Page 49 of The Thing About My Rival

Joyce beckons over the server, who takes Hugo’s order of “something Irish and cold” and responds with her standard wisecrack of “my mother isn’t available.”

Interesting that his request was so vague, though, since he took much more care ordering the wine when we went out for dinner.

Winston, who hasn’t sat back down, drains his glass and plants it on the table with a thunk. “Right. Time to go, ladies.”

Oh, no. The Oldies leaving would be like having a safety blanket snatched away. Now my armpits are as clammy as my hands, but I can’t exactly wrap them around my beer glass.

“Really, no need.” I clutch Winston’s sleeve.

“It’s our usual leaving time anyway.” Winston checks his old gold watch, causing me to have to let go. “Actually, past it.”

Mona, whose eyes haven’t left Hugo, lets out a faint whimper.

“But he just got here.” Joyce taps Hugo’s forearm. Her eyebrows immediately shoot up and she makes anooof approval as she gives the muscle a not very subtle squeeze.

“Precisely,” Winston says, reaching behind him and lifting his jacket off the back of the chair. “These two must have a lot to talk about.”

“Indeed we do,” Hugo says, as the server places his beer in front of him.

“Oh, all right then.” Joyce gets to her feet, slings her shiny red purse over her shoulder and grabs her jacket.

As she moves behind Hugo, she pauses to rest both hands on his shoulders for a second.

“Do come to see us again sometime,” she says in her best Mae West impression.

“Oh, I most definitely will.” He lifts his drink toward me and winks before taking a sip.

Winks.

He just fucking winked at me.

And seriously, that flutter in my belly needs to behave itself.

“Oh, we’re the last ones here,” Mona says, scanning the room, her attention finally taken by something other than Hugo’s face.

She’s right. The rest of the bar is now empty.

Shit, they’re about to leave me and Hugo alone. The server is hanging up her apron and grabbing her coat. Theonly other person here is Garrett, and he’s wiping down the beer taps.

Mona takes a step closer to Hugo and bends her knees to dip toward his ear.

“Lovely to meet you,” she says in a loud whisper, like it’s sort of a secret but not quite.

Devil that he is, he leans toward her like they’re sharing a conspiracy. “Lovely to meet you too, Mona,” he whispers back.

The women head to the door, shoulder to shoulder, muttering and giggling.

Winston points a stern finger across the table at Hugo. “You treat her well now, young man.”

“Always do, sir,” he says with what sounds like genuine respect.

“She’s a precious commodity, this one.” Winston gives me an awkward pat on my back.

From a man clearly uncomfortable with physical signs of affection, that’s a compliment so enormous, so touching, that a lump rises in my throat.

“Oh, I am well aware how precious she is,” Hugo says, his eyes meeting mine for a fleeting second before I look away.

“Thank you, Winston.” I swallow hard. “That means a lot. You take care, and I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

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