Kiss me again. Please.
But he doesn’t. He stands and shakes his head. “I should go.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“I know, but I still should. That way I can come back another time.”
I don’t understand what could possibly happen if he stayed to prevent him coming back, and I don’t need to. The fact that hewantsto come back is everything. Bracing myself on the arm of the couch, I stand too. Our faces are inches apart, but I force myself not to kiss him again and walk him to the door.
Ludo opens it and takes a step outside. Then he turns back, eyes wide. “You know why I’m leaving, don’t you? It isn’t because I don’t want to stay.”
“I know.”
“Are you sure? Because I haven’t explained.”
“You don’t have to. I know what would happen if you stayed... at least, I know how it pans out inmyhead.”
I regret the words as soon as they’re out of my mouth, but Ludo’s nervous smile morphs into a wicked, dirty grin, and I remember that he’s a grown man who is so much more than the illness that puts such fear in his eyes. My body floods with heat, but I dampen it down and lean on the doorframe. “Seriously,” I say. “I get it. Just don’t leave it too long before you come back.”
Ludo leans in and kisses my cheek. “I won’t.”
* * *
“You want me to do admin work?” I glare at Bernard, horror seeping through me