Right Number, Wrong Girl

I suppose the answer to that largely depended on what you considered an acceptable reason to start drinking. And if—I checked my watch—three in the afternoon was an acceptable time to start drinking.

You know what?

It was five o’clock somewhere.

I wandered through the dreamy little village until I came across the pub on the town square. This had even more stores and bed and breakfasts than the original street in, but it lacked the countryside charm of it since it was only buildings and didn’t benefit from the rushing of the stream and the endless singing of birds.

Actually.

That wasn’t so bad.

It was nice to have a break from it. I wasn’t quite used to the happy, chirpy, Snow White shit yet.

The Gnome Arms was exactly what I’d expected it to be. Rectangular in shape with a flaking chalkboard sign declaring it to be beer and a burger night. Another sign on the wall told passers-by that it screened the sports channels, and the stone exterior matched the vibe of the town perfectly.

I just hoped they served a good Sauvignon Blanc.

And food.

Mm, food.

I was, apparently, hungry. For something better than toast and McDonald’s.

I pulled open the door and stepped inside. Three in the afternoon or not, I was going to break the rules and eat dinner and drink wine early like the rebel Teenage Sophie had always wanted me to be.

Teenage Sophie had really overestimated my ability to rebel against society.

A small smile toyed with my lips as I entered the pub. It wasn’t dark—it was just gloomy enough that it felt like your average country pub that served the best food, but the wall sconces gave off just enough light to be cosy but not uncomfortable.

Was this what love felt like? It might have been.

And to think—I’d even brought a book with me.

What a stroke of genius that was.

Sophie Smith, the genius.

There are words my grandmother never thought would be in one sentence.

There was a small table tucked away in the corner by the window, and I claimed it by putting my coat on the chair and my bag on the surface. It was marked with a little bronze circle with the number four on it, so I took my purse from my bag and walked up to the bar.

“I’ll be right with you, darlin’,” the woman with blond hair said. “Give me two seconds.”

“Oh, that’s fine, there’s no rush.” I smiled, and she returned the gesture as she picked up a glass and poured a pint of Guinness like a pro.

Impressive.

I sometimes struggled with getting tap water in a glass.

It was a miracle I was allowed to adult.

She didn’t look like she was that much older than me and I bet she could get water without splashing it all over herself.

She wiped her hands on her apron after ringing up the last punter and came over with the same beaming smile on her face. “What can I get for you?”

“I was told you do food, but there’s no menu on the table?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, darlin’. We serve lunch from eleven ‘til two and dinner from five ‘til nine.”