“Then come for a drink at my place and I’ll show you my work.”
“That, Amber, sounds like something I would very much like to do.”
“Good,” she said with a laugh, settling back in the comfort of the near-horizontal leather seat, and wondering at the same time whether David hadn’t watched too many Regency dramas growing up. Someone more like Darcy out ofPride and Prejudice, she couldn’t imagine. But she liked it, which made her wonder if she hadn’t spent too much of her youth on re-runs ofPride and Prejudiceas well. The thought made her smile.
“I like seeing you smile,” he said, glancing at her before signaling to overtake.
And Amber couldn’t think of a response, because she thought that perhaps that was one of the nicest things a man had ever said to her. It suggested a lack of selfishness and ego on his part which surprised her, coming as it did from a man who, on the surface, appeared to be all about self and ego. And it also suggested an interest which reassured her. Maybe she’d get that kiss after all.
As the lowshining red car pulled up outside her small cottage, the neighbors’ curtains twitched to check out the unusual noise. David knew why. Amber’s parking space was usually occupied by her yellow VW beetle decorated with butterfly transfers, which was a whole lot noisier than David’s Jaguar, and half the time it didn’t go.
As he got out of the car and Amber exchanged greetings with neighbors on both sides of her cottage, he couldn’t help putting himself in their shoes. They’d be wondering what on earth a man like him was doing with a girl like Amber. He knew they’d be thinking that because he was thinking the exact same thing. But he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
As Amber chatted easily with the old lady who leaned out of the window to tell Amber her concerns over her missing cat, he couldn’t help but be moved by Amber’s easy ability to empathize with the woman, and to say exactly the right things to comfort her and to make her more cheerful. The woman, from having a worried face, closed the window with a smile and a wave. Amber seemed to bring light into a world where none existed. And he hadn’t the faintest idea how she did it. He could analyze anything but her. She was a total enigma and he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Or anywhere else.
She rummaged in her wicker basket—the likes of which he hadn’t seen since his grandmother’s day—for the keys. At last she found them. How, he didn’t know, because they were hidden under a perplexing array of things which he’d have thought would have been better kept in a cupboard somewhere. Preferably not his. She twisted a key, like he’d only ever seen before in a museum, in the lock, and opened the door.
“Welcome to my home,” she said proudly.
He took one step and entered a different world. And he knew, in that moment, that it was a world that he didn’t want to leave. He shot her a quick smile, glanced at the world outside and wondered briefly how he could ever have thought he could live in that world without the knowledge that this one existed.
Amber closed the door and switched on a side light, then another, then another. Apparently there were no center lights. She stood, looking uncertain but happy, on what appeared to be a rag rug—he only knew because he’d seen one in a colonial museum his sister had dragged him to once—with the warm glow of the lamps creating a halo around her red hair. There was a fireplace behind her, its Victorian surround and cast iron hearth showing remnants of a fire. He shook his head. No fire was needed with Amber there.
She frowned. “Is everything okay? I know it’s nothing like you’re used to but—”
“It reminds me of my grandmother’s house,” he blurted out. Memories washed through his mind with all the uncontrollable force of a tsunami. Things he thought he’d forgotten now flashed through his mind. “Anyway,” he said quickly, regretting his impulse to say what was on his mind. “These are the paintings, are they?” he asked, pointing to the stack which was piled in a corner.
“Yes, they’re my newer ones.”
“May I?”
“Sure.”
She stood back while he flicked through the pile. They were definitely Amber’s, but they were also definitely something different to her usual style. “They’re beautiful. They’d look right at home in any of the inner city galleries.”
“Yeah, well, that’s an option.” She walked over to the small kitchen, which was off the back of the only living room. “Would you like a cup of tea, glass of wine or anything?”
“No, thanks.”
“Oh. I thought you’d stay for a bit.”
“No, I won’t.”
She put the kettle down and walked up to him. He wished she hadn’t. It was all he could do to stop himself from reaching out to her, pushing his fingers through her hair and holding her face steady so he could kiss her as he’d imagined kissing her since he’d met her. He swallowed and clenched his hands. He wouldn’t give in.
“That’s a shame,” she said quietly. “We seem to keep meeting and then you leave, too soon.”
“Too soon for what?” he asked. As soon as the words had slipped out, he knew he’d said entirely the wrong thing.
“For this,” she said, rolling onto her tiptoes, putting her hands through his hair and holding his head steady, just as he’d imagined doing, and pressing her lips to his.
It was quiet inside the room, cocooned by velvet curtains, thick rugs, and with only the ticking of an antique carriage clock for company. Outside, the sound of wind chimes gathered pace as the rain which had been threatening gently rolled in from the sea.
The feel of her fingers on his head, her breath against his, her tongue teasing his, broke down the last remaining defenses. He put his arms around her and kissed her like he’d wanted to kiss her ever since he’d met her.
Eventually they parted, Amber continuing to kiss his lips and neck, before nestling into his arms with a sigh.
“You’re an enigma, Amber,” he breathed. “So beautiful, such a part of the world and people, and yet not. And yet you’re hiding here, somehow.”
