A Shot at Love by T.B. Markinson

Author:T.B. Markinson [Markinson, T.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: T.B. Markinson
Published: 2019-07-04T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty

In silence, they walked out of the pub, making Harriet even more uncomfortable than normal. Harriet now knew for certain Josie was not interested in her in any fashion aside from being friends. That had been made perfectly clear in humiliating fashion, and in front of Eugenie and Clive. Her brain floundered for an acceptable excuse to allow her to make a clean getaway.

“Uh, I think I left my kettle on. I should go… turn it off.” Harriet hiked a thumb over her shoulder in the opposite direction of her cottage.

“Don’t you have an electric one that shuts off?”

“Oh, right. I forgot that part.” Harriet nodded absently, upset she’d botched the excuse and was coming across even more pathetic now than two minutes ago. Harriet really didn’t think that was possible. Never underestimate a fool’s ability to make an arse out of themselves.

“Do you have a preference on the route?” Josie asked, stopping in her tracks to bend to the right and then left, limbering up for the stroll.

Harriet searched the countryside. “It rained yesterday. Are you opposed to mud?”

“Depends. I don’t mind trudging through mud when I have on wellies, but I’m wearing sneakers.” Josie pointed to her Nikes and made a motion with her hand that suggested So, what do you think?

“Right.” Harriet wore wellies. “If we head to the square, take a left and then right, we’ll reach one of my favorite treks. It takes us past a manor, cricket field, a charming row of cottages…” She let her voice trail off, aware she was rambling.

Josie motioned for Harriet to lead the way, the two of them walking in increasingly uncomfortable silence. After they crossed a couple of streets and made it to a metal gate, they started out on a footpath that led to a bridge taking them over a larger river than the one in Upper Chewford, reaching another path on the left. Through the trees on the right, Harriet could make out a cricket field.

Josie stopped and took in the view of the Mansfield House in the distance.

Harriet struggled to think of something clever to break the awkwardness, but the unfortunate kettle comment had her rattled. “I’ve always had a knack for showing up at the wrong time.” She opted to joke about what had just happened, thinking it might help crack through the tension like a pick separating an ice chunk. They’d have a good laugh. Deepening their friendship.

“As a journalist, though, isn’t that kinda a good thing?” Josie kept her eyes on the grand house in the distance that could be used as a location for a Jane Austen film.

“You’d think so, but my knack only seems to involve personally humiliating scenarios. Like when I walked in on my wife taking a shower with her best friend.”

Josie looked at Harriet. “Ouch!”

Harriet nodded.

“Wait. I thought you said your ex claimed you two had grown apart or something. You never mentioned the shower bit.”

“It’s not something one mentions so early to a new acquaintance or ever, but she did say that as an excuse as to why… she… you know.

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