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The Jolly Oyster Pub got louder by the minute as the taps turned, glasses clinked, teeth clacked on rims and the liquid was guzzled down until only the foam was left. We sat by the window, crammed into a small booth, trying to converse over the drunk and loud patrons starting their weekend with a bang. My hapless work mates were all mildly tanked-up. Glenda, the director, and I were the only two not smashed. I had no idea what her agenda was—I was staying sober for Kyle.
I glanced at my phone.
T minus sixty minutes.
“Man, you guys really like hard stuff.” I took a swig of the German beer Dean had gotten me, lips curling in distaste.
“You live in London now, you’d better get drinking,” Loretta said.
“For Ireland, get ready to chug it,” Henry added, holding a pitcher of beer up.
“Look, mate, there is more to the Irish than drinking,” Dean said.
The rest of us burst out laughing.
“He lies. We have more pubs than people in Ireland,” Loretta said.
“Traitor. It’s true,” Dean insisted. “Did you know we have penalties for overconsumption? In fact, did you know, Happy Hour has been banned in Ireland as part of the Intoxicating Liquor Act.”
“The Intoxicating Liquor Act says it all,” Glenda said with an evaluating look at me. “And why do you not like the lager, Miss Mills?”
“I’m not a big drinker.” I pushed the beer back with one little finger.
“Curious,” she said.
As the night progressed, I noted how Glenda stared down her patrician nose at me, her icy grey eyes brimming with doubt. To thaw her, I had been trying to explain how a Midwesterner had ended up in London with Irish Iron Age dreams. With a sinking heart, I could tell I had not convinced her I was anything other than a country hick. Henry and Loretta were grilled by Glenda about the upcoming excavation and trip to Ireland, as Dean and I sat back and listened.
Well, I am definitely not her favorite.
After Glenda left, I leaned closer to Dean and asked, “Why did you pick a pub for this meeting?”
“They have good oysters.” He grinned and leaned so close I caught a whiff of his sour ale breath.
I shrank back in the leather seat, my nose wrinkling.
“Next round on me,” Henry declared, gesticulating wildly for the barman.
Needless to say, they all got drunker and funnier. I was so busy laughing, I lost track of time until my phone rang. I stopped breathing.
Kyle.
My heart beat with a familiar aching tune. “Hey.”
“Hello, Juniper?”
There was such a racket in the pub, Kyle did not hear me. I jumped up and moved like quicksilver, plowing a path through the throng of drunken men. Once out, I said, “Sorry, I am in a noisy place. Are you in London?”
“Landed. I’m coming to get you. Where are you?”
“Why don’t you text me your address? I will just meet you there.”
“That wasn’t the plan.” His voice was colder than the rain drops sliding down my back from the awning above. “Text me your location and I will pick you up.”
Bossy boy is back.
Cursing silently, I hung up. Trembling fingers texted him the pub address at the intersection of Cornhill and Bishopgate. I was about to go back in, but then I saw my group had followed me out and stood under the canopy of a bakery next door. I ran to them, hands on my hair to shield it from the rain. Henry was smoking and Dean was helping Loretta hail a cab, which was hard in the rain at night in London.
“We thought you ran away,” Loretta remarked, her arm stretched out.
“Just getting some fresh air,” I said.
“Fresh air or water?” Dean asked with a smile.
“It’s been pissing rain the whole bloody week,” Loretta muttered.
Shoulders hunched in the cold, we rubbed our hands together, our breaths puffing smoke in the wet air. A cab finally stopped, and Loretta and Henry left with little waves and meaningful glances at Dean and me.
Ugh, I hope they don’t have the wrong idea about us. And as I didn’t want anyone to know about Kyle, I could not lay their suspicions to rest.
Hoping to get clarification about Glenda, I turned to Dean, who was guzzling down the last sip of yet another beer. “Will she make a decision based on this dinner?”
“Let’s not talk about work, eh?” He flashed me an odd smile and jabbed a finger towards my chest. “How’s our lil’ American settling in, yeah?”
I pulled back a step. “You ask me the same question every morning. You must be really smashed.”
“Not too smashed to recall...I dinna ask you today.”
“Shall we get you a cab?”
