Page 121 of Worth the Wait
Later that night, Freddie arrived atThe Half Moonpub, the place already humming with easy, lived-in energy only small-town coastal pubs could muster on a weeknight. Warm light spilled from the windows, the low thump of conversation underscored the clatter of pint glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Someone had lit one of the wall-mounted gas heaters outside, and a cluster of smokers hovered near it like moths to a pub-branded flame.
Freddie searched the crowd.
The pub was all worn leather booths and mismatched chairs, walls crowded with faded rugby team photos, old black-and-white snapshots of the town, and handwritten signs with things likeNO DOGS ON THE POOL TABLEandYES, WE’RE OPEN, EVEN IF YOU HAVE TO ASK. The bar was sticky, as ever, but the regulars didn’t mind. This wasWorthbridge, after all. No frills, no fuss. And if your pint was warm, you shut up and drank it, anyway.
He spotted Reece already propped up at the bar, half out of his fire service uniform and deep in some suspiciously intense conversation with Trent, who still had his paramedic lanyard on. They didn’t look like they were flirting, but they didn’tnotlook like they weren’t, either.
In the far corner, Alfie sat at a table with Tilly, armed with a box of colouring pencils and a pad of paper. Tilly demanding Alfie draw her something she could colour. Freddie smiled. Nights like this felteasy. Had texture. Made staying in Worthbridge the right decision.
Freddie glanced around, scanning the room until he caught on the window. Outside, beneath the amber glow of the car park lights, Piper stood beside a gleaming gold Range Rover, Ryan balanced on her hip, posture taut with tension. She was mid-conversation—no, mid-argument—with a man Freddie would recognise in his sleep. A maneveryonein Worthbridge would.
Graham Radley.
Freddie clenched his jaw, watching the exchange with a pulse like a drumbeat warning in his chest. But before he could move, the lights above the little raised stage flickered, pulling his attention back toward showtime.
Nathan appeared beside him then, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck and slipping a cold pint into his hand.
“Brewed locally.” Nathan lifted his glass. “Probably by someone you arrested last year.”
“They’d have deserved it.” Freddie took a sip, though his eyes tracked back to the window.
Nathan followed his line of sight. “Is that—?”
“Radley.”
“What the hell is Piper doing talking tohim?”
“Fuck knows.”
Before either of them could speculate, Piper came striding in through the door, juggling Ryan and a scowl. Freddie intercepted her, catching her arm before she could make a beeline for Tilly and the pink gin and tonic she’d left behind.
“What didhewant?” Freddie nodded toward the window where Radley slid into the driver’s seat of his flash motor.
“Nothing important.” She rolled her eyes. “Offered me a bloody job.”
Freddie widened his eyes. “You didn’t take it?”
“Course I bloody didn’t,” Piper scoffed. “Told him where to shove it.”
“Good.”
She moved off then, calling to Tilly and settling in by the edge of the crowd as the room began to hush. Freddie watched her for a second, then raised his pint toward the stage. “She seen you yet?”
Nathan shook his head. “Not yet. Enjoying the calm before the mystic storm.” He leant in. “Sleep okay?”
“Like a fucking log. I blame the overexertion.”
“Huh. Tough night shift, was it?”
“Not as tough as my current lay.”
Nathan chuckled into his pint. “Any consolation, my arse still hurts, too. Dad called me out on the limp and I had to blame the old shrapnel injury.”
“Some warzone that.”
“Friendly fire’s always a stinger.”
Freddie laughed. But Nathan turned suddenly serious, holding his gaze.
