He glanced up from the pint, and to her horror his gaze snagged on hers, as if an invisible wire connecting them had just been yanked. She froze, as trapped as that poor, ubiquitous bunny in the headlights, and a small, slow smile tugged at his mouth as he kept looking. And she, foolish ninny that she was, kept staring.
Finally, after what felt like an absolute age, Emily managed to drag her gaze away. She felt shaky, weak and watery-kneed. What on earth had just happened?
She looked up again, but he’d moved on, his back to her as he did something at the till. When he turned around, his gaze was firmly focused on someone in front of the bar as he chatted and laughed, his gaze not flicking even once in her direction, which brought a swell of relief along with a ridiculous sense of disappointment that Emily could not bear to examine too closely.
She’d never had a proper boyfriend before, something that hadn’t bothered her even if it sometimes felt a bit embarrassing to admit to at her age. Most people assumed she’d had loads of boyfriends; apparently it was the norm to be in and out of relationships as if you were trying on clothes, not that she had any idea.
When she was forced to make chitchat in the staffroom or in a shop, Emily usually got along with vague comments and murmurs, resting on the general assumption that yes, of course she’d had relationships. Of course she was just like everybody else.
Ava returned with the wine, passing around glasses and then topping them up, before her golden-brown gaze rested thoughtfully on Emily.
“And we have a special drink for our newbie,” she said in a voice that carried much too far. The other women responded with a bevy of excited murmurs and questions.
“Champagne for Emily David.” Ava brandished a flute full of bubbles with an arch look. “Owen was insistent.”
“What?” Harriet swung round to face Emily, her narrowed gaze like a laser. “Are you keeping secrets? Do you know Owen, Emily?”
“No—that is, not really.” Mortified, Emily felt a scorching blush sweep her cheeks. Damn Owen Jones, and damn his stupid champagne. She didn’t even like the stuff. “I met him when I was canvassing for Willoughby Holidays, and the fundraiser we’re arranging.”
“Well he seemed to know you quite well,” Ava remarked as she handed Emily the glass of champagne. “Insisted on opening a bottle just for you. Said it was compliments of the owner.”
“Goodness, that’s not like Owen, is it?” Harriet said speculatively.
“I didn’t even think The Drowned Sailor did champagne,” Olivia half joked, giving Emily a kindly smile. “I’m sure he just did it to be nice, since you’re new.”
“Yes, of—of course,” Emily stammered. She wanted to believe Olivia was right, and yet she couldn’t shake the feeling Owen Jones had been mocking her. She took a sip of the champagne, wincing at the bitter taste she’d never liked. Her gaze moved towards the bar of its own accord, and once again she locked eyes with Owen—he clocked the champagne in her hand and gave her a roguish wink. Emily immediately looked away, but Ava, she saw, had noted the entire exchange, and a cat-like smile curved her lips although thankfully she said nothing.
“Wait, Ava, are you actually drinking tonic water?” Harriet exclaimed, narrow-eyed, as Ava took a sip of the soft drink she’d also procured. “Ava…”
“No news of that ilk, so don’t wet yourselves,” Ava announced, holding up one slender hand. She was incredibly beautiful, in an uninhibitedly sexy way, her curvy figure poured into a V-neck sweater and a miniskirt with knee-length leather boots—a similar outfit to what Harriet was wearing, but Ava looked like a pin-up in it. “But yes, we are trying.”
This announcement elicited a flurry of squeals and exclamations while Emily silently sipped her champagne, even though she wasn’t particularly enjoying it.
“Oh, Ava, really?”
“Jace must be so excited—”
“How are you feeling about it?”
“So trying, huh?” This was said with a wink and a bawdy laugh, which caused everyone else to burst into another raucous round of giggles. Emily shrank back a little against the wall, curling her feet around the rungs of the stool. Hopefully no one would notice her now that their attention had moved on.
“So, Emily.” Harriet turned an appraising eye on her, making her abandon that faint hope and shrink back even further even as she forced a smile. The laughter had subsided, and everyone turned to face her, falling into an expectant silence as they waited for Harriet to conduct her friendly interrogation. “How are you finding working with Henry now that he’s loved up with Alice?”
Emily nearly wilted with relief. She could talk about Henry. “He does seem a bit softer,” she allowed with a small smile, and this, amazingly, elicited another round of laughter and squeals. How were they not all exhausted, or have headaches?
“That’s what true love does to you,” Harriet pronounced solemnly but with a wink in Alice’s direction, who blushed becomingly. “Did you leave anyone special behind in London, Emily?”
Stupidly, Emily thought of her mother. “No, not really.”
“Not really?” Ellie interjected with an encouraging smile. “Tell us more.”
“Not at all,” Emily clarified, her voice coming out a little sharp, like a discordant note in a melody. She saw the women exchange glances and her cheeks began to heat. “No boyfriend,” she clarified needlessly, trying to smooth things over and feeling as if she’d failed. This was why she didn’t do small talk. She sucked at it.
“Well, perhaps you’ll meet someone here,” Ava purred, smoothing over the moment in a way Emily hadn’t been able to. “Owen’s single, and he
