#i just could not tell you one thing about oliver askews season last year

[andromedasummer]

the person closest to a race ban right now did main commentary for this race. he acquired all 10 points on his license during the space of 9 months. i cannot recall a single thing he did last year. i love formula e.

[olicitysecretsanta]

Love Has Everything to Do With It

This is for Kim (@iwannabewithyou-unsafe)! Merry Christmas! I hope you have a wonderful time over the holidays! I apologize if you are unfamiliar with theater, but it was something that I couldn’t get out of my head! Please enjoy!

~ Darlene (@nerdyandturdy)

****

Summary: When Oliver gets himself into too much trouble, he’s forced to join his school’s Drama program. He ends up being paired with Felicity Smoak, the genius of the school, who does not take an instant liking to him.

Note: There are some bits in the middle of different scenes in this fic. Some are scripts of scenes from the play, and some are lyrics from songs from the play. The first song is “What Do I Need With Love?”, the second is “Jimmy”, and the last is “Gimme Gimme”. There also may or may not be a recording of the original broadway performance on youtube. And some experiences I wrote in this (something about a laundry cart maybe) are from real experience from when I did this play in high school.

****

“Mr. Queen, until you’ve proven to us that you won’t be pulling any more of your antics… you’re off the hockey team.”

Oliver can’t believe it. He’s the star player of the Starling Academy hockey team. They can’t kick him off the team! He’s a senior! It’s his last year playing because his parents ship him off to whatever Ivy League school they throw their money at.

Oliver desperately looks at Coach Diggle, who is leaning against the wall of Principal Waller’s office, his massive arms crossed over his chest, but he just shakes his head in shame. So Oliver turns toward his mother next to him, but she just closes her eyes and lifts a hand to rub her temples from what he assumes is another Oliver-induced headache.

It was just a little harmless… late night drinking… on campus.

Well, okay. Maybe not his best idea, but Tommy had dared him! It’s not like they predicted that campus security would show up at their secret spot on campus, leaving Oliver’s drunken self to pee on the security golf cart.

Tommy had gotten off with a suspension earlier that morning, but Oliver gets kicked off the team just a few weeks from the start of the hockey season?

“This is so unfair! Come on, Amanda…” Oliver tries to charm his way out of this, but a perched eyebrow from the woman across the desk forces him to correct himself. “Principle Waller… Don’t you think suspension is good enough punishment? That’s what you gave Tommy!”

“No, actually. Mr. Merlyn hadn’t been caught as a minor well over the legal alcohol content,” Principal Waller says, almost smirking at Oliver’s rising desperation to salvage his hockey career. “You’re lucky the guards had recognized you and didn’t call the police. As a favor for the Queens making so many donations to Starling Academy, we thought it best to keep this quiet.

Oliver avoids his mother’s intensifying gaze as she says, “Yes. Oliver is very grateful for your discretion.”

Slouched in his chair, Oliver avoids meeting anyone’s gaze. But a punch from his mother has him rolling his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, thanks…”

“Try not to sound too happy, Mr. Queen,” Principal Waller snarks. “We’re not done here yet.”

As if she’s been waiting at the door for her cue, another woman walks through the office door. It’s Lyla Diggle, the Starling Academy Drama Director and Coach Diggle’s wife.

“Good morning, Principal Waller, Johnny,” Lyla greets. She then turns to Oliver’s mother and nods. “Mrs. Queen, nice to see you again.”

His mom stands and shakes Lyla’s hand. “I wish it could be under different circumstances, Lyla.”

Lyla glances at Oliver with a look of disappointment, causing him to sink further into his chair. He always liked Lyla. Whenever the hockey team had barbeques in the Diggles’ backyard to celebrate a win, she would always be nice to the team, even joking around with them as she and Coach Diggle prepared the food. And when the boys would get a little too rowdy, she’d turn on the “Mom mode” and scare the shit out of them. Having both her and his mother side eye him like they are now might make him regret is night of fun more than whatever punishment they have in store for him next.

“Hey, Lyla… err, Mrs. Diggle.”

Despite the thick tension in the air, Lyla laughs softly. “Lyla is fine, Oliver.”

“So what’s Lyla doing here?”

For the first time since he entered Waller’s office and greeted Oliver with a frown, Coach Digg speaks up. “It’s time you learn some responsibility, Oliver. And you can’t do that sitting at home or in a class you don’t even pay attention to.”

“Yes,” Waller agrees. “So instead of just withholding your diploma from you at the end of the year, since you’re grades are also less than satisfactory, and forcing you to do better so that doesn’t happen, we’re giving you a chance.”

Despite his usual “doesn’t give a fuck” persona, there is a small part of him that cares about graduation. It’s his senior year. No way in hell is he being held back. “What ‘chance’ are we talking about?”

Waller smirks. “As per the Diggles’ suggestion, you will be joining the Starling Academy Dram program.”

Oliver scrunches his face in disdain. “Why the Drama program?”

Lyla answers. “Well, as much as it pains me to say, the Drama department is lacking in some ways, since many of our star powerhouses graduated last year.”

“So?”

Coach Diggle narrows his eyes at Oliver and clears his throat.”

“Um… so how can I help?” Oliver asks. “I mean, I guess I’m pretty good with tools, so if I need to help you build your stage or whatever, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

“Actually, we build sets, not stages, and no we don’t need you there,” Lyla explains.

“So where do you need me?”

Coach Diggle huffs a laugh, confusing Oliver. “Come on, kid. You’re popular.”

Oliver just shakes his head, still confused.

“You’ll be auditioning for a role, Oliver,” Lyla clarifies.

Oliver freezes in his chair, his eyes wide. He barely notices his mom going over the details of his punishment with Principal Waller and Lyla. Or Coach Digg stepping behind his chair and leaning down so he can quietly say to Oliver, “Hope you can sing, Queen.”

… Fuck.

Later that day, Oliver walks down the hall toward the Drama classroom with his best friend, Tommy Merlyn, whose suspension doesn’t start until tomorrow.

His best friend who can’t stop pulling his leg about this whole Drama audition thing. “I still can’t believe you have to become one of those ‘Drama Nerds’ to even come to hockey games!”

Oliver rolls his eyes and sighs for the millionth time. “I know. It fucking sucks.”

“Next thing you know, I’ll see you standing up on tables and breaking into song.”

“Shut up, man.” He shoves Tommy to the side, not noticing another person trying to walk past them.

“What the hell?” the girl yells as Tommy’s body rams into her side, pushing her against the lockers along the side of the wall.

“Oh, shit!” Tommy grunts.

The girl whirls around to them once she gains her balance, giving Oliver the chance to take in her pretty blonde hair and the glasses framing her angry blue eyes. She looks like she’s about to tell them off, but her eyes widen in recognition. Instead of yelling at them like Oliver initially expects, she just adjusts her glasses, which had been knocked slightly askew with the impact of Tommy’s body, and hardens her glare, which is solely focused on Oliver.

“Watch where you shover each other next time,” she warns before stalking off. After a few steps, she glances over her shoulder again, this time looking toward Tommy. “And don’t call them Drama Nerds, Tommy!”

“Sorry, Felicity!” Tommy calls out, causing Oliver to look curiously at him.

“You know her?”

“Huh?” Tommy tilts his head at him, confused. “Yeah. That’s Felicity Smoak, my chem lab partner from last semester. She really helped me pull through with my grades.”

