Eternally North (8 page)

“Forget it. I want
to,” I gestured with a wave of my hand. “I definitely need a
night out now after this. Jägerbombs ahoy! I’m up for getting
completely sloshed,” I hooted.

“Right well, I need
to finish my shift. Sit by the counter in the back and I’ll get you
a daiquiri while you wait.”

He stopped suddenly, as
he was walking away. “Do you want me to spit in his garlic bread in
revenge?”

He wasn’t joking.

I laughed and shook my
head. “No, but thanks for the support, chuck.”

Tink just winked in
response.

I took myself to the
staff bar and jumped up on a stool. I felt eyes on me and when I
looked back, Tudor North was glaring menacingly my way. Our eyes met
and he gave a brisk nod, his mouth clenched into a rigid tight line.

What a weirdo. What did
I ever do to him? Recognise him? He shouldn't be bloody famous then,
if he doesn't want the friggin’ attention!

Fifteen minutes later,
and I was contentedly sipping on the remains of my large daiquiri
when a deep cough interrupted my thoughts.

Tudor North stood
behind me with folded arms and a dangerously sexy lopsided smirk. Now
he had moved away from the cover of the table I could see him in his
full glory, and glo-ri-ous he was.

Wearing a fitted black
T-shirt, ripped dark jeans and an oversized beanie hat tucked in at
the back, he towered above me, and for once in my life I actually
felt dainty next to his remarkably wide, tall and sculpted body.

“You work here as
well as school or something?” he asked in a low, gruff voice.

“No. Just waiting for
my friend to finish work, he gets off at ten. But hello to you too.
Aren’t you the epitome of manners? So…
friendly
and
approachable!” I jibed, feigning nonchalance.

Why is he over here?

“He?” he inquired,
looking down at the floor and then back up at me, ignoring my bitchy
remark.

“Yeah, Tin- er,
John.”

He wouldn't get the
‘Tink’ reference and I couldn't be arsed explaining it to someone
I frankly was beginning to detest. Although my body, currently
covered in goose bumps, didn't exactly agree with my mind’s
assessment. His good looks were making me queasier than the
super-strong daiquiri I had just necked.

“Is he your boyfriend
or something?” he asked in a very abrupt and direct manner.

“
Not
that it
concerns you but,
hell no!
Take a look; do you think that’s
my boyfriend?”

I pointed over to Tink,
who was in the kitchen picking up pizzas above his head and strutting
out to the main restaurant, doing his best Tyra Banks walk and
screaming, “Work it, girl!”

“Ahh, guess not. He’s
gay, then?”

Please don’t let
him be homophobic too.

“Yep. He’s as camp
as Christmas and
oh
, he’s a cage fighter too,” I replied
dryly.

He swerved to study
Tink’s slender frame. “What-?
Ahh
,” he nodded his head
with a knowing grin. “Touché, Ms. Munro. Payback for my display of
sarcasm earlier?” he commented, with the ghost of a smile.

Is he actually
trying to be nice?

“Tit for tat, Mr.
North. Tit. For. Tat,” I scolded, exaggerating each word with a
click of my fingers.

He pierced me with
those forest-green eyes for what seemed like hours. I couldn’t look
away. Slowly licking his lips, he looked me up and down and said,
“Well, I’ve got the tats, so…”

Redirect, reverse,
and just go back to being pissed off, not turned on!

I shuffled on the
suddenly-hot seat, and pulled my libido back from sneaking up his
trouser leg. “He jokes! An actor with a sense of humour, who knew?
Not the fuck-nut I thought, then?” I said, finally finding my poker
face.

“Not always, whatever
the hell that is,” he murmured, seemingly slightly amused.

Phew! That voice.

“My name’s Tash by
the way, I feel like an S&M madam you calling me ‘Ms.’ all
the time.”

“Tash… I like it,”
he leaned down, his arms trapping me against the bar. He put his
mouth to my ear and whispered huskily, “But I like the idea of
calling you
Ms
. as well.” He met my now-stunned gaze, and
stepped back as if that little conversation had never happened.

He’s done that to
wind me up, unnerve me but... but – man, he’s so hot! Oh my God,
he has dimples… write me off now or let me take up residence in
those little caves of cuteness!

