Free Restoration by Kim Loraine Page A

be considered safe for living. The building had once served as a home to one of the many lords given title by Henry VIII. It was large, grand, and had been altered many times. Maintaining the original structure and design was presenting numerous challenges. They spent countless hours scouring blueprints, any original documents they could find, and consulting with local historians, making sure all their work was authentic.
    The sun was dipping below the horizon as the two of them put out the latest in a long line of fires for the project. Valerie stretched and yawned fiercely while Grace brought them both a glass of Pinot Noir she’d bought for the weekend.
    “I was saving this for Saturday night, but I think we need it now,” she said as she pushed a stemless glass to her friend.
    Valerie took the offered drink and leaned back in her chair as she downed half its contents. Grace eyed her suspiciously.
    “Thirsty?”
    “Yes.” Valerie’s answer was curt and out of character.
    “What’s up with you? You’ve been distracted all day.”
    As if on cue, Valerie’s phone chirruped again. She checked it briefly and rolled her eyes as she tossed it onto the table.
    “Mick?” Grace asked.
    “Yes. He won’t leave me alone. After the way he treated me while we were in London, I thought I was clear that I didn’t want to see him again.” Valerie’s eyes were fixed on the table, avoiding Grace’s concerned gaze.
    Grace glanced at the clock over the fireplace and then downed her own glass. “Come on. Get your purse, we’re going out.”
    Valerie’s eyes widened. “Grace, it’s a Thursday night. We have to work tomorrow.”
    Grace smiled and shook her head. “Nope, I’m giving us a day off. Now get your purse and finish that wine. In the name of immersion, we need to experience the traditional English pub-crawl.”
    “I guess, but you’re freaking me out a little. This is so not like you. I think I must be a bad influence.”
    “Just get your purse, will you?”
    The old clock tower was chiming eight when they rounded the corner and entered the town center. While the town was small, it wasn’t short on pubs. There was one on every block, each with a different specialty. Some served traditional English pub food, others opted for a more American style, some with western flair, and others with Karaoke. There was even one dance club at the far end of town.
    People were beginning to mill around town, the regular crowd of pub-goers making their way for a drink after dinner. The first pub they chose was traditional English, with a solid wooden bar, complete with columns on each side and carved wood panels along the walls. A group of burly men stood at a tall table in the corner, drinking large glasses of dark beer and talking loudly about a rugby match they must have just played. They were visibly battered and bruised, their clothes stained with smudges of dirt and grass. She could practically smell the sweat and turf on them.
    “Well, hello there, ladies. What’ll it be?” the bartender asked as they took a seat at the bar.
    Grace turned to face Valerie. “Um, well . . . a pint of bitter?”
    Valerie nodded and shrugged at the same time. “When in Rome?”
    The bartender laughed and brought them each a full pint. As Grace brought the beer to her lips, she steeled herself for her usual reaction. “Bottoms up.”
    They took long pulls on their pints and set their glasses down with a grimace, shudder, and a burp each.
    “Ugh, I hate beer.” She turned to face Valerie. “Now tell me, what’s going on with Mick?”
    “Nothing, really. He’s just acting like a possessive jerk. I mean, we were out at a club in London, I was dancing, and he was hanging out with some of his buddies. Some guy came up and started dancing close to me. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, not even touching me, but Mick came over and started yelling at him and pushing him around.” Valerie paused to take another large drink of her beer.