6. Carter

Chapter six

Carter

A fter making a request to book, I click the submit button. A request form needs to be filled out for bookings exceeding ten. I know it's weird, but I had to make a reservation at The Black Rose for Christmas dinner just to be near her again. I already knew the name of the pub. I’ve stood outside more times than I can count, willing myself to walk through the doors in the hope I would see her, but seeing her today felt like a sign, so I knew if I asked the name of the pub, my booking wouldn’t come as a total surprise.

On the one hand, I'm considering visiting before Christmas, but on the other hand, I want to see her specifically on Christmas Day. I want to make her smile on the one day she doesn’t feel like it.

Does she have a special outfit planned for Christmas Day? Is she going to be unhappy during Christmas? Is it possible for me to bring a smile to her face?

Sitting at the ripe age of forty, I'm constantly refreshing my phone as if I’m sixteen again waiting for the girl I like to text me. Tapping my foot anxiously, hoping for an acceptance from the pub. I considered going alone, but my mum wouldn't allow me to spend Christmas by myself. Despite telling her I was with friends, she would still insist on me bringing them along. Family is my mum's top priority, but Christmas comes in a close second. She loves it. I never expected her to agree to spend Christmas outside of the house. She's already prepared for dinner by ordering the turkey and buying all the frozen food, but I told her about this amazing pub that serves the best Christmas dinners and has great reviews. It took some persuading, but Mum agreed to go and got on the phone to the whole family.

I really hope it lives up to our expectations since we haven't gone out for Christmas in years. It would be a relief if neither she nor my aunts had to cook so they could enjoy the day with their family instead of slaving away in a hot kitchen. I suggested having finger food and turkey on Boxing Day, and I offered to help with it. She was surprisingly excited about doing something different. It's not your typical, run-of-the-mill pub in London either, it has character. Like it’s been passed down the generations. Everything in London is so modern looking and fancy. This place is cosy; it screams homely. A perfect place to be on Christmas Day.

I shared the pictures with Mum, and she absolutely loved them. I, of course have already seen the pub, but I haven’t been in there. I feel like shit for not telling Mum the real reason I want to go there. She would keel over if she found out it’s because I want to see an eighteen-year-old girl. But to be honest, I don’t care, age is just a number. My phone pings and I hastily glance at the screen, only to find it’s a text message and not an email from the pub. It’s my little brother.

Tyson:

Mum just told me we are at a pub in central for Christmas Day. Nice one. How did you sway that?

I chuckle to myself. My little brother, who is twenty-eight, is still in his ‘wanting to sit in a pub every weekend’ phase, so I knew when Mum agreed to this, there would at least be one person in the family over the moon with the idea.

Me:

Because I’m the favourite. I assumed you would have figured that out already.

It’s far from the truth; Ty will always be Mum’s golden child, but I like to wind him up sometimes.

Tyson:

In your dreams, old man.

I toss my phone onto the bed, hoping the rest of my family will be okay with my change of plan. My four brothers won't have any objections, I know. Although we're all easygoing, I'm unsure how my snooty aunties will handle being at a pub during Christmas. That is, if the booking is accepted. I entered my name in the hopes that it would make a difference, but if there's no availability, there's nothing to be done.

I still haven't figured out transportation. We're not far from Central London, but I don't want to inconvenience anyone, so I'll probably arrange for some taxis.

Relaxing on the sofa, I casually flip through the TV channels. Christmas is just ten days away, which means all the channels are filled with holiday classics. No matter what I watch on TV, I find myself unable to stop thinking about Angel and checking my phone. Texting her and asking if we have a table would be simpler, but I don’t have her number. Suddenly, a thought pops into my head and I instinctively open Instagram. I feel like a stage ten creeper stalking her, but is it any better than booking in at her pub just to see her? I don’t think so. I type ‘An’ in and her name pops up straight away. Of course it would. I check her profile weekly.

I find myself staring at one particular picture that I always gravitate to. She poses, but it’s not sexual. Offering a small smile, the camera only reveals her exposed shoulders and her face. Although it's surprising for a young person to not be more in your face. I'm not surprised when it comes to Angel. She was always a good girl in school. Those eyes that tore through my soul only today, stare back at me.

I immediately picture her kneeling in front of me. Fuck. I wonder how many boys, if any, have seen her like that. I'm curious to know who she’s let touch her.

My stomach stabs with pain at the mere thought. Fucking hell, what is wrong with me? This feeling shouldn't be here, but it is, and it has been for longer than I care to admit. I open up my direct messages and type out a message to her, but then think twice. I don’t want to seem weirdly obsessed by searching her up on Instagram and messaging her. Even though I am.

I shut down my Instagram messages and place my phone on the sofa next to me. Resting my elbows on my knees, I tap my foot and rest my chin on my fists. I know you can wait days for a booking to be confirmed, but my mind won’t stop racing and thinking of Angel. Image after image of her flashes through my mind, her beautiful eyes, her sexy as fuck lips. I need an excuse to see Angel again and this is the perfect one.

Fuck it.

I’m going to find out if my booking is accepted by walking right up to the bar and asking her myself.