'I feel like I've been waiting for her without knowing I was waiting.'
The warmth vanished, as if someone opened a window into a blizzard.
It was supposed to be a fling. Just two people enjoying each other for a few days.
My stomach clenched. The worst part was that he wasn’t wrong. Everything had moved so fast.Ridiculously fast.Too much like a snow globe romance, trapped together by circumstance. Desire in a pressure cooker. Not something that could be expected to last. He’d soon see the real me. The messy woman with nothing to offer but a good paycheque and a busy job. No big, sweet family to bring him home to, or perfect girlfriend vibes where I’m an excellent cook. My sister largely kept our flat clean, and when I wasn’t working I mostly survived on ready meals.
His mum murmured something soothing, but the sound blurred in the buzz of blood rushing in my ears.
I stepped instinctively backwards, trying not to make the stairs creak, and drew back into the corridor as quietly as I could. Each step made the house seem narrower as though the air itself had thickened with Henry’s admission. Opening up to his mother made it all far too real than I was ready for. Because I would be going home, and he’d be staying in Otterleigh Bay.
By the time I had reached the office and slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind me, my lungs felt like I’d inhaled a tub of golden syrup.
I collapsed back onto the blow-up bed, the plastic groaning beneath me, its uneven shape tilting and rolling me right onto the wooden floor. It felt right, somehow messy, just like me.
I stared up at the ceiling, trying to pick through my emotions, which felt stuck together like a bag of partially melted boiled sweets. It wasn't anger. Or betrayal. It was a mix of wanting him as badly as he wanted me, but knowing that I wasn’t looking to settle down. I’d come to Bayview Manor to escape my sad life, not to add more complications to it. I was torn between following my heart and giving Henry and me a chance, and shutting things off before we both fucked it up and hurt each other. Was it better to risk the pain, or enjoy our fling for what it was?
I pressed a hand to my sternum, trying to slow my erratic breathing.
I'd let myself get carried away with the closeness, the snow, the kisses and one deliciously pierced cock. I’d lost myself in desire, sinking into the heady world of Henry and his sweet demeanour, which masked his pain and pleasure-filled Dom side.
It was fast. Intense. I’d been caught up in his ropes and pulled under with his heady current. And I couldn’t even blame him, and he’d done the same.
But the truth was that I'd already begun falling for Henry. And I didn’t know what to do with that. He was younger than me, and what if I was mistaking lust for something more?
I curled onto my side, pulling the blanket up to my chin. I just needed a minute to breathe and figure out a way to walk back downstairs and pretend I hadn't overheard him. Pretend that he hadn’t just cracked whatever was happening open to the world.
twenty-six
HENRY
The first thingI noticed on the drive back into Otterleigh Bay was how quiet Amanda had become.
Not cold, just distracted, like she was overanalysing everything again. She still smiled when I spoke, still teased me, still nudged my elbow with hers in the car, but something in her had tucked itself away. A little wall.
I didn't push.
I wanted to.
But I held back.
She’d promised to come to the ceilidh-come-secret wedding, largely to check whether I’d be going as a true Scot. Plus, she wanted to see Claire and Owen’s secret wedding, having never experienced something quite as wild as that. She wanted to be here.
She wantedmehere.
But every so often, when she thought I wasn’t looking, she stilled, retreating into her thoughts.
Amanda's default setting was not still. She sparkled and bristled and busied. When she was quiet, something was weighing her down.
Still, she came with me without hesitation when Owen asked us to prep the village hall for the "Hogmanay decorations" that were actually the basis for the secret wedding decor.
We spent half the evening up ladders, convincing thousands of fairy lights and metres upon metres of leafy garlands to stay in place. She cracked jokes with Jean and Jim, and put her event organisation to swift practice, making a multitude of suggestions that would make the night even more special for Owen and Claire.
The village hall was unrecognisable by the time we finished. A The ceiling looked like a star-studded forest canopy. And Claire and Owen thanked us a million times, telling us we’d both have whisky for a while. Amanda looked slightly green at the thought of all that whisky.
Lanterns lined the windowsills, complete with electric candles, much to Amanda’s dismay. Jean had told us that the village committee would have a conniption if there were real frames, and the last thing we needed was Morag brandishing a fire extinguisher at the bride.
By the time we'd finished, the place looked truly magical.
