Page 17 of All Mine
Fox: And I have a babysitter for Throwback Thursday.
Etienne: Bolthole?
Fox: Bolthole!
Walker: Bolthole!
Chapter Nine
Isabella
The Bolthole was all low lighting, wooden floors, live music and loud. It was everything Isabella needed to remind her she was young(ish) and wanted to have fun just as much, or almost as much, as she wanted to have Tutto Mio up and running. It had been all work and no play for her first few weeks in Honeybridge and she would be the first to admit she wanted to let her hair down. Literally. It flowed over her shoulders in tumbling waves tonight, and she could feel it against her bare back as she shook her head. Her shoestring-strap camisole almost met the top of her jeans but not quite, allowing a glimpse of olive skin just at her waist. She felt good.
Wren waved a hand from a booth and Isabella scooted in, landing beside a beautiful woman– presumably the Amber who needed a night out.
‘Damn, woman,’ Wren said, ‘the men will be tripping over their tongues.’
‘Looking good yourself,’ said Isabella, admiring Wren’s sleek and sexy topknot, which was perfect with the plunging white shirt she wore tucked into skintight leather trousers. ‘And you, Rosie. Love the hair.’
Rosie’s blonde braids were wrapped around her head like a crown tonight and her tortoiseshell glasses sat at the end of her snub nose.
‘Hey, what about me?’ Amber who needed a night out said, and Isabella turned to get a good look at her, ready to say something complimentary. But no words came out as she took in the caramel tones of Amber’s skin, the halo of curly hair held back in a top pony, and eyes the colour of the sea. And that was before she could take in the full bosom almost spilling out of a black top. She let out a low whistle instead.
‘Good answer.’ Amber laughed and then, to Rosie and Wren, she said, ‘You’re right, I like her already.’
‘Welcome to Throwback Thursday,’ said Rosie, raising her glass. ‘The most fun you can have with your clothes on.’
An hour later, drinks were flowing and the bar was always three-deep. The women had decided it was better to buy two bottles at a time to prevent wasted time queuing. Amber was drinking Blue Lagoon cocktails instead and transferring the umbrellas from her drink to behind her ear. The crowd was just Isabella’s type: up for it, young, but not too young. Old, but not old enough to know better.
A steady stream of locals popped over to say hello. Between them, Amber, Rosie and Wren appeared to know everyone in town. Rosie and Wren were like a double act, while Amber had a way of tilting her head to one side as she listened, and touching people’s arms as she replied. Before long, Isabella felt like she’d been introduced to everyone she’d ever need. Lizelle, the striking South African hairdresser who gave the best blow-dry; Ben, the rowing coach, whose chest hair merged with his full beard; Ellie, with jewelled nails that glowed in the dark, who offered Isabella a discount on her first manicure; and Jamie from the greengrocer’s, who promised her a free squeeze of his produce with a wink. She committed their names to memory and told them she’d love to see them at the grand opening of Tutto Mio. The booze was loosening her up, untying the knots in her shoulders from sanding and painting. Gabi would love it in here. She couldn’t wait for her to visit.
‘So how do you guys know each other?’ she asked the women at the table as they poured another round.
‘We met a couple of years ago when Amber and Jayden moved here and joined River Rats.’ Rosie pointed between the three women. ‘Bonded over a secret flask of brandy on the bankside on a bitterly cold winter’s day while the kids did rafting.’
‘River Rats?’ Isabella asked.
‘It’s a club that does stuff on the water every weekend,’ said Amber. ‘My son, Jayden, goes. He’s ten.’
‘So does our daughter, Riley. She’s three. And she has a massive crush on Jayden.’
‘Sounds perfect,’ Isabella said.
‘Almost as perfect as when the men’s team capsized and came out of the water looking like four Mr Darcys. Dripping fringes, broody eyes, the lot.’ Amber closed her eyes with pleasure.
‘Ah, yes. A famous Etienne incident.’ Rosie sipped her wine. Isabella’s ears pricked up at the name.
‘I think I’ve met him actually,’ Isabella made herself casually announce.
Wren put a hand out expectantly across the table. ‘I win,’ she said triumphantly.
Rosie groaned loudly, opened her purse and put a ten-pound note in her partner’s palm with a rueful smile.
‘Iknewhe’d make a beeline for you the moment he saw you!’ Wren proclaimed.
‘Do you all know him then?’ Isabella asked.
‘Think every straight woman in Honeybridge knows him,’ Wren said. ‘Or would like to.’
