I pulled a bigger face.
He started chuckling.
Ugh.
“Get off me, you big lug,” I demanded. “I need to go clean up.”
He didn’t get off me.
He kissed me again.
Only after he’d done a thorough job of that did he roll off and order, “Go clean up. If your back is okay, it’s time for round two.”
Really?
Nice.
With that promise, I didn’t waste time getting out of bed and going to the bathroom to clean up.
And then I didn’t waste time heading back for round two.
“We’re hashtag Blair.”
“What?” I asked, turning from the magazine I was reading on the plane from Dublin to Edinburgh to see Dair holding his phone my way.
“They gave us one of those mashup names. We’re hashtag team Blair.”
I took his phone from him and saw he was on TikTok.
It was silent, but on the screen was a talking head, and behind her was a picture of me on a horse, Dair standing next to it, holding the bridle.
I didn’t remember for certain, but I thought I was eight in that picture, which meant he was eleven.
We were at Treverton.
And we were smiling at the camera, probably because Kenna took that picture. And when we’d gone over the photos we were okay to release, I’d given Dair all kinds of shit at the proof he knew full well I liked horses, so he was just being a bratty boy when he was giving me shit about their Clydesdales.
But on his phone, this picture segued to a snap of us outside a café on one of the few sunny days we’d had lately. That café was in Clevedon, by the beach, and Hale was with us. We were all laughing, but Dair and I were sitting close. Making us closer, I was leaning into him, and he was taking my weight.
It was snapped by someone during our lunch.
And in the caption #TeamBlair could be seen.
I positioned myself in the seat so that Dair could see the phone. I then touched the hashtag which brought us to a grid of a number of videos, some of which you could see the childhood pictures that had been released, others were pictures of us at Edinburgh Airport, King’s Cross station, the lunch with Hale, in cars going to and from Treverton, me, Alex and Marlo sitting at the rugby match Dair was calling and Mum’s funeral. The most recent video on the grid being a picture of us touching lips before I’d folded into the car at the stadium not but hours ago. Dair was holding the back door of the car open for me.
Boy, Bally didn’t mess around.
“Go to Signe’s page,” Dair ordered.
I went to search, typed her name in, and tapped one of the videos that clearly had Dair in it.
“Comments, lassie,” Dair directed.
I hit the dialogue bubble at the side and the comments came up.
The first one said, OMG. It’s been years. Let it go.
That one had thousands of likes and seventy-four replies. I tapped the reply line, and the first one under it said, Right? Just…GROSS!