Oliver looks back to where Felicity had walked off toward, but it looks like she’s already turned the corner. That can’t be her. He’d seen Tommy’s lab partner a couple times before summer break started and that can’t be her.

Felicity Smoak is a transfer. One year younger than them but on the verge of graduation because she’s some sort of genius. Oliver remembers her being a tiny dark-haired girl with goggles over her eyes in the chem lab and no way did she have the curves she’s sporting now. From what he remembers, she’d basically been swimming in her uniform. Now, Oliver can’t but notice how she’d filled out nicely.

“I don’t remember her looking…” Oliver tries not too sound to perverted. “… like that.”

“Oh yeah. The blonde hair?” Tommy doesn’t seem to realize Oliver is referring to more than just the blonde hair. “Yeah, she told me a couple weeks ago when I caught her in the hallway that she’d dyed it just before the school year started.It looks good on her”

Geez. Tommy doesn’t get it. Felicity Smoak doesn���t just look “good.” She’s fucking gorgeous. Oliver never thought that Tommy’s late-blooming lab partner would return to school later to mess with his head like that. Oliver is the hottest guy in school and can get basically any girl he wants. Girls don’t mess with his head. If anything, he messes with theirs. But that Felicity Smoak…

Oliver snaps out of his inappropriate thoughts when his best friend claps a hand on his shoulder. “We better get you to the drama room. Buddy. You’re already late for your transformation from king of the school to Drama Queen.”

Instead of pushing him, this time Oliver punches Tommy’s arm with no intent to hold back. “Shut it.”

Tommy winces, but still cackles the rest of the way to the Drama room. When they reach the door, he promptly ducks out with a “See ya, buddy!”

Fucking coward.

Oliver pushes the door open and the chatter in the room dims down when everyone recognizes him. He spots Felicity with a group of other students, sitting around a piano. Without hesitation, she glares at him.

He definitely hasn’t made the best impression on her.

“Ah, Mr. Queen,” Lyla greets from the front of the room. Oliver has the decency to wince at her amused but scrutinizing expression. “So glad you could finally join us.”

There’s a scoff from the general direction of the piano, so Oliver assumes it came from Felicity if the feeling of her glare on him is anything to go by.

It’s probably deserved. He doesn’t even have a legitimate excuse for his tardiness. He and Tommy had just taken their sweet time walking over. But Oliver would rather not admit that he’d just been messing around. “Sorry. I got… lost.”

Lyla raises an eyebrow and hum a “Mhm…”

She clearly doesn’t believe him. And neither do the rest of the Drama Nerds if their snickering is a clue of anything.

“Well, hopefully, your acting skills get a little bit better once we start rehearsing.” Lyla gestures toward an empty seat that, luckily for him, allows Oliver a view of the front of the room and of where Felicity is sitting. “Take a seat, Oliver.”

He nods and heads toward the chair, sneaking a quick glance at Felicity. She’s currently whispering to some scrawny kid next to her.

For some reason, that irks Oliver. Who the hell is that kid and exactly how close is he to Felicity?

Oliver can’t dwell on it for now because Lyla officially starts the meeting.

“Welcome, everyone, to our first meeting of the year!” She begins, prompting everyone, except Oliver, who’s slow on the uptake, to cheer and clap. “Alright, alright! Settle down or else you won’t hear what this year’s fall musical is.”

Immediately, the room quiets down and there’s an energy in the room that Oliver can’t quite connect with. He watches everyone else, including Felicity, basically lean forward in anticipation.

“We will be doing…” Lyla pauses for dramatic effect. “Thoroughly Modern Millie!”

Once again, the room erupts into loud cheers, almost starting Oliver. He sees Felicity adorably fist bump before shaking his head.

When did he start thinking of girls as adorable? The only girl that should qualify as adorable in his mind is his little sister Thea.

Oliver scoffs at himself, trying to make sense of why this girl he hasn’t even officially met yet has got him acting like some middle school boy with a crush.

Oliver Queen does not do crushes.

It takes him a few seconds to realize the room has gone quiet again.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Queen?” Lyla asks sternly.

It’s then that Oliver realizes that the whole room noticed him scoff and completely misunderstood why. He raises his hands in surrender. “No, I don’t! I wasn’t… that wasn’t…”

Why he’s acting so flustered, Oliver doesn’t know. He doesn’t want to credit it to a certain blonde that’s been messing with his head for roughly ten minutes. No. It’s definitely not Felicity, whose icy glare has just gotten even colder the more Oliver opens his mouth, intentionally or not.

“Well, let’s hope your audition doesn’t involve as much stuttering, Mr. Queen,” Lyla teases. Oliver refuses to admit he flushes when everyone starts snickering. “Auditions will begin next Monday. Please prepare a one minute song from a musical or a two minute memorized monologue.”

This time, Oliver manages to withhold his reaction, but he still lets out an overwhelmed breath. He either has to sing with his mediocre musical skills or memorize enough words for two minutes?

Fuck…

Oliver spaces out for the rest of the meeting, too caught up in the sudden anxiety over having to audition. Despite his grades, Oliver isn’t stupid. It was implied that if he didn’t try, he’d be banned forever from the hockey team and would have an even harder time trying to graduate with his class. He has reason to be nervous. Oliver Queen does not sing. And no way will he be able to memorize a whole monologue on top of actually trying in his classes.

Oliver sighs. He’s fucked.

He doesn’t know how it happened.

Somehow between actually managing a C on his history test and practicing for his audition, Oliver had gotten a callback for the male lead.

He probably has Thea to thank for that. At 12 years old, she’s pretty adept with musical theater. Oliver would never admit it, but she has, on occasion, gotten him interested in a couple musicals. She’d suggested he sing the song “You’ll Be Back” from Hamilton, the only musical Oliver has ever seen, and the only musical he will admit to seeing, since the musical has become pretty mainstream. Alongside studying for his classes, Thea had forced him to practice every day up until his audition.

Oliver didn’t think he did that well, but Lyla had apparently thought better.

So here he is, on a Thursday afternoon, reading lines with Felicity Smoak for the lead roles of Thoroughly Modern Millie.

Thea had known about this play already and is apparently a big fan of it. She’d said something about it being the birth of the Broadway goddess Sutton Foster, whoever the hell that is. Oliver listened to her explain that the play is about a small town girl named Millie Dillmount who moves to New York City, looking to marry her rich boss. Little does she know, she’s looking for love in the wrong places.

And that’s where the character Oliver is reading for, Jimmy Smith, comes in. Jimmy, Thea had explained, comes from initially comes off as a jerk who likes to mess around with women.

Now that Oliver thinks about it, this character may not be so far off from him after all.

Did Lyla set this up?

Oliver can’t dwell on this any longer, but he has more pressing matters to attend to. Like pretending to be in love with Felicity.

They have to read a scene that involves their two characters in the second act of the play, when a misunderstanding has driven them apart. They didn’t have to memorize the lines on the spot, thank God, but Oliver is still incredibly nervous. His palms are sweaty and his heart is pounding.

Lyla tells him and Felicity to start whenever they’re ready, but Oliver is far from ready.

