After the Scrum Read Online Free Page A

gran. She had a keen sense of when something had happened to her beloved grandson. It was something he generally tried and failed to avoid.
    He'd never managed to sneak something under her nose without being caught. It had been a source of frustration for him, and amusement for his granddad. The two often commiserated on her almost magical abilities to ferret out secrets.
    "You've met someone."
    Francis studiously ignored his gran's knowing looks. She'd been teasing him for days, as he'd drifted around in a mildly befuddled stupor after meeting his new client. He'd avoided telling her why he'd been so glossy-eyed. "No, I haven't."
    Her eyes narrowed on him while Francis made a show of adding a thin layer of marmalade to his toast. They were noshing at the tiny table in the kitchen. It was the warmest room in the house in the mornings when the bitingly cold breeze drifted off the sea.
    It had been a tradition with his grandparents, as long as Francis could remember. Breakfast before school at the table, he'd treasured the time with them. He could admit to himself he now clung to his gran—afraid to lose the last of his family.
    "You've met someone." She tapped her spoon against his plate to get his attention. "You get all wide-eyed and put too much sugar in your tea when you start fancying someone new."
    " Gran. " He briefly reconsidered all his earlier mushy thoughts about her. "Must you torment me before I finish my tea and toast?"
    "You've finished your tea, now stop avoiding my question." She leaned across the table to stare pointedly at his mostly empty cup.
    "Must run. Don't want to be late for a new client." Francis crammed his toast into his mouth and dashed out of the room. "Later, Gran."
    Her laughter followed him through the house while he snatched up his leather bag and snapped his fingers for Sherlock to follow. His trusty Fiat sat outside, waiting for them both. Mornings like this were the only time regrets about not living on his own taunted him.
    Most of his friends had places of their own, far away from their families. Or at least, they weren't in the same block, let alone the same house. But it didn't feel right to leave Gran on her own.
    "Well, Sherlock?" Francis opened the door for the sheltie to hop into Watson. "Think we can manage to avoid utter humiliation today?"
    Sherlock barked then twisted around to lie down in the passenger seat with his head resting so he could look out the window.
    "Not sure if that was a yes or a no." Francis tossed his bag in the back and slid into the driver's seat. "Maybe the Brute will have left already?"
    Another bark.
    "Thanks for the support." He scratched Sherlock behind the ear. "Maybe Ruth will have biscuits."
    Ruth did have peanut butter biscuits—and a slightly squished pain au chocolat. It seemed Stevie had managed to get his elbow into a couple of pastries while they were proofing. She'd saved them for Francis.
    Life in Looe would always be slightly left of centre. Francis tended to be slightly off-kilter much of the time as well, so who was he to complain? He chuckled to himself while heading up to his office to check messages before heading to Haddy's Pub to really start fixing it up.
    "My desk is not a chew toy." Francis frowned at Sherlock when he gnawed briefly on one of the antique legs. "No, stop it, blasted mongrel. I paid five thousand quid for this thing."
    Sherlock tilted his head and barked. Useless creature. Deciding not to risk any more of his furniture, Francis grabbed the printouts of his plans for the pub and headed out the door. He could walk down the few blocks to the bar, giving his overly enthusiastic sheltie a chance to run himself at least a bit ragged.
    He rarely bothered with a leash. Sherlock had become something of a fixture in the village. He regularly visited most of the shops, begging for treats and attention.
    "Be needin' any help with the pub?"
    Francis found one of the less friendly villagers blocking his path. "No, but thank