Page 155 of From Best Friend to Bride
“Don’t worry. I’m sure this wine won’t do even a tenth of the damage that vodka did last night.” My stomach curled at the mention of the spirit. “Then again, maybe I should just stick to water.”
His lips twitched as I got up to get a glass. “That might be the wiser course of action. I can’t say I fancy scooting about under the bed again, lest you see a jellyfish or something just as unlikely under there.”
“Hey.” I turned around, giving him my best ‘what the fuck?’ look. “A jellyfish is just a ridiculous thing to see under a bed. A mouse is completely reasonable.”
“Not in this house, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. I saw one outside last week. It wasn’t that crazy of me to think one might have gotten inside.”
“Assuming you’re right, it doesn’t account for the size discrepancy. Mice are tiny little things, and your slippers are… Well, they are not. They’re teddy bears for your feet.”
“That’s why I like them.” I huffed out a breath as I sat down, exchanging my wine for water. I pushed the glass towards him, and he expertly tipped the wine back into the bottle without making a mess. “It’s amazing how you do that.”
“It’s called not being a klutz. And I’m always amazed you can’t, given that you’re a bartender.”
“Funnily enough, tipping wine back into bottles isn’t usually what happens in a pub.”
He chuckled. “Good point.” He twirled some spaghetti around his fork and put it in his mouth. After thoughtfully chewing for a moment, he swallowed, then stared at me.
I blinked. “I didn’t poison it.”
“I wasn’t about to suggest you did.” He fought back a laugh. “I was about to tell you how good it was. This must be one heck of an apology.”
I pressed my lips together. “I… behaved very inappropriately last night, and I apologise.”
“What for?”
“Last night. I just said that.”
“What parts specifically were inappropriate? If you’re going to apologise, do it properly.” His eyes twinkled with mirth, and the momentary urge to stab him with my fork washed over me.
“You’re not actually going to make me say it out loud, are you?”
As if he was completely unbothered, he continued twirling spaghetti on his fork. “Yes. I’m interested to see how much you remember and which parts you think were so inappropriate that an apology is necessary.”
I cleared my throat and turned away, finally putting a forkful of spaghetti into my mouth.
Damn. This was good.
“I assume that blush isn’t because you’re complimenting yourself on your cooking.”
“You—” A bit of spaghetti caught in my throat, and I coughed, instantly reaching for my water. I glugged it down, freeing the offending bit of spaghetti, and glared at Fred with watery eyes.
“Sorry.” He hid a smile behind his glass.
“Oh, yeah, you look it,” I ground out, wiping my mouth. I put my fork on the side of my plate and kept my gaze fixed firmly on him. “You mean it? You’re going to make me spell it out for you?”
“Like I said—”
“Fine. I’m sorry I got so drunk I fell asleep in the staff room, and you had to carry me out of the pub while I practiced my royal wave. I’m sorry you had to listen to my drunken ramblings about how handsome my husband is, and I’m sorry you had to carry me into the house. I’m sorry I thought there was a mouse under the bed. I’m sorry I asked you to stay with me like a child. I’m sorry I flirted with you. I’m sorry I made you help me get changed. I’m sorry I offered to help you with your erection.”
Irritation rose within me at every word I said. Not just at him, but at myself, too. I was annoyed I’d put myself in that situation. I was pissed off that he was making me recount every single thing I’d done last night.
I was embarrassed.
Embarrassed by my actions and the reminder of his rejection.
“Are you happy now?” I pushed my stool back from the island and got up, my appetite all but dead. “I’m not hungry anymore. You enjoy this.”