It’s one thing to practice singing and saying lines with his little sister. It’s another thing to do it in front of other people and with another person he may or may not be harboring a crush for. During his audition, Oliver thought Lyla would just stick him with some minor role that people would still notice him for, since he had such a lack of experience with theater. So Oliver hadn’t thought much about being nervous. However, the prospect of having to act in front of an audience, no matter how small, has got Oliver bunched up in knots.

Felicity, despite her obvious disdain for having to work with him, even if it’s just for this callback, steps closer to him and lays a comforting hand on his arm.

“You good?”

Oliver takes in her soft gaze, accompanied by a delicate blush on her cheeks. It causes Oliver himself to blush, though he’s still unwilling to admit it’s anything other than a mild attraction to the blonde (and definitely not a crush). Standing there with her, he takes a stuttering breath and exhales through his nose, calming himself down. Then he nods.

“Good. Because you better not mess this up for me.”

That makes Oliver grin.

The next second, Oliver spots the exact moment Felicity steps into the shoes of Millie Dillmount. So Oliver tries his best, for her, to become Jimmy Smith.

MILLIE. I don’t know; you need a stenog? I’m quitting my job. Mr. Graydon isn’t available anymore. He’s lost his heart to—talk about your tangled web! He’s fallen for a friend of ours.

JIMMY. (A guess.)

Miss Dorothy?

(MILLIE nods “yes. “)

Well, I’ll be–

MILLIE. Bitter? No, Jimmy. Don’t blame her. I don’t, I really don’t. Mr. Graydon, either. Love swamped ‘em. We’re too young to live a life of hate.

JIMMY. I agree,

(Leans in for a kiss.)

So let’s kiss and makeup.

(MILLIE turns away.)

Or at least make-up. Maybe our kissing wasn’t such a good idea.

MILLIE. Or maybe you prefer kissing Miss Dorothy.

JIMMY. What are you talking about?

MILLIE. Don’t deny it, Jimmy. I was a little giddy from champagne, but I saw you leaving her room.

JIMMY. What did you think we were doing?!

MILLIE. Gee, I can’t imagine. Not that I need to. She told me everything.

JIMMY. Then you’ve got your wires crossed! Yes. I went to her room last night. I had to talk to somebody.

MILLIE. An intimate conversation, from the looks of it.

JIMMY. As a matter of fact, it was. I’ve been so confused, Millie, so mixed-up. Ever since you tripped me, life’s been topsy-turvy. Like now, for instance… what am I doing on a window ledge hundreds of feet in the air?

MILLIE. Good question. Can you answer it inside, Jimmy? You’re making me nervous.

JIMMY. No thanks. I like the view. The world looks different from up here, Millie.

MILLIE. Better or worse?

JIMMY. You tell me.

MILLIE. It’s just the same skyline I see everyday.

JIMMY. I’m talking twenty stories beneath us.

When they reach the end of the scene, just before the musical number is supposed to start, Lyla and the other judges are clapping their hands. Smiling down at Felicity, Oliver now wonders if Felicity had done any of the school musicals before. Her acting is incredible.

Oliver flushes when he realizes he’s just been staring down at Felicity, so he turns away from Felicity and towards Lyla.

They’d liked it. They’d actually liked it. Oliver lets out a small surprised laugh and turns his back toward Felicity, who sports a relieved smile.

Seeing the joy on her face, Oliver decides that maybe having to do this whole play thing, having to play the male lead, won’t be so bad. Especially if Felicity will be there right beside him.

Two weeks into rehearsal, and it’s painfully obvious to everyone that Oliver hasn’t done this before. He keeps stumbling over his lines, keeps forgetting lines he’s supposed to have memorized or at least familiarized himself with, and he can’t keep a tune if his life depends on it.

After practicing with Thea for his audition, Oliver thought he had some notion of musical talent. But no. He fucking sucks.

On top of that, his grades aren’t too hot either, and he needs to keep those up if he wants to get out of Waller’s radar. He’s got a pre-calc test in a couple days that could be detrimental to his grades if he doesn’t do somewhat well. It’s been on his mind lately, just adding to the stress he has over Millie.

After rehearsal that day, Oliver frustratingly stomps out of the room, too caught up in his thoughts to notice Felicity looking curiously at him. He barely notices her trying to catch up to him in the hallway.

“Oliver, hey!” Felicity calls out from behind him.

Oliver stops in his tracks, surprised. “Felicity?”

Felicity gestures for them to keep walking. They walk down the hall side by side.

Refraining from looking at her as they walk, Oliver focuses on the space in front of him. He sees Felicity lean forward and take a look at his face out of the corner of his eye.

“Rough day?”

“Uh, yeah, you could say,” is all Oliver offers. But the raised eyebrow and tilt of Felicity’s head suggests she wants him to elaborate.

Oliver scratches the back of his head. It’s incredibly embarrassing to admit to the smartest person in the school (who somehow as the ability to take all AP classes, go to rehearsal, and work after school) that he’s failing to do something she could probably do in her sleep. “I, uh… well, I have this pre-calc test on Thursday and I’m kind of struggling to keep up. With the play and everything, it’s hard to juggle learning lines and learning functions.”

Instead of pitying him like Oliver expects, Felicity has something else in mind. “Well, lucky for you, I’m free for the rest of the day.”

Oliver raises both his eyebrows. Looking down at the girl walking next to him, who would usually shoot him annoyed glances whenever they weren’t acting, Oliver makes sure she’s suggesting what he thinks she is. “Meaning…?”

She sigh, slightly annoyed that he’s not getting it right away. “Meaning you’re going to take me to Big Belly Burger in your fancy car, since my mom has the car today anyway, and I’m going to help you study for your test. Maybe even go over lines with you.”

Oliver stops walking, once again surprised. “Why are you helping me? I thought you didn’t like me.”

Now a few steps ahead, Felicity stops as well. She whirls around on her heels abruptly, causing her ponytail to swish in the air and the skirt of her uniform to twirl lightly.

“I don’t,” she denies with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. “I just don’t want you to keep rehearsing like you have been. If you humiliate yourself on stage, you humiliate me. And I won’t have that.”

Oliver still hasn’t moved from his spot, so Felicity walks up to him, grabs his arm, and pulls him toward the school parking lot. “Come on, Drama Queen.”

She ignores his indignant “Hey!” at the nickname. “I’m craving some burgers and fries,” she says. She looks back briefly, the blush still present on her cheeks. But a smirk graces her lips. “Your treat, of course.”

Oliver grins.

Three weeks before opening night, Oliver and Felicity have gotten pretty close.  Oliver no longer gets too flustered by her. Felicity no longer glares at him, save for when he steals some of her french fries at Big Belly.

Instead, they fall into easy conversation, talking about things outside of school and the show.

With every study session they have, every rehearsal, every hangout, Oliver falls in love with her just a little bit more. It had been a crush for her, he now admits, the first time Felicity had told him off. But those feelings had unexpectedly evolved.

Felicity is so passionate about school and this play that he wants to be just as passionate. And she cares so much. Despite that initial icy exterior she put on for him when they first met, Oliver had noticed that she actually cared about him doing better in his classes. She made sure that he didn’t leave a study session confused. She made sure that he practices a scene at least five times. But she also made sure they didn’t focus too much on business. She lightheartedly made fun of him and laughed at him a lot. It amused the hell out him, even when it was at his own expense. When she babbled, he made sure to take in every word.

God, he is so far gone with Felicity.

