Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 695(@200wpm)___ 556(@250wpm)___ 463(@300wpm)
She may say that, but this girl gives me a run for my money when it comes to getting messy. ‘Have you seen your mum yet?’
She shakes her head and dabs her brush on the canvas, placing perfect little dots on the bunting. ‘She’s busy escorting Grandma and Grandpa around.’
Good. Hopefully I can avoid her all day. But when I look up over Alex’s canvas, I see Darcy heading this way with her parents. Oh shit. I slap a smile on my face when she clocks me. ‘Hi.’ I round Alex and offer my hand to her grandfather. ‘Hannah Bright, lovely to meet you.’
He looks down at my hand. Another sniff. What wonderful people. Peeking at my hand, too, I roll my eyes to myself and wipe the paint down the front of my dungarees. ‘Would you like to see some of the entries? They’re coming along quite nicely.’
‘Oh, is that our Alexandra?’ Lady Hampton coos, and then pretty much twitches in her posh frock when she registers the paintbrush in her granddaughter’s hand.
‘Oh, Alexandra!’ Darcy rushes to Alex’s side. ‘What in heaven’s name are you doing?’
‘Painting.’ She points to the canvas with her brush like her mother could have missed it. I sigh, bracing myself for it.
‘And your face!’ Darcy stares at Alex in horror, seeming a bit stuck for words.
‘Problem?’ Ryan asks, appearing from nowhere.
‘Yes!’ Darcy shrieks. ‘Just look at her.’
‘She looks beautiful.’ Ryan flips Alex a wink, who merrily carries on about her painting business, unperturbed by the current anxiety attack her mother is having.
Darcy tosses Ryan and me a ferocious glare, and I find myself moving into his side, seeking protection from the explosion. ‘This is all your fault,’ she hisses, and I flinch. ‘Her winning record will be broken.’
‘Maybe she’ll win the painting competition instead,’ I say without thinking, and I hear Ryan snort from beside me. ‘Or maybe not.’ I retreat out of the firing line.
‘Cool it, Mum.’ Alex continues dotting her brush across the canvas, peeking past it from time to time to check the subject. ‘It’s in the bag.’
I have to purse my lips to keep myself together. ‘I’m going to get one of Bob’s special ciders,’ I declare, hurrying over to his stand, accepting the pint glass he hands me with a smile. His cheeks are rosy, making me wonder how many he’s had already.
‘Cheers,’ he says, pouring himself another.
I raise my glass and have a big swig, coughing after I swallow. That’s stronger than I expected. ‘Share?’ Ryan whispers in my ear, reaching past me to take the glass.
I turn in to him, keeping myself shielded from Darcy’s daggers. ‘Has she calmed down?’
‘She’ll get over it.’ Ryan has his own little wince after taking a sip, holding the glass up to inspect it. ‘Jesus, a few of those and I’ll be anyone’s.’
‘Just make sure they don’t leave their knickers in your truck this time,’ I tease, taking back my glass on a sweet smile.
He softens before me. ‘You know my heart is yours.’
‘I know.’
‘And my body. And my soul. And my Chunky Monkey.’
I laugh as he sweeps me from my feet, draping me across his arms. Half the contents of my cider spills in the process, and he ravages my cheek as he carries me up the street for all to see. ‘It’s time to pie some faces,’ he declares, setting his focus forward.
I look and see the stall where some stocks are set up. ‘Is that Father Fitzroy?’ I ask, sipping away at my cider as I’m carted up the high street. The old boy is on his knees, his head and wrists secured in the stocks while kids throw pies at his face. He’s laughing, watching as pies splat everywhere around him except on his face.
‘He won’t be laughing in a minute.’ Ryan sets me on my feet and claims a pie, encouraging the kids aside as he lines up his target. The old priest soon pipes down. ‘Hi, Father,’ Ryan says, spinning the pie on the top of his finger cockily.
‘You’ll go to hell,’ he mutters, clenching his eyes shut as Ryan pulls back his arm and fires like a pro pitcher.
It lands with frightening accuracy slap bang in the middle of the priest’s face. ‘Bull’s-eye!’ Ryan yells, and the kids go wild, all trying to surrender their pies to the champion shooter.
‘You really will go to hell.’ I shake my head at him as he takes me in a headlock and walks us across to Mrs Heaven’s cake stall to claim a muffin.
‘You come see me, Ryan Willis,’ shouts Father Fitzroy as he wipes the cream from his face. ‘I have an opening next month.’
I frown, looking to Ryan for some clue as to what the old man is talking about.
‘For the wedding,’ the priest adds, and I balk.