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When Strike and Robin got to the bar, Nick and Ilsa had just arrived and were queueing for drinks.
“I’ll help Nick get the drinks in. Do you ladies want to grab a table?” Strike suggested once greetings had taken place. “It’s pretty busy in here.”
“Good plan,” said Ilsa. “Bring a menu, Robin.” They made their way through the tables to an empty one at the far wall and claimed it, sliding onto the padded benches opposite one another.
“So, how’s things?” asked Ilsa. “What I specifically mean, of course, is how’s it going with you and Corm? Gosh, has it really only been a week?”
“Less than,” Robin replied. “It’s only Thursday now. And very well, thank you,” she said, blushing a little. Ilsa winked.
“I don’t need all the details,” she said, saucily. “Just a few.”
Robin found herself grinning helplessly. “He loves me,” was all she could manage, wondering if she sounded as lovestruck to Ilsa as she did to herself. Ilsa snorted.
“Of course he does!” she exclaimed, opening her menu. “You two were the only ones who couldn’t see it. Did you really have no idea?”
“I honestly didn’t,” Robin said in wonder. “I get now that that seems ridiculous. I mean, I think if forced I might have admitted that I thought he fancied me. But he was quite distant a lot of the time, and very formal.”
“That’s just his way, as I’m sure you know by now,” Ilsa shrugged. “It seemed so obvious to us. Your name always seemed to enter the conversation, and it was clear he admired you a lot. He hated Matthew, though he never said as such directly, but it made him cross that you stayed with him. He thought you deserved better.”
“Well, he was right,” Robin admitted. “Even I can see that now. I guess deep down I didn’t think I had any other options. Or rather, was scared of the thought of other options.”
“I take it you managed to get over those fears?” Ilsa asked cheekily. Robin flushed scarlet and nodded.
“Oh, most definitely,” she said, slyly, and Ilsa laughed aloud, delighted and slightly shocked that shy Robin should make such an admission.
...
At the bar, Nick was still trying unsuccessfully to attract the attention of the busy bar staff. He gave up for a moment and turned to his old friend. “So, what’s new?” he asked in a knowing tone.
Strike grinned. It was obvious what Nick was getting at. “Pretty much everything, actually,” he said, trying not to look too star-struck and failing spectacularly. Nick grinned back and punched him lightly on the shoulder.
“Nice one, mate,” he said. “Hang onto her. You’ve landed right on your feet there.”
“Christ, haven’t I?” agreed Strike, looking over to where Robin and Ilsa were chatting. Judging by the colour of Robin’s cheeks, visibly pink even from this distance, she was getting a similar line of questioning herself. “Honestly, mate, I don’t know how I’ve managed to get so lucky.”
“Well, not by yourself, you useless oaf!” laughed Nick. “If my wife hadn’t intervened, you’d still be stomping about the place with a face like a slapped arse.”
“That’s my normal face!” said Strike amiably, and Nick laughed and turned back to wave a twenty at the staff again, finally catching someone’s eye.
...
“Ilsa, thank you,” Robin said suddenly, watching as the men began to weave their way through the tables towards them, drinks in hand. “I don’t know if we’d have connected without a push.”
“My pleasure,” Ilsa smiled. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t, you were both being so carefully professional. It was quite tortuous to watch.”
Strike and Nick arrived and put the drinks on the table. Strike slid into the booth next to Robin, his bulk filling the remaining space, his thigh pressed against hers, warm and strong. She felt a shiver run though her at the feel of him, and wondered if she would ever get to the stage of not physically reacting to him so strongly every time he drew near. I’m actually worse now we’re sleeping together, she thought. His sly sideways grin told her he had noticed her reaction and liked it. Holding her gaze a moment, he shifted slightly, pressing his thigh closer, and the shiver turned into a pulse of arousal deep in her groin. She looked away hurriedly before her eyes could give her away any more than her body had, and heard his satisfied grunt under his breath. He knew the effect he had on her and enjoyed it.
“So, have you girls chosen your food?” asked Nick, picking up a menu. “Is it table service?” He looked around. “Took bloody ages to get served at the bar.”
“I think so,” Ilsa said, “And yes, we have.”
They managed to attract a passing waiter and ordered their meals. Strike sat back, pint in hand, his arm along the back of the bench behind Robin’s shoulders. She leaned back against it, thinking how nice it was to be able to finally do that.
“So, there’s a reason we wanted to catch up with you guys,” Ilsa began. “We’ve not been down to Cornwall for ages, so we thought we’d go for a visit. Normally we stay with my mum and dad, but they’re having this extension built and they’re in chaos, Mum said, so we’ve booked a cottage for a few days next month. It’s got two bedrooms, and we wondered if you guys could shut up shop for a few days and join us.”
She looked at Strike, “You’ve not been down for years, Corm,” she said. “I know Joan and Ted would love it. You could see them, we could see my folks, we could do some stuff together. How about it?”
Strike looked at Robin. “What do you think?”
Robin considered. “I think it’s do-able,” she said. “Redhead will probably be finished by then, and Corporate Guy can be put on hold for a long weekend, I’m sure. That’s a slow burner case anyway.” Inside, she bloomed with happiness at the thought of some time away with Strike, away from work, out in the country air, lazing about, but she was careful to consider the business angle first.
He grinned, and she wondered if he was thinking the same. “It’s a date!” he said.
“Wonderful!” said Ilsa, delighted. “Nick’ll text you the details. It’s a lovely little cottage, Robin, sea views and a woodburner.” She got out her phone to show Robin the pictures, and Strike turned to Nick to ask him how work was going.
...