She really has helped him a lot. While not the best, his grades are slowly picking up to the point that his teachers have started praising him for his picking up his slack after years of not caring. Lyla has noticed how much he puts into rehearsal, having memorized his lines now, perfected his blocking, and having improved his singing abilities.

It earns him a pat on the back after rehearsal and an appreciative nod from Coach Digg whenever he shows up to pick up his wife.

He owes it all to Felicity.

Oliver just hopes it doesn’t end with the show, which is why he brings it up one day when they’re taking a break from rehearsing on the couch of his living room.

“So… have any plans once the show’s done?”

Felicity looks up from the lines she’s looking over. “You mean besides finals?”

Finals come a week and a half after the weekend of the show, so every student is bound to have their heads stuck in textbooks and notes.

“I meant before finals,” Oliver clarifies. “You know, before we all make a home in the library?”

“You’ve never been to the library.”

“Yes, I have!”

Felicity laughs. Then she purses her lips, as if thinking, but Oliver knows she’s only pretending by the smile threatening to break through on her lips. “Hmmmm… I don’t know. I might have plans… or I might not…:”

Oliver playfully stares her down.

Her smile widens and she relents. “Besides a few babysitting gigs and studying, no. Why?”

“Well… Oliver starts, suddenly shy. He begins tapping his knee with his finger nervously. “I was thinking about hosting a Christmas party for the cast. You know… celebrate the end of the show and Christmas before finals and everyone breaks off for vacation and stuff.”

“I’m Jewish…”

“Oh! Uh…” It’s been a few weeks since he’s felt flustered by Felicity. “Holiday party! I–I meant holiday… party…”

Oliver looks down at his lap, ashamed he’d just assumed something about Felicity that is probably important to her.

But then he hears muffled giggling. When Oliver looks back up, it’s to see Felicity attempting to hide her laugh behind her hands.

Now he’s slightly offended. “You’re laughing at me…”

“Stop brooding, Drama Queen,” Felicity tells him, still laughing.

“I wasn’t brooding and stop calling me that,” he grumbles, folding his arms and definitely not pouting.

“Sure you weren’t. And no way in hell am I going to stop calling you Drama Queen, because you are one,” Felicity teased.

Oliver is going to kill Tommy for introducing that nickname to Felicity.

“That’s it!” Oliver unfolds his arms and starts tickling Felicity’s sides.

“No!” she squeals, trying to escape his grasp. Oliver just devilishly grins. “Stop it, Oliver!”

She’s giggling hard and he’s too busy tickling her to notice Oliver’s mother and little sister walk in on the scene, coming from a shopping trip.

“When do you think they’ll get together, Mom?” Thea whispers into her mother’s ear.

“Thea!” Moira quietly scolds her.

What do I need with love?

I got it good

Got it good

But now I got it bad!

Oliver thought he was nervous when he and Felicity had their callback just a month and a half ago. But here he is, incredibly and unbelievably nervous to kiss a girl.

Oliver Queen does not get nervous when it comes to kissing girls. He’s a ladies’ man, just like his character Jimmy. If anything, girls are nervous when it comes to kissing him.

But Felicity Smoak is no regular girl. She’s the most amazing person Oliver has ever met. Even though their kiss won’t be real, that their kiss will be between Millie and Jimmy, and not Oliver and Felicity, Oliver just knows that it will mean something to him.

For sure, it will mean more to him that it will to Felicity.

There’s no way Felicity likes Oliver the way he likes her. She has so much ahead of her. She’s a super genius, looking to go to MIT. She’s passionate and kind. She has dreams she wants to accomplish. Dreams Oliver knows she’ll achieve.

But Oliver can’t be there with her. He’d only hold her back.

Oliver is stuck. He sucks at school. He’s a mediocre actor. He has no plans for his future. He has no idea of what to do with his life. He’s just some selfish rich kid.

What does he have to offer Felicity?

“Hey…” Felicity nudges him with her elbow. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Oliver says, wiping his clammy hands on his thighs. He looks out toward the seats of the theater, avoiding Felicity’s gaze. “Just a little nervous for today.”

“Ahhh… the kiss, you mean?” Felicity tries to act cool, but Oliver can tell by the blush on her cheeks and the way she’s rubbing her fingers together that she’s just as nervous.

The two of them have skirted around the two kiss scenes they have until now, the week before Tech week, the week leading up to opening night of the show. They made the excuse to Lyla that they didn’t need to rehearse that particular part of the first and second acts finales yet. The scene today, the Act 1 finale, involves Jimmy and Millie arguing before Jimmy, in the heat of the moment, kisses Millie.

But with the show so soon, just next week, Lyla insisted they at least try it once before Tech week, so they could be comfortable by the opening show.

So here they are.

“I mean, I’m nervous too. It’s not everyday that a girl like me gets to kiss the most popular guy in school. Not that girls like me can’t kiss guys like you,” Felicity babbles. “I mean, it’s just that typically people tend to shy away from smart people because they feel intimidated but–”

Oliver lays a hand on her shoulder to stop her nervous babbling. At the touch, she instantly calms down. He tilts his head to the stage, where the set pieces are still being built. “Ready?”

Felicity bites her bottom lip and nods.

(The terrace of MUZZY’s apartment on apron in front of main curtain, where JIMMY and MILLIE are in mid-conversation. JIMMY is trying to console MILLIE.)

JIMMY. Aw, c’mon, Millie, you can’t go back to Kansas. You’re an ex-con remember?

MILLIE. I can’t stay here! Not after pouring soy sauce all over Dorothy Parker’s dress.

JIMMY. Explain to me again why–

MILLIE. (For the umpteenth time) I thought it would clean it! That creepy Mrs. Meers swears by the stuff.

JIMMY. (The voice of gloom and doom) You’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow.

MILLIE. Don’t say that!

JIMMY. (A quick recovery)

In a good way. Think of all the people who’d kill to smother Dorothy Parker in soy sauce.

But they can’t, for fear of her poison pen.

MILLIE. That’s what I’m afraid of.

JIMMY. Relax. She’s so plastered, she’ll never remember your name.

MILLIE. You think?

(JIMMY nods yes.)

Really? What a relief!

(MILLIE throws her arms around JIMMY.)

A scandal could cost me my job.

(JIMMY is about to reciprocate MILLIE’s embrace)

Mr. Graydon–

JIMMY. (Recoiling from MILLIE, his mood souring on a dime.)

Is a stiff. Isn’t he?

MILLIE. (An observation, not an attack)

Another crack. Every time I mention Mr. Graydon–

JIMMY. (Very sarcastic)

Can I ask a favor–a really big one, ‘cause I know how hard it’ll be for you–can you not talk about your plan for once?

MILLIE. Why not?

JIMMY. ‘Cause I’m sick of hearing about it. You want to marry a man who thinks of you as a typewriter on legs, be my guest.

MILLIE. Thank you, I will. The new woman chooses reason over romance any day of the week.

(Proudly)

And I’m a new woman!

JIMMY. So why set your sights on the world’s oldest profession?

MILLIE. (A shocked gasp, then a counter-offensive.)

If I were you, I’d keep my trap shut about other people’s professions, Mister “I used to be in paper clips.”

JIMMY. Well maybe we shouldn’t speak at all. Maybe our nightly excursions are taking up too much room on my dance card.

MILLIE. (Rubbing GRAYDON in JIMMY’s face.)

