Chapter 4- In the Crib
After a full day of foraging for mushrooms in Wytham Woods, Dr. Hobson had her specimens meticulously bagged, tagged and stored in the fridge at Lewis' flat. Meanwhile, Lewis prepared their tea.
While their dinner was roasting in the oven, the two settled in for a relaxing evening of cribbage. Lewis proudly pulled out the wooden cribbage board that had once belonged to his gran. Hobson let Lewis refresh her on the house rules of play and the game continued apace. Lewis was feeling much more confident in his relationship with Hobson now, knowing that she was content with in life's simple pleasures as he was. Walks in the woods, beer, and cards with his bonny lass: he was even looking forward to his retirement.
Hobson turned up the right jack from the crib and said, "his nobs" with a sly look before counting her points. "fifteen one, fifteen two… and that's it I'm afraid."
Lewis was pegging Hobson's points when the intercom on his door buzzed.
"Robbie, you didn't order a pizza, did you? Just in case you burn our dinner?"
"What? Never."
Lewis answered the intercom and heard two words in return, "It's James."
Lewis and Hobson exchanged a momentary look of panic before laughing. Hobson dived for the small pile of clothing that had amassed on the floor- most of it hers- for they had been playing a fun variant: strip cribbage!
"I'll be down in just a minute," Lewis answered the intercom. He looked at Hobson scrambling to put her socks back on. "You're beautiful," he said. Hobson looked up, happy to discover his amorous gaze. "To be continued, Love."
Hathaway was waiting at Lewis' door holding six bottles of Newcastle Brown. Lewis grinned. "Come on up, James."
Hathaway wasn't surprised to see Hobson sitting in Lewis' kitchen. "I'm glad you're here too," he said to Hobson. "There's something that I want to tell you both before I post it on Facebrook." Lewis glowered at the reference to social media, but he accepted the beer and put it in the fridge.
"What's cooking?" Hathaway asked, inspecting the oven.
"Nothing good," Hobson joked. "Robbie is cooking for us. You ought to stay."
"I wouldn't want to interrupt your dinner and evening of card games." He noted, spying the cribbage set and cards. But he also spied something else.
"Oh please stay James. I'm already halfway to being skunked in cribbage, so you'll save me the embarrassment." Laura pleaded.
"My new pet name for you is going to be 'Muggins,'" Lewis added as Hobson glared at his use of the term for someone who miscounts their points.
"Just to check, this is the version of the game where clothes stay on, right?" Hathaway asked as he picked up Hobson's floral scarf up off the floor.
Hobson feigned her innocence well. "Don't be daft. There's no such thing as strip cribbage, James. I mean, how would that work anyway? There's not a winner and loser every hand."
Lewis took his turn in the denial. "Bad Monty! He's always running off with scarves." The cat was perched on the refrigerator and yawned in contempt.
Lewis winked at Hobson before turning around to Hathaway. "But really, you should stay for dinner. Our pot roast will pair well with your beer and you can share your news with us."
"All right." Hathaway reluctantly agreed, tongue in cheek, "if you think the beer pairs well."
The beer helped Lewis swallow the news that Hathaway had decided to make a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella in Spain. He had found someone to sublet his apartment to and he would leave as soon as he had his belongings in storage.