Bridge of Hope by Lisa J. Hobman Read Free Book Online

lovely, sweet young lassie, and you treated her as if she’d robbed your granny!”
    My stomach knotted and twisted with guilt. Of course he was right, and I hadn’t been able to get it out ma head all day despite the guitar playing. And I couldn’t eat my lunch, which is not like me.
    “Don’t, Ron. I feel like shit about it already. I’ll go away over tomorrow and take them some wine or something as a housewarming. I’ll apologise… I’ll explain.” I rubbed my hand through my hair as the moths in my stomach took flight at the thought of facing her. I’d say butterflies, but they’re too pretty to be residing in my guts. There was the distinct possibility that her man would punch me on the nose.
    I couldn’t blame him if he did, but I had to at least try to make amends for my shitty behaviour. Maybe seeing them together would help to stop the stupid feelings she’d evoked in me. I could only hope.
    The rain was hammering down outside. My walk with Angus later was going to be a soggy one. The door opened and some brave soul out walking came in for shelter. The drenched person rubbed a hand over her face and her hood fell off.
    It was her .
    I swallowed hard, waiting for her man to follow her in and look for me. He didn’t arrive and I breathed a sigh of relief. When she glanced over at me, I had this ridiculous urge to run over and hug her. She looked so damned bloody cute. The makeup around her eyes had run all down her face. She could’ve given Gene Simmons a run for his money. Bless her. She began to walk toward me and I had to stifle a laugh.
    Something flashed in her eyes. “Oy! I don’t know what your problem is, matey, but I tried to be friendly earlier, only to receive the least warm reception I have ever had the displeasure to encounter from a barkeep , and now I walk over here in the pouring rain for you to laugh at me? Well, I would very much like to borrow your public telephone and then you can get stuffed and I won’t be bothering you again!” Her Yorkshire accent sounded harsh, broader than it had been earlier, and her tone was venomous.
    I felt about two inches tall. Everyone in the place was looking first at her and then at me for my reaction. I couldn’t look at her anymore. I dropped my gaze. In all honesty, I felt ashamed. She certainly wasn’t a nervous, cute wee girl anymore. No, she told me good and proper. And she was right; I had treated her badly. The way she called me a barkeep stung a bit though. It came out like an insult. I guess I really deserved it.
    The payphone had been reported broken a couple of days before when someone had tried to cram an old ten-pence piece into the slot, rendering it useless.
    I peered around the pub and people awkwardly got back to their conversations.
    “Public phone isn’t working. You’ll have to come through to the back and use the private one,” I told her, and without making eye contact, I lifted the bar so she could come through. She followed me into the back hallway. I nodded toward the closed door before us, suddenly feeling the urge to reach out and squeeze her shoulder or make some small gesture of kindness. “There you go. And you might want to look in a mirror before you come back through.” I walked away and left her.
    Ron sat with his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t need to tell me what he was thinking… but he did anyway. “You deserved every word of that tongue-lashing, Gregory… every blessed word.”
    I grimaced in frustration with the old guy. “Just drop it, Ron, eh?”
    He didn’t.
    Instead he pointed a stubby old finger at me. “If I were you, I would be waiting for her and apologise properly before she leaves and gets her gentleman friend to knock your spots off.”
    I huffed and rubbed my hands over my face. Once again he was fucking right. I rolled my eyes like an errant teenager and went back through to wait for her. She came out of the bathroom and I smiled, trying my best to be nice. She’d