What do I care? Any day now, my time will be consumed by my boss-slash-fiancé, Mr. Trevor Grayson, the Third!

JIMMY. I’m warning you, Millie. I’ve had it up to here with you and Graydon.

MILLIE. Then I don’t know what to tell you, ‘cause I’m going to be his wife. What will you be, butterfly boy? Flower to flower to flower!

JIMMY. You got a problem with that?

MILLIE. I’m merely suggesting that you grow up, skirt chaser!

JIMMY. Gold digger!

MILLIE. Womanizer!

JIMMY. Jezebel!

MILLIE. Casanova!

This is it. It’s time for their kiss. Their characters are caught up in the heat of an argument before Jimmy impulsively plants one on Millie.

So, Jimmy takes Millie’s face into his hands and kisses her.

For one moment, it’s just Jimmy and Millie, letting out that unspoken attraction they have for each other. But the next, as the kiss goes on, Jimmy slips away and it’s Oliver cradling Felicity’s face in his hands. They continue to kiss, deepening it, too wrapped up in the heat of it all to realize it’s time for them to separate.

A cough from the cast or crew, Oliver isn’t sure, splashes water on the two of them. They separate, both of their eyes wide in wonder of what just happened.

Oliver runs like Jimmy is supposed to. But at that moment, he’s not acting.

He can tell that Felicity is just as ruffled by the kiss. The song that follows the kiss is supposed to be one of her best performances, but she’s off her game.

Lyla doesn’t seem to notice, or she pretends not to notice. They finish the scene with Millie mistakenly believing Jimmy is seeing another girl, Millie’s friend Miss Dorothy, played by Kara Danvers, behind her back, but everyone can tell something is off.

They practice the scene a few more times, the kiss now less passionate and more awkward before calling it a day.

Even though Felicity usually walks out with Oliver to the school parking lot, a tradition they’ve developed since that fateful rehearsal, she rushes out of the theater before Oliver has his things packed up, so he has to run to catch up with her in the hallway.

“Felicity!” Instead of stopping, she speeds up. Luckily, Oliver has long legs. “Hey! Hey!”

Oliver sees her take a deep breath and stop.

“Are you okay? I thought we had a study session planned…”

“I–I’m not feeling too well so I think I’m going to head home.” She starts backing away from him and forces an apologetic smile that looks more like a grimace. “Sorry.”

Oliver watches her go with a heavy heart, knowing she’s lying to him.

Jimmy, oh Jimmy, don’t you know

What I can’t quite confess?

So coax me, implore me.

I promise you won’t bore me.

Jimmy, I might say yes…

With just days before opening night, in the thick of the chaos that is Tech Week, Oliver is stressed.

Luckily, there aren’t any exams until finals, and he passed all of his tests thanks to Felicity, so he can focus on the show.

Except he can’t.

Despite having rehearsal everyday now, Felicity’s been distant. They haven’t had one of their study sessions since before last week’s kiss scene rehearsal and hse’s avoided talking to him after.

They haven’t even practiced either of their kiss scenes, the one from last week and the one from the finale. Oliver has a hunch that Felicity somehow convinced Lyla they didn’t need to until dress rehearsals, starting on Wednesday.

From across the theater, as everyone makes preparations for a full run through of the show, Oliver makes eye contact with Felicity. She offers a sweet but awkward smile, not quite meeting his eyes, when he waves. He just barely works up the courage to confront her about what’s been going on between them, but then Lyla calls for places, prompting everyone to start scrambling up to the stage sidelines. They’re busy for the rest of the day.

It’s Wednesday night, and Oliver and Felicity get to kiss again. Twice.

The two of them keep their cool this time, because they’re fully dressed in character and it’s easy to ignore their real lives and fully become Mille and Jimmy.

Still, whenever they’re not on stage, Oliver can tell Felicity’s stuck in her head. But with everything going on, Oliver still doesn’t get the chance to talk to Felicity.

Even after Lyla’s called it a night, he doesn’t get the chance. In the middle of dress rehearsal, the sound and lighting team had run into some serious technical problems they couldn’t quite handle. Felicity, being the genius she is, had rushed toward the booth to help them.

Observing her now, she’s exhausted, not even trying to avoid him when he catches up with to walk with her to her car.

She gives him a tired smile before climbing into her car and pulling out of the parking lot.

Luckily, knowing he’d be exhausted tonight, Oliver had the foresight to arrange for Tommy to pick him up. When his best friend pulls up, he doesn’t hesitate to mess with Oliver

“Did you ask Felicity out yet?” Tommy asks with a teasing grin.

Oliver punches Tommy’s arm when he climbs into the passenger’s seat.

Here I am, St. Valentine.

My bags are packed, I’m first in line!

Aphrodite, don’t forget.

Romeo and Juliet me!

Fly, dove! Sing, sparrow!

Gimme fat boy’s famous arrow!

Gimme gimme that thing called love!

Oliver doesn’t get a chance to talk to Felicity until an hour before the opening show of the weekend. Yesterday, the day before opening, had been chaotic. The stage crew scrambling to finish up the rest of the set pieces. The costume and makeup department making sure everyone had their costumes set properly in their dressing rooms and quick change spots. The props teams lecturing the cast to stop messing around with all the different props. And the cast nervously rehearsing lines, dance numbers, and musical numbers.

There hadn’t been time for a heart to heart. But now, an hour before the curtains open, they have time. They’ve gotten their stage makeup on, which Tommy had relentlessly teased Oliver about when he’d popped in his dressing room for a quick visit, and their costumes set out, ready to put on closer to call time.

He should be nervous right now. Everyone’s been walking around with those pre-show jitters. And Oliver feels that flutter of nerves in his stomach too. But for some reason, he feels pretty calm right now. So it’s now or never, if he wants to talk to Felicity.

Oliver and Felicity have a moment of peace for now.

Except they don’t. Because when Oliver knocks on Felicity’s dressing room door, she answers with an uncharacteristic, high pitched, “Yes?”

Concerned, Oliver opens the door.

Despite the exaggerated stage makeup, the unnatural looking brunette wig she has on, which will be switched out in favor of a bobbed one, and the button down and sweatpants she’s wearing, Oliver thinks she looks beautiful. She always is. Yet, at the same time, right now she looks like a mess.

Her eyes are wide in panic and she’s on the verge of hyperventilating.

Oliver scrunches his eyebrows in concern and rushes to kneel by the chair she’s sitting in. “Are you okay?”

In a weak voice, she replies, “I think I’m going to throw up.”

Oliver starts rubbing her arms, trying to calm her down. “Are you sick? What’s going on?”

“I’m just… just a little nervous. Or a lot nervous. Definitely really, very nervous,” she sputters.

“Hey, hey, hey… You’re going to be. It’s going to be fine,” Oliver comforts.

“How are you so calm right?” she nearly sobs, tears forming in her eyes.

At the sound of her voice breaking, Oliver immediately stands up and pulls Felicity into a fierce, but soothing hug, careful not to mess up her makeup. Almost instantly, Felicity melts into his arms, suddenly not caring that she’s getting some of her makeup onto the white shirt Oliver had planned to wear under his costume. Oliver rocks them side to side as she calms down.

“Believe me, Felicity,” Oliver says. “I’m just as nervous as you are.”

Felicity scoffs, slightly muffled against his chest. “You don’t seem like it. You are way too calm right now, unlike the wreck that I am right now.”