“Nonono. I’ll walk back to the museum. My good non-American car is there. Volkswagen. Parkie. Parko. Parked.”
“You should not be driving like this.” I frowned, imagining how Kyle would react if I asked him to drop off Dean first. He might get the same treatment as Goldilocks had last year.
“Juniper. Juniper. Iamnotdrunk.” Dean came a step closer and rocked on his heels. “I’m buzzed, but fine. I am really alive...really breathing.” He took a long draft of air, as if he was smoking a cigar. “See. Not drunk. Breathing, yeah.”
“Nice.” Worried about his mental state, I looked down at the broken pavement, my gaze on the cracks forking like tree branches.
“I’m ash sober. Sober. I’m just wrecked. It’s been a long day. I must ask you something. I’ve been thinking. About you...about us. W-would you go for dinner with me?” he asked, his slurred voice heavily Irish now.
“I just did. A greasy pub dinner.”
“If I—what if it was just the two of us for dinner?”
“Dean. Dean, we’ve gone over this.” Though he had never directly asked me out, till now, I had thought my friendly-but-professional conduct had made my intentions clear. Apparently, I’d missed the mark.
I walked away and went inside the pub, leaving him alone and stoned. To the bartender’s surprise, I ordered a cup of coffee and brought it outside. Dean was still standing there, rocking back and forth on his heels. He drank the coffee and though it did not completely sober him up, at least he wasn’t shitfaced. It did not, however, make him forget what we had been talking about.
“Look, I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Too late for that.”
“I’m not...asking for commitment. Just a dinner date. I want you to get to know after-work me. Come to my place for dinner...one day. I learned how to make a mean Beef Wellington a la Jamie Oliver.”
“Thank you, but I can’t.”
Suddenly, his heavy arms were firmly planted around my shoulders. “Why not? You know...I admire you. At the risk of sounding like a complete fool...I must tell you...I admire all things you. All things Juniper. Work, family, love, passion. All your things.”
“Dean, please stop,” I hissed. I tried to push his arms away, but he dug them deeper on my shoulder blades.
He closed his eyes and his breaths quickened. “Let me finish. Let me think clear. I notice you no longer talk about...him. Accidently-on-purpose, I hope. I know. I know. I am slow and daft, not slick and cool like your ex-boyfriend. Y’know, I got drunk for the strength to ask you this. Just gimme one chance. One date is all I ask for.”
Oh, God. I can’t believe this. Not on the day Kyle is coming.
“Dean, I am not interested in dating you.”
He leaned closer, his lips inches away. My eyes met his and I saw the pain in his copper irises.
“Why? I don’t get why the girl I like is off-limits. I don’t get it. Can’t you see I am burning inside?”
“It’s probably the countless shots of tequila.” With a wild adrenaline rush, I managed to shove his arms off my shoulders.
“Hey!” He stumbled back and crashed on the maroon brick wall of the bakery. The beer bottle in his hand slid down, cracked and rolled away. No longer under the awning, Dean got soaked by the torrent of rain.
I pulled up the Lyft app on my phone and tapped on it. Clicking my tongue, I ordered his ride. “You are not driving today. A car will pick you up in three minutes.”
Dean looked down in bitter silence. I put away the phone and gazed at the wall he was leaning on. There was a wet Margaret Thatcher behind him, advertising a play.
“I am sorry,” Dean said, his head hanging low, chin on his wet chest. “I did not mean to offend you with what I said. I crossed a line...”
“Look, I am flattered you asked me out. I really am, but I can’t.”
He banged on his chest with a fist, spraying raindrops on his face. “I am an arse. An all-time loser eejit.” He muttered to himself, “You eejit, your inferiority complex is completely justified.”
I frowned. Drunk Dean was like a guy who’d been given the mythical truth serum and it was painful to watch. I took a step closer to him and pulled him back under the awning.
“It is not you. It’s just that...Kyle and I are still together.”
“Ah, the rich corporate bloke. I see. You are still with him. What chance do I have then?” he asked, shoving off the wet hair from his forehead. He looked away to hide the bitter line of his lips.
The hair on my arms raised on end. I knew before I turned... Kyle was watching us. When I turned, I saw him watching us from a few feet away.
