my hand is under the cold water because I’ve burned it, I’m not sure Scarlett, Jasper, and entire Royal Navy could protect me against the Fishers. Jasper was right; they are vile. Even the adults. I observed them from afar last night; since they’d prearranged a cold buffet with Mrs. St Julien to allow for varying arrival times, I’d helped Lou with the prep in the afternoon and then had a free pass the rest of the night, which I spent playing Fuck, Marry, Kill with Claire and Scarlett over a glass of wine in the cabin. Unlike the first night, we kept it to a single glass in anticipation of today and good thing. I can’t imagine dealing with these people hungover.

I’d pay actual money to be back on that couch right now, even sans wine. Instead, I turn off the tap and dry my hand on my apron, going for attempt number two with the soup. If Angela Fisher says one thing about having to wait, I guarantee I’m going to tell her exactly where she can shove her waiting. The thought makes me smile, and I push past my mother’s voice in my head, though not before I hear it anyway.
Nice girls don’t speak like that, Beatrice.

I make a face and pick up the soup. Nice girls don’t break off their engagements to their perfectly nice fiancés either. “Are you okay, Bea?” Claire calls. She’s taken up residence by the stovetop--aka hob--where she’s stirring soup, sautéing vegetables, and making gravy while perched on a stool, leaning heavily on her left leg.

“I’m good. Just trying not to end up wearing this,” I say.

“Well, if you’re going to spill it…” Claire grins and I nod as I push the door.

If I’m going to spill anything, I’ll aim right for Angela Fisher. She sits at the head of the table, swinging her long blonde hair and snapping her fingers at her kids, who are running amok through the dining room. She also snaps her fingers at any of the staff walking by who catch her eye and, unfortunately, it’s me who’s caught her eye most often.

Now, when I bring over her soup and set it in front of her, she holds up her glass. “More Prosecco when you get a moment?”

I nod and deliver the rest of the soup – one to ninety-year-old Mr. Fisher, whose birthday weekend it is, and one to a teenage girl who’s already declared it’s the only thing she’s eating tonight. Then I go back for Angela Fisher’s glass and head for the bar, setting it down a little too hard in front of Will, the barman from the pub down the street, who apparently works here when the St Julien’s have a lot of bookings.

Will is the guy Scarlett told me about on the plane, the one Claire has had a hopeless crush on for years. I’ve tried to look at him objectively as I’ve waited for my drinks tonight, but I genuinely can’t see it. He’s nice looking enough, but wouldn’t turn any heads, although I’m not sure Jasper would either if I look at him like other people must. Will’s got a nice smile and seems laid back, but he doesn’t have a ton of charisma. Plus, his accent is odd. He sounds a bit like he’s talking out the side of his mouth, but I’ve watched his mouth as he’s talked, trying to understand him better and he’s definitely not.

“What’ll you be having?” Will asks.

“Angela Fisher would like another Prosecco. Do you think we could set up an IV drip?” I ask.

“Take the bottle. Save you running your feet off a bit.” Will grabs a wine stand and brings it around the front of the bar, taking the bucket part back with him to fill with ice. Then he leans down for a bottle of Prosecco from a fridge underneath the bar and shoves it into the ice. “There you go.”

He hands me the ice bucket with the bottle and I take it. “Thanks. We should have thought of this three rounds ago.”

“Ah, better late than never, love. But at least it saves your running for cocktails and they do seem to be drinking them slower.”

I nod and hoist the stand onto my hip. It’s cold and wet, but it’s the only way I can balance it, because it’s also damn heavy. When I get to the table, I set it beside Angela Fisher and say, “I brought you a bottle in case you want more.”

Angela Fisher looks at me with the same disdain as if I said I brought her a pot of decaf coffee instead. She raises her arched eyebrows at me. “I haven’t said I want a bottle. I assume this is on the house then?”

“Um, I’m not sure of the policy on that.” I wipe my wet hands on my apron, which is also wet.

“Well, I’d guess you should find out since, again, I haven’t asked for this.” She snaps her fingers and tilts her head. “Excuse me, young man, you work here, do you not?”

Jasper comes up beside me. “Yes, ma’am. What can I do for you?”

