Page 35 of Love from Pretty Beach
A few minutes later, Darby spotted Archie making his way through the market. Dressed in dark jeans and a jumper, he’d nailed it. She wanted to nail him. She may have wobbled.
Kissing her on the cheek as he got to her, she didn’t just wobble; she trembled. Oh yeah. ‘Hi.’
‘Evening.’ Archie looked up at the sky. ‘Nice night for it.’
‘I thought the same. It’s so lovely down here.’
‘Everything smells and looks good, too.’
'They don't do anything by halves, do they? Suntanned Pete and Holly are out in force. If you're going to have a market, it might as well look like the most beautiful market anyone's ever seen.'
‘True.’
As they chatted and ambled, Darby soaked it all in; the setting and the company.
Both of which were very nice. Strolling, the white canvas tents lit by strings of lights glowed.
Every few metres, they stopped and looked at a stall and the conversation flowed.
The tedious, self-centred, pointless conversations from the app men now seemed ludicrous.
Things were flowing, lovely, gorgeous. Darby’s blood was far from flowing; rather, it gushed, ditto her heart.
Pretty Beach was putting on a show and doing a marvellous drop of making the backdrop sing.
It seemed it was very good at backdrops for dates with hottie patottie men, if men be your thing.
Pretty Beach could instantly drop a regular old situation on you and make it very far from same old.
The night markets, case in point. The delight of them had enveloped Darby and Archie and whoomph, Darby was sucked in.
Archie smiled. 'Right then. What's the protocol here? Do we work our way along systematically, or do we just follow our noses and see what catches our attention? How do you want to do it?'
Darby couldn’t have given a stuff about protocol or systems. She was just over the moon to be with him and not talking to a wall. 'I vote for following our noses and see where they lead us.' She inhaled the scent of wood smoke, garlic and frying onions wafting in the air.
Archie grinned. ‘In that case, this way because that amazing smell is coming from the harbour side.’
They wandered past a stall selling homemade artisanal breads, the air thick with the scent of rosemary and sea salt, then another where neat rows of jars were filled with goodies. Just along the end near the harbour, a guitarist strummed slow and easy indie folk songs. Life was good.
Arriving at the beer tent, Archie led the way in. Inside, a bar made from old trestle tables ran the length of one side. There were huge rustic-looking kegs lined up behind it and chalkboards listed the beers in looping chalk script.
Seafarer’s Pale
Pretty Beach Amber
Stormwatch Stout
The air smelled faintly of malt and hops, mixing with the tang of the sea drifting in from the harbour. ‘What’ll it be?’ Archie asked, scanning the board.
Darby looked at the list. ‘I’ll try the Seafarer’s Pale. I think it says it’s seven per cent, though. Oh, well, in for a penny…’
‘Good choice. I’ll have the same.’
The barman, bearded, cheerful and wearing an apron splattered with chalk dust, pulled a pint and a half and put them down on an old plank of wood that served as the counter.
Archie paid, slid the half towards Darby and they stepped to the side, leaning against one of the tall barrels that doubled as tables.
The beer was cool, light and fabulously English.
Archie took a sip, tipped his head to someone he knew and smiled. ‘This is what I call a beer tent.’
Darby agreed. ‘Right, I thought that earlier. It’s the sort of thing you think should be in a film, but then you remember you actually live here.’
‘Aren’t we lucky?’
‘For sure.’
Archie didn’t quite understand how lucky Darby felt to be out of the doldrums. No one, most probably, ever would. Not that it had been all luck. She’d dragged herself out of them. It felt good to be on the up. The doldrums were long gone.