Shuffling uncomfortably
on the spot like he was nervous, he peered down at me. “So, do you
want to join our table? Boleyn keeps raving about you and quite
honestly I’m intrigued to hear all about the
‘famous Ms.
Munro’
in person. Plus, it may shut her up for the remainder of
the night if you sit with us. She’s been craning her neck all over
ever since you came back here. Claims I was a bad brother and an even
worse human being to speak to
‘the best teacher ever’
like
that,” he declared, putting on a teenage-girl whiny voice.

“
Ahh
, so this
little conversation is not altruistic, then? You want back in your
sister’s good books,” I shook my head in mock disappointment.
“And just when I thought you might have a heart, a conscience for
offending little old me,” I lilted, acting upset and fluttering my
eyelids.

Looking at me like he
was aware of my sarcasm but playing along anyway, he replied, “I
admit I may have been a bit of a 'fuck-nut' as you so eloquently put
it. Sorry, I really shouldn't have spoken to you like that,” he
apologised, one side of his mouth curving up in a devastatingly sexy
way.

Trying to ignore the
fact that the temperature in the room seemed to have gone up a
hundred degrees, I jumped down from my stool.

“Well, lead the way, oh dutiful
brother, we can't have your little sister pissed at you, can we?” I
directed with a swing of my arm, earning a shake of the head from a
begrudgingly entertained Tudor North.

Seated at the table
next to Tudor, I fell into easy conversation with the rest of the
family.

“So where are you
from, Ms. Munro? I can’t place your accent,” asked Henry.

“You can all call me
Tash. Well except you, missy. I’m still Ms. Munro to you,” I
said, pointing to Boleyn. “I’m from England. A place called
Newcastle-Upon-Tyne. You probably don’t know it. We are pretty much
as far north a city as you can get to before you hit Scotland,” I
informed.

“Newcastle? Right.
So, what brings you to Calgary?”

“Well Ti-, err John,
my roommate and best friend, and I, decided we needed a change, you
know, a chance to travel. We kind of randomly just picked somewhere
to live, and Calgary it was,” I explained, purposely leaving out
the cheating ex, Jane Austen quote, drunken decision-making and the
role
Cool Runnings
played in the story.

“Wow, just like
that?” remarked Samantha. “I could never do anything so drastic.
I am from Winnipeg, and Calgary is about as far as I’m willing to
go. My mom would kill me if I went too far from home.”

“Yeah the ‘rents
were a bit upset, but in the end they supported it. I just have to
Skype, email and text pretty much every day,” I joked.

“So, no-one special
here or back home?” she enquired.

“Not any more.
Ex-boyfriend in England is now involved with someone else, so I’m
free and single and ready to mingle with the best Calgary has to
offer,” I winked.

“What do you think of
the Canadians, then?” asked Henry.

“Amazing. You lot are
so nice. Well, nearly all of you,” I tipped my head sideways and
pointed my thumb at Tudor, who winced and looked down at the table.
Henry, on the other hand, seemed tickled by my dig.

“Well,
most
of
us are. Tudor's the exception – all broody and tortured. Just
ignore him, we do,” he waggled his eyebrows whilst Tudor scowled at
him moodily.

Henry continued, “What
about the accent though, no trouble there?”

“Nope. I love the way
you say ‘oot’ and ‘aboot’. You sound kind of Scottish, it’s
funny.”

Everyone chuckled.

“Well, we are all
very happy you have moved here. Newcastle’s loss is Calgary’s
gain,” exclaimed Pamela, smiling alongside a very cheery Boleyn.

“Thanks,” I
answered bashfully.

“So, Pamela, what’s
up with the Tudor Royal names? I love it, but I have never come
across it before,”

“I studied History at
University and that was my favourite period, everything about it
really. So when I had Henry I knew what I would call him. Tudor was a
little more difficult. I didn’t like Edward, and my friend came up
with the idea of using Tudor as a forename and it just stuck. Anne
Boleyn was my favourite of the wives. It probably seems silly to you
being from England, eh?” she asked, seemingly embarrassed.

“Not at all! It’s
my favourite part of our history too, so I’m in love with the
names, it’s super inventive! Plus, Tudor here didn’t have to
create a show name, he was already equipped with one!” I teased and
nudged his arm.

