Lily nods slowly, then she turns to me, her question spoken in a soft voice. “Would you like to read in the garden with me? I could use some air.”
“Of course,” I say, leaving to fetch the special-edition Austen Lily bought at Sydney Airport from my bedside table.
“Hey, you can’t leave mid-game!” Ellenor protests.
“It’s been nearly four hours,” Lily counters, already stepping outside.
Catherine looks relieved and begins packing away.
Lily and I settle in wicker sun chairs in the shade, the leaves overhead already patchy with autumn gold.
Despite my best efforts, I struggle to concentrate on the story. So does she, her uninjured foot sliding along my shin, tracing sensual lines that make my hair stand on end in the best way. I’m soon on my feet, taking her hand.
“Come with me.”
I lead her along the side path towards the far wall of the cottage, where the hedge grows thick and the shade deepens—a pocket of privacy that feels stolen. Before she can ask what I’m doing, I gently press her back to the blue rendered wall.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” I confess quietly.
“You have?” she says, breathless.
“Yes,” I say, my voice low as I lean in, eyes drifting half-closed. “You’re all I can think about.”
The moment my mouth finds hers, all reason deserts me. She pulls me closer by the collar of my shirt, rising onto her toes, and I’m lost. My handsslide to her waist, her fingers threading into my hair, and we’re kissing like we’ve been waiting years for this.
It certainly feels like that.
Heat floods me, flames gathering, spreading, intensifying as we press closer, my body flush against hers, soft moans sighing near my ear as I move to her neck, unable to stop myself.
I have one hand braced beside her head, the other gripping her hip. She arches into me with a gasp that nearly breaks my restraint entirely.
And then Barbara appears, because of course she does.
“Elderflower cordial!” she trills, opening my gate with the spare key I should never have entrusted her with. She bears a tray of tall glasses beaded with condensation, the droplets sparkling.
Lily jerks, startled, cheeks flushed, lips beautifully swollen. I step back at once, dragging in a frustrated breath.
I used to believe Rupert and Barbara wanted to see me fall in love. Now I’m convinced they simply want to insert themselves in my business.
“This is delicious,” Lily manages, accepting a glass and very deliberately not making eye contact with me. I’m still staring at her lips, red and puffy from kissing. “Like lemonade, but…floral?”
“Homemade,” Barbara says proudly. “I boiled the elderflowers with sugar, lemon slices, and water. I foraged the elderflowers myself.”
None of this interests me. Irritation slips into my voice. “Found them in my hedgerows, did you?”
“Nonsense, dear. Your hedgerows are elder. Which, ironically, don’t grow elder,” she explains to Lily.
Barbara appears to have no remorse for having commando-crawled through my garden in the dead of night.
“Well, enjoy, dears. Don’t let me interrupt.”
She glides away with her tray, leaving us standing in the shade of my cottage.
Lily sips her cordial, cheeks still pink as she swirls the pale liquid with her straw.
“Shall we…go back and read?”
I follow her back to our chairs without protest, even though every part of me would rather I take her to bed.