“This young lady,” Angela Fisher points at me with a perfectly-manicured French tip. “Has brought me a bottle of Prosecco, which I have not requested. I asked her if it was complementary and she seems incapable of making that decision.”

Jasper gives me a perfunctory glance and turns away, but not before I see the corner of his mouth quirk up. However, his tone is serious when he says, “Bea has come to Castle Calder from the U.S. where, I’m sure you know, the restaurant industry is very different. The restaurant where Bea works has a pay-for-what-you-drink system, which we’re piloting here. As you know from your many visits to Castle Calder, we prefer an informal atmosphere and this idea goes along nicely with that.”

Jasper finishes with a smile, leaving both Angela Fisher and me gaping at him. Angela recovers first, clearing her throat. “Well, if it’s the thing in America, then by all means.” Then she gives me a withering look and says, “Why you couldn’t have explained that is beyond me.”

Jasper opens his mouth, no doubt to rescue me again, but this time he doesn’t need to. I say, “I suppose I assumed you knew. My apologies.”

Angela narrows her eyes, unsure whether she’s been insulted or not. Before she can come to any conclusions, I excuse myself and head to the service station behind the partition on the far end of the dining room. I barely keep a straight face as I pass by the rest of the party and once I’m out of sight, I let out a loud cough to disguise my laughter.

Jasper comes up behind me and puts a hand on my arm, whispering, “Ssshhh. She’s going to hear you and then your credibility is out the window.”

“Credibility? I think it’s your credibility that’s in question. Anyone who’s ever set foot in a restaurant can tell I’m not a waitress,” I whisper. “Even if the American system is, quote, unquote, very different.”

“I thought that was quite good.” Jasper smiles and drops his hand from my arm. “May as well use it to your advantage.”

“My ineptitude?” I roll my eyes. “I’m giving Americans a bad name.”

“
Au contraire. Vive le difference
.”

Holy French accent. I think one of my ovaries exploded because Jasper speaking French is s-e-x-y. Times ten. I’m glad we’re whispering because I’m pretty sure I sound a bit breathy when I speak. “I didn’t know you could speak French.”

“
Oui
.” He takes a step closer. He smells like sunshine with a hint of mint. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Are you? Like what?” I bite my lip. Unintentionally at first, but then I suck gently at my bottom lip with my teeth. Theo used to call it my sexy schoolgirl expression – the one he thought I should wear if I was ever called to the principal’s office. Granted, getting called to the principal’s office as a teacher is a whole different thing, but the idea of it still worked.

Jasper’s eyes widen enough for me to think maybe he and Theo have at least that in common, and I kind of hope their comparisons stop there. “Hmm. Like, I like pineapple on my pizza. I prefer villains to superheroes. And there’s an attic room in the castle, which I’ve always thought would be perfect for a tryst on a rainy afternoon.”

It’s not an invitation.
Not
an invitation. But my, oh my, Jasper’s words feel awfully deliberate. I give myself a mental high five for keeping my voice steady as I say, “Oh? Perfect how?”

“It’s small, so the bed is right next to the window, and it feels like you’re completely alone looking over the world when you’re up there.” Jasper leans in and his lips barely brush my ear. “Plus, it’s far away from the guestrooms. You don’t have to worry about being quiet.”

You
.

My heart sings the word, even as my mind insists he means it in the generic sense. He’s not talking about me – even if one of the tidbits we talked about during our infamous weekend was how vocal we liked our partners to be in bed.

Are you promising to make me scream?

It’s the perfect opportunity to make this about us, but I chicken out as I say, “Sounds like you’ve spent a good amount of time there already.”

“I go up there sometimes when I need some space.”

Alone
?

Again, I take the chicken-shit route. “I don’t blame you. I imagine living where you work is intense.”

“Very.” Jasper steps back and peers behind the partition. When he faces me again, his expression is different. The smolder I didn’t even realize was in his eyes is gone, as is the hint of a grin from his mouth. His come-hither look has been replaced by not quite cool detachment, but close. “The Fishers are done with their soup. Scarlett’s clearing, so we should probably check on the mains.”

Shit. Between yesterday at the tennis court and now, I’m sending all the wrong signals. Jasper turns away and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Maybe one day I can see your attic room?”

Jasper stops and turns around slowly. “Maybe,” he says. Then he shrugs and walks away.

And I let him.