Page 43 of Smut

There’s something more there, something I want to poke and prod at with a stick, bring it out and examine it on a table. But I don’t say a word, not yet anyway. It’s not like I’ve been all that forthcoming either.

When we get to the pub I can’t believe it’s been here all this time and I’m only just going there now. Granted, I’ve only been of the drinking age for three years but still. I have a lot of catching up to do.

Spinnakers is located at the base of a cove just outside of the downtown core. With the sun hanging low and the weather back to being almost summer-like and perfect with a fresh breeze and blue skies, it looks like the perfect place to spend an afternoon having a few.

I follow him in through the entrance which consists of a bakery and a growler-filling station and we go upstairs where it seems less formal. There’s a pool table and old teak tables tucked into nooks and crannies. The small upstairs deck is already full so we grab a table by the window, across from the fireplace.

“This is nice,” I tell him as we sit down, grabbing the elaborate drink menu.

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in Victoria your whole life and you’ve never been here.”

“You wouldn’t believe a lot of things about myself,” I mumble, absently noting that every cocktail seems to have gin in it. How very English, just like Blake.

“Try me,” he says.

I glance at him over the menu. “Try what?”

He sits back in his chair, all completely at ease and flashes me that smile. “Tell me something about yourself that I wouldn’t believe.”

I’m not sure if he’s serious or not. “Let me get a drink first.”

Only it’s so very hard to choose. I settle on some raspberry vinegary drink called a “shrub.”

“There’s something you probably wouldn’t believe,” I tell him after the waitress takes our order (and doesn’t seem to bare him any ill-will). “I like my drinks with vinegar in them.” Though it’s a first for me as well.

He cocks his head, seeming to think that over. “I believe it. Ever been to New York?”

I can’t help but sigh. “No. I always wanted to. Even tried to last year, booked the hotel and everything but…things didn’t happen.”

“No money? The city is expensive.”

I lick my lips, hesitating. “I had the money. I mean, my parents would have paid for it.”

I can see a light going off in his head as he nods, the look of this rich bitch.

“Then why?” he asks and I have to give him credit for not saying anything about my privilege.

“Ex-boyfriend. The one I mentioned before.”

“Alan?”

I’m impressed. “You have good memory.”

“There’s a lot of good about me that you don’t know about,” he says lightly though I swear there’s a slight edge to his voice. “Anyway, in New York they have a pickle bar. Actually they have a few pickle bars.”

“A pickle bar,” I repeat.

“Just as the name says. I went a few years ago, got a cheap flight out from Gatwick and spent a week wandering around the city with no plans at all.” He gets this dreamy, faraway look in his eyes as he stares at the fire. He shakes his head slightly, snapping out of it. “So the pickle bar is in East Village, I think, and it’s nothing fancy, just a good place to get a drink except they serve their shots with pickle juice and you can even order a jar of pickles to eat on the side.”

“That sounds…”

“Brilliant, right?”

Actually for my pickle-loving soul it does. “Who did you go to New York with? Family?”

“Ex-girlfriend,” he says.

“When did you guys break up?”

---