He looked up and sort
of smiled at me... I
think
, it was either that or wind.

Wow, the icy
exterior is melting.

After telling the table
about my family and the ins and outs of teaching and why I chose that
vocation, I decided to turn the tables on a certain
socially-challenged superstar. Let’s just say that I was more than
a little intrigued by the guy.

“So, acting?” I
declared in Tudor’s direction.

“Yeah. Acting,” was
the enlightening response.

Undeterred, I pushed
further. “How did all that happen?”

Tudor shrugged
dismissively. “I kinda fell into it, but I love what I do and seem
to be doing alright.”

You definitely got the
vibe that he didn’t like to talk about his stardom too much. A
modest actor too? He was full of surprises.

"Alright? You must
be doing better than that for me to know your name. I'm not into
action films but even I recognised you."

He just shrugged and
blushed.

Henry put his elbows on
the table and tilted his head, studying me. "You mean you
haven't seen one of his films? You must be the only person left on
the planet who hasn’t."

I shook my head. "Nope,
action’s not my thing." I turned to Tudor. "I only hear
good things though."

He nodded once,
embarrassed as his mother gushed, "Oh he is, he's so talented.
His film has broken lots of records. We’re all so proud."

Tudor was now beaming
red. I felt I should relieve him from the torture.

“So if you have just
moved here, where do you all come from?” I noticed Boleyn flinch,
which seemed a bit peculiar.

“Originally Victoria,
BC, then Vancouver but we like here better. This is home now,”
declared Pamela, hugging Boleyn close. "Tate is from LA,
though."

Feeling a little
awkward at the reaction to what I deemed an innocent question, I
carried on quizzing Tudor.

“Do you live in La-La
land then too? Are you just visiting? You can't live in Calgary and
be an actor surely? Are you just taking a break from escorting
Victoria’s Secret models to dine on lettuce leaves and strutting
their angel-winged stuff at the glitzy premieres as your token arm
candy?”

I gathered I had asked
the wrong question by the total silence and the heads bowed down to
the table.

Whoops! Foot in mouth
once again. I just couldn’t figure out why.

After a few moments,
Tudor fixed his gaze on me. “No, I live near the family, just under
the radar from the fame gig. No-one really knows I'm here. I wanted
to live somewhere where people didn’t really care about celebrity.
No annoying photographers, you know?”

“Yeah. I can’t
imagine how you cope with being followed around all the time. I’d
hate it. I bet by the size of you, you hardly go unnoticed very
often.” Tudor seemed slightly deflated by what I’d said and just
nodded. I was honestly digging my own grave. I couldn’t say
anything right.

“It’s bad when they
write untrue things about you, but it comes with the job, I guess. In
Calgary though, I can go pretty unnoticed, and these lot have an
alias so people don’t click on,” he explained.

“Ah.
Jones
. I
wondered what that was about.”

“It’s just easier,
especially for Boleyn at school, you know?” professed Pamela. She
shifted on her seat nervously, “I don’t mean to sound out of line
when I say this, but can I ask that you keep all of this to yourself?
Boleyn finds it difficult dealing with Tudor’s fame at school. And
we have a confidentiality agreement with the principal about
anonymity,” she informed me, clearly embarrassed.

“It’s a given. I
promise,” I assured them all.

There was a bit of
awkward tension around the table, and so the best option seemed to
navigate the conversation to Tate.

“So Tate, what’s
your deal?” I smiled at him, eager to find out more about the
incredibly reserved cutie. He was almost a mute.

“I’m Tudor’s
assistant. Where he goes, I go. It’s my blessing and my curse,”
he playfully nudged Tudor, earning a wink.

“He’s a godsend. I
am not organised at all, and Tate takes care of everything. I
wouldn't function without him,” Tudor responded, jabbing Tate on
the arm.

Tate blushed. I
couldn't imagine being that shy.

It was at that precise
moment that everyone’s favourite fairy flew in. “Here you are! I
wondered where you’d disappeared to. You ready to go
par-tay
,
pork chops?”

I could see the
confusion on the faces of the North clan at the ‘pork chops’
comment, but thankfully they let it slide.

Getting up and standing
next to Tink, I started the introductions. “John this is-”