“Okay,” Oliver relents teasingly, “ you are definitely in a worse off state than I’m in right now.”

He knows his tactic works when Felicity softly hits his chest. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”

Oliver chuckles. “I’m getting there.”

Well, hurry up already. I’ve got to fix my makeup.”

“Okay.” Oliver steps back a bit, just so he has room to sneak his hands up to cradle Felicity’s face. “You wanna know why I’m so calm right now?”

Felicity nods, pouting slightly as if she doesn’t want Oliver to let go from their embrace.

“I’m calm right now because I know that my partner… You,” Oliver leans forward slightly and looks straight into her wet blue eyes, “are going to kill it out there.”

Her eyes, which had been so filled with worry just moments before, look up at him with the most sincere hope. “You think so?”

“I know so. You’re going to be out there, giving it your all. And you’re going to make me want to give my all, too.”

Oliver looks up toward the ceiling and takes a deep breath, before looking back down at the girl in front of him. “You are remarkable, Felicity Smoak.”

Finally, that beautiful smile of hers graces her lips. “Thank you for remarking on it.”

“It’s never a problem, Felicity.” Oliver steps back. “I’ll let you do some touch-ups.”

He goes to leave the dressing room, but a delicate hand wraps around his wrist before he steps out of reach. “Hey, Oliver?”

He turns back. “Yeah?”

“I know that I’ve been pretty distant since last week…since we first rehearsed our kiss…”

Oliver swallows a lump in his throat. “I’ve noticed.”

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry for being so awkward about it.”

“Hey, you don’t have to–”

“No, I do,” Felicity interrupts. She lets go of his wrist so she can freely gesture. “I shouldn’t have avoided you. I knew you were trying to talk to me about it, and I knew we should talk about it, but I made every excuse to avoid you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wouldn’t say every excuse…”

Felicity tilts her head. “Oliver…”

He raises his hands in surrender.

“I did. And I shouldn’t have done it,” she repeats. Felicity looks away, almost ashamed. “It’s just… we’ve become great friends since this all started and… with that kiss, I didn’t ruin want to ruin that.”

Friends? That’s all she wants to be?

Oliver tries to contain his disappointment, not wanting to upset Felicity further. “Okay. Let’s not ruin our… friendship, then.”

Felicity blinks at him for a second before nodding. “Uh… yeah. Friends.”

Oliver nods and takes one last look at her. Then he heads toward the door.

“Umm…”

He looks back at her over his shoulder.

“You good?”

Despite his disappointment, Oliver smiles, reminiscing that moment before their callback eons ago.

“Good. Because you better not mess this up for me, Drama Queen.”

He shakes his head as he walks out the door.

Maybe Oliver can settle for being just friends with Felicity.

JIMMY. So where were we, before we were interrupted by kidnapping, white slave trading and the like? Oh, yeah…

(Kneels on one knee, then to MILLIE.)

Will you marry me?

MILLIE. Jimmy–?!

(A short beat. JIMMY holds his breath.)

JIMMY. Answer the question! Will you marry me?

MILLIE. I’ll marry you.

JIMMY. Poor as I am?

MILLIE. Poor as you are, because if it’s marriage I have in mind, love has everything to do with it. Right, Muzzy?

MUZZY. Hallelujah!

[…]

So you see, snookums. you can marry the boss after all.

MILLIE: Who cares?

I found myself a green glass love.

JIMMY. Funny, I found myself an emerald…

The show doesn’t go off without a hitch. There were a few mic issues and Kara and her counterpart Maseo nearly fly off the stage in a large laundry cart. But other than that, the show ends up being absolutely amazing.

After they’ve finished the finale musical number and the orchestra starts playing the curtain call music, the audience is already standing when the first of the ensemble cast step out to take their first bows. When his music cue starts a minute later and he steps back on the stage, Oliver hears his hockey buddies cheering and clapping for him. It makes him laugh as he bows. He can’t even hear his own family, who are sitting not too far from the stage, over the team’s loud roars.

However, nothing compares to the deafening ovation for Felicity. If they hadn’t all been standing already, the full audience definitely is now. And Oliver claps loudly with them, smiling so wide with the pride he hs for Felicity.

When it’s time for their final bows with the cast, Oliver doesn’t hesitate to grab Felicity’s hand and squeeze.

The smile she flashes him is blinding.

It’s weekend after the show ended and before finals start the following Wednesday. And by some miracle, Oliver somehow manages to host a cast and crew, save for a few other guest and Tommy, holiday party at the Queen mansion. Surprisingly, even though alcohol is what got him into the Starling Academy Drama program, Oliver’s parents had snuck them a bit of champagne, but warned Oliver not to let anything get too out of hand.

Despite the option, Oliver is completely sober. And apparently, his best friend won’t allow that.

“Buddy! What the hell are you drinking?” Tommy sniffs the red cup Oliver holds in his hand. “Is that plain old root beer? Lame!”

Tommy pulls out a bottle of whiskey from who knows where and shoves it in Oliver’s face. “Here! Take a swig.”

Oliver shakes his head, amused at Tommy’s inebriated state. “I’m good, Tommy. Where did you even get that?”

Tommy’s answer fades into the background when Oliver’s eyes catch a blonde ponytail across the room. Felicity sits with her group of friends, lightly sipping from her own red cup. She doesn’t look like she’s paying much attention to whatever her friends are talking about. In fact, she looks very deep in thought. But, as if sensing his gaze, Felicity perks her head up and spots him.

He waves, expecting her to do the same. Instead, she gestures toward the double doors of his living room and mouths, “Can we talk?”

At his nod, Felicity excuses herself and exits the room.

Oliver doesn’t notice Tommy wiggling his eyebrows at him until he places something green in his hand.

It’s a mistletoe.

“What the hell, Tommy?”

His best friend winks. “Go get her, Ollie.”

“You’re drunk, buddy. I told you she doesn’t want me like that.”

Tommy dramatically rolls his eyes. “Just bring it with you. It’s Christmas, after all.”

“She’s Jewish.” Wanting to get Tommy out of his hair, though, Oliver sighs and pockets the stupid Christmas tradition.

“Atta, boy,” Tommy says, pushing Oliver toward the doors.

Oliver rolls his eyes.

He meets Felicity in his room, where they often rehearsed and studied over the past couple months. Silently, Oliver watches her set down her cup and hop up on his desk.

“You wanted to talk?” Oliver asks shyly, shuffling on his feet and stuffing his hands in his pockets, trying to ignore the mistletoe in one of them.

Felicity nervously chews on her bottom lip before picking up her cup again, downing the rest of its contents. Oliver’s eyes widen, not expecting it.

“Oh!” Felicity realizes what that looked like to him. “It’s not–It’s just water. My uh… throat was dry.”

“You’re good, Felicity. I’ve done much worse than what you think I’ve probably drunk before,” he chuckles. “So… talk?”

“Right. Yes. Um.” She takes a deep breath, her anxiety picking up. “You know, when you first walked into the Drama room two months ago, I had really low expectations for you.”

He assumes she doesn’t want him to speak or else she’ll lose her nerve, so he simply nods.

“Back then, you were just the snobby, rich popular guy who thought he could do whatever he wanted.”

Until Principal Waller had threatened to ban him from hockey games and hold him back from graduation, Oliver had been that guy. He’s ashamed of who he used to be. But since meeting Felicity, Oliver has changed.

Felicity continues. “But then we got to know each other and I learned that you were more than that. That whole who rich guy act was just an act. You’re this caring guy who’s actually pretty smart and passionate when you put your mind into it.”

Oliver shrugs, a sheepish smile on his face.

“And somehow… eventually, “Felicity says with a fond smile, “we became friends.”

Even though Oliver is glad that they are friends, he feels a slight pang in his heart because he’d rather be more than friends.

“And then we kissed… and I couldn’t separate us from Millie and Jimmy. That first kiss felt more real than any kiss I’d ever had.”

Oliver’s heart starts pounding and his feet begin stepping closer to Felicity without him knowing it. He didn’t think Felicity felt the same way about that kiss because she’d run away from him.

“But then I got scared. So I avoided you.”

Oliver nods, understanding why. He hasn’t given much reason that he’d be a good boyfriend. He has a reputation after all. In that aspect, he’s much like Jimmy at the beginning of the play.

But like Jimmy, he’d changed. Like Jimmy learned from Millie, Oliver learned how to be more than just his money. He learned how to be a better person because of Felicity.

“It wasn’t because the kiss was awful. It was the complete opposite. It was amazing. And–and I know we said we would just be friends, but, well, we just kept kissing for the show and I thought, maybe we’d just get it out of our systems and once the show was over we’d get over. But I didn’t. And now that the show is over, I have no more excuses to kiss you anymore– what are you doing?”

Oliver interrupts her babble, digging out the mistletoe from his pocket. He hears Felicity gasp when he holds it up. “I know you’re Jewish and all… but, uh… this could be an excuse… if you want.”

Wincing at the lame attempt to kiss Felicity again, Oliver is just about ready to accept Felicity’s rejection. Instead, he feels her lips on his, and he reacts immediately. Felicity pulls him closer to the desk she’s sitting on, pulling him between her legs. He cups her right cheek, while his other hand buries itself in the blonde hair she’d left down for the night.

All the pent-up tension that’s been building up between the two of them is released into one amazing kiss.

Then Felicity pulls back. “This isn’t a one time thing, right? Because, if it wasn’t clear, I don’t wanna be just friends…”

Oliver strokes her cheek with his thumb. “No way.”

Felicity smiles before leaning back in for another kiss. It’s almost as good as the one they just had. Except he feels Felicity start laughing against his lips.

Pulling away slightly offended, Oliver asks, “Why are you laughing?”

Felicity winces. “Sorry. It’s just… don’t you see how similar we are to Jimmy and Millie?”

“That’s what you’re thinking about now?”

She raises her hands guiltily. “I couldn’t help it! I still have post-show depression!”

“That’s a thing?” Felicity nods, causing Oliver to shake his head at the ridiculousness of theater culture. Then a thought pops into his head, which prompts a grin on Oliver’s face. “Are you saying I’m your ‘green glass love’?”

Felicity leans closer, whispering into his lips, “Only if I’m your emerald.”

[the-coconut-asado]

Food Wars in Wrigglesbrook

First they took our longhauls. Then they came for the short hops. But even in the slapped backside that has been 2020, they will never take our inalienable right to go somewhere, eat something and smugly share the ‘gram. 

So while Vietnam in May and Galway in July are memories we are yet to make, booking a 19th century Romany caravan on the Welsh borders in September became the one we did.

In a normal year we wouldn’t have noticed you could stay in a Romany caravan near Wales or anywhere else for that matter,  but once you start googling you can find all sorts of ways to spend your refunds from BA: sleep with horses in Yorkshire - £250 a night for an aluminium frame bunk bed, the smell of manure and night terrors from Red Rum licking your face; or a yurt in Somerset - I’ve seen too many disgruntled Four in a Bed contestants to think this is a good idea. But the idea of cosying up in an olde worlde caravan next to an open fire and a babbling brook? You have my attention. 

The open fire and cooking pot were especially attractive as we weren’t expecting to have any memorable dining out experiences. For one thing, you never knew when the next lockdown was coming, so that Rule of Six could very quickly become a takeaway pasty on the A414; and on the other, we had yet to have a pub grub meal anywhere in the UK that gave us that irresistible string of emoji drools. We expected ‘ok’ but not OMG - so we started planning a trip for the local farm shop once we arrived and felt more Chevy Chase than the opening of National Lampoon’s vacation. 

Then we did arrive, ravenous, and resumed our Trip Advisor habit with a vengeance. 

At this point I should mention that this is a true story but names have been changed to protect the innocent. 

We knew that there was a pub within walking distance, but here’s the thing about Trip Advisor: you have to read between the lines. Too many effusive yet vague 5 stars and you start to suspect critical faculties are low; people complaining about a mardy waiter but grudgingly acknowledging the silky gnocchi may be worth closer inspection. Measured against these criteria  we were intrigued by the reviews for our local. It seemed like the food really was delicious (the degree of description, particularly of the game pie, was forensic), but that we may have a Basil and Sybil Fawlty on our hands. People talked of fights breaking out - between Basil and Sybil, Basil and customers, Sybil and customers - just name your combination. 2 star reviews were routinely met with a response that could cut you off at the knees with its sarcasm. Our dinner was decided. 

It felt easy at first. Seated away from other punters and not so near the open door as to catch a cold rather than Covid, and were served our drinks on the double. And then things got ‘interesting’. 20 or so minutes in I politely enquired if we could order. Sybil, hair bun askew,  frostily told us she was run off her feet and would deal with us when ready. We looked around - there were three covers in the restaurant and a further 3 outside. Still, we were on holiday so we took a deep breath and carried on drinking. 

Shortly after Basil himself bowled up, pad and pen in hand. ‘ Do you have the game pie tonight?’  Adam asked. With a face that said ‘thanks for reminding me (sarcastic version)’ Basil launched into the sorry tale of his put-upon weekend, churning out over 100 of them. ‘ Not enough pigeons so I had to have words with our supplier, but that’s Brexit for you (eye roll).’ 

We ordered game pie and when it arrived it was sensational. I had rarely eaten a pie with such depth of flavour and warm, autumnal embrace. When Basil came to take our plates, I asked him what was in it to give it such complexity. “ A secret!’ he snapped. “Just one ingredient then’ I coaxed. I tried to pull off a boozy conspiratorial smile, but just looked like I was having a stroke. He drew a deep breath: “ Teal, pigeon, venison, partridge, wild boar. That’s all I’ll say”. I took a mental note. 

A few minutes later he slammed a glass of something in front of me. I jumped as he said: ’ Tell me what that is then. Go on! I’ll tell you something - it’s’ not cooking sherry!”

I took a sip. “ Madeira?”

His mood changed slightly. “Exactly so. No one else round here uses madeira, just  cheap supermarket alcohol. And now..” he said with a grand sweep of his hand as Sybil approached muleishly to take our dessert order: ‘ My darling wife will tell you what we have for afters’.

“ What’s the dessert of the day?.”

“ I’d have to check” said Sybil. The frost wasn’t  thawing.

“ Why don’t you know? ‘ Basil demanded . ‘ There’s going to be words about this tomorrow”

‘Who says I’ll come in tomorrow?’ she snarled. 

‘I don’t care if you come in tomorrow!’

‘I’ll have the rhubarb crumble!’ I interjected quickly. 

Sybil was an inch away from ‘You know where you can stick your rhubarb crumble!’ so I felt I was doing my bit for the war effort. That and I did really want some rhubarb crumble and sod dessert of the day. But Sybil was aggressively set on checking it out and turned on her heel with consummate dramatic timing. She returned. It was sticky toffee pudding. “No thanks” from Adam at this stage would have been churlish. 

With no knife left on our table with which to cut a slice of atmosphere, but satisfied that I now had most of the ingredients for Basil’s secret game pie, we tucked into our puddings. They were both molten and packed with flavour. Maybe what we had witnessed was not a slanging match but their creative process.

The next morning our host at the Caravan B&B served up the best English breakfast, with a demeanour more Biden than the Trumps of the previous evening. Homemade toasted bread, local black pudding and slabs of bacon with crispy fat - he and his wife clearly knew about food. 

We decided to take one of his recommendations and try the next nearest pub that evening - a short drive away with equally complimentary reviews about the food  but no apparent  turf war between the owners. Here we dined on roast pork belly with crispy pig cheeks, a steak and ale pie (flaky delicious pastry, but without the sucker punch hit of Basil’s Game), and wondered why this part of the country had such a concentration of good pub food. And then we dined out at a third pub on our last night and our run of good luck came to an end. Partly my fault for ordering a curry because I have never yet had a good curry in a pub, but not my fault that the apple crumble had no sugar in it whatsoever. 

Anyway, here we are back at home, it’s December, the cold has set in and the first vaccines are coming over the horizon. So you might like to try my take on Basil’s Game Pie for the ultimate winter warmer, followed by my Torta di Ricotta flavoured with the sweetest Miyagawa tangerines of the season - Dessert of the Day in my fantasy restaurant. Start your dinner with the quickest and yummiest dressed Burrata (not so much a recipe as an assembly, learnt from Jock Zonfrillo on this year’s Australian Masterchef) and I promise you will find no reason to argue with anyone. 

Just don’t mention the war. 

Game and Marsala Pie with Potato Pastry

I have used a mix of venison, partridge and pheasant here, but take your pick from whatever is in season - proportion one animal to two birds (so wild boar could supplement venison for example). I found that Marsala gives that same depth of flavour as madeira and is cheaper. You can make either normal shortcrust, or my delicious (if super short and un-photogenic) potato pastry. Serves 4-6.

Ingredients

For the game filling: 

3 tbsps extra virgin olive oil

250g piece of pancetta, diced

1 large onion, chopped

2 cloves garlic, grated

1 large carrot, chopped

500g venison, cubed

250 ml game stock (made with pheasant carcass) or beef stock

Meat from 2 x pheasants, cubed

6 partridge breasts, cubed

250 ml marsala

250g chopped chestnut mushrooms

Tablespoon redcurrant jelly

Handful of fresh rosemary, chopped

Handful of chopped fresh thyme

1 tsp salt

6 juniper berries

For the potato pastry: 

175g self-raising flour

125g unsalted butter, cut into small cubes

175g cold mashed potato

1 egg, beaten. 

How to Make

Heat 2 tbsp. of the olive oil in a casserole add the pancetta and fry until golden brown. Add the chopped onions, and stir to coat in the oil and pancetta fat. Continue for a couple of minutes until the onions soften, then add the garlic and the chopped carrot and continue to stir. Add the venison and continue to saute until brown, then add the game stock, marsala, herbs and juniper berries, along with the salt and a grind of black pepper. Cover and simmer for 45 minutes. 

While the venison is simmering, add the remaining tbsp olive oil to a frying pan. When hot, add the diced pheasant and partridge followed by the mushrooms. Saute for about 5 minutes until the edges of the game are brown and slightly caramelised. 

After 45 minutes, add the game birds and mushrooms to the venison, and stir in the redcurrant jelly. Cover again and continue to cook for a further 15 minutes. Take off the heat and cool. 

To make the pastry, rub the cold, cubed butter into the flour in a large bowl until it resembles breadcrumbs, then add the mashed potato to bind it all together. Roll into a ball then flatten slightly, wrap in clingfilm and chill for 30 minutes. 

Heat the oven to 200C. Put the game filling into a large, deep pie dish. Roll out the pastry carefully between two sheets of greasproof paper  (this pastry is very crumbly and won’t behave as well as shortcrust). Lift carefully and place on top of the pie dish to form a crust, and patch ad pinch where the pastry tears. Trim any overhang and pinch the edges to seal (you can make leaves and roses from the spare pastry to decorate the top of the pie). Brush the whole surface with the beaten egg, then bake in the oven for 20 -25 minutes. Serve warm with some buttered cabbage. 

Miyagawa Torta di Ricotta

I make many different versions of this light and velvety italian version of cheesecake-in-a tart, but this one has a delicious citrus hit. Serves 6-8.

Ingredients

For the filling:

250g ricotta cheese

100g caster sugar

2 large eggs, beaten

100ml double cream

Zest and juice of 2 miyagawas (or you can use clementines)

1 tsp. Vanilla paste

For the pastry (this makes twice as much as you need, so use half and freeze the rest)

500g plain flour

250g unsalted butter, chilled ad cut into small cubes

175g icing sugar

2 eggs

For the syrup: 

Juice of 2 miyagawas

100g caster sugar\½ tsp. Ground cardamom

50 ml water

How to make

First make the pastry. Put the flour and butter into a food processor and blitz until the consistency of breadcrumbs. Add the icing sugar and pulse for a minute, then, with the motor running, add the two beaten eggs and pulse until it just comes together (don’t overwork). 

Turn out onto a floured surface, divide in two, pat one half  into a flatish circle, wrap in clingfilm and chill for an hour. Cut one third of the second ball and put to one side. Wrap the rest in clingfilm and freeze). 

Heat the oven to 180C. Roll out the pastry to fit a 23 cm tart tin. Trim the edges (save these for later) , prick the base all over with a fork then line with baking parchment and bake blind (using baking beans or any dried beans) for 20 minutes. Remove the baking parchment and beans, brush the base of the pastry with beaten egg, then return to the oven for a further 15 mins. Remove from the oven and cool while you make the filling. 

To make the filling: mix all the ingredients together until smooth. Pour into the cooled tart shell. 

Working with your remaining pastry, roll out again and cut strips, then lattice these strips across the top of the tart. 

Bake in the oven for 25-30 minutes or until the filling is firm but still a bit wobbly. Remove from the oven and cool. 

Make the syrup: Put all the ingredients into a small saucepan and heat gently until the sugar is dissolved. Bring to the boil and then boil for 5 minutes until thickened slightly. Turn off the heat and cool - as it cools, the syrup will thicken more. When cool, brush the syrup over the surface of the tart. Leave for an hour and then serve. This tart will keep well under a cover for another couple of days. 

Dressed Burrata

So luscious with an unexpected hit of chilli. From first thought to table in 2 minutes. 

Serves 2. 

Take one burrata, at room temperature, and pop it into a small bowl. Snip a generous cross in the top of the cheese with scissors, enough to let it ooze. Drizzle on some top quality extra virgin olive oil, two turns of a black pepper mill, a generous pinch of sea salt, a chopped red thai chilli and a squeeze of lemon juice. 

Eat straight away with slices of toasted sourdough or, as in this picture, some of my toasted beer and buttermilk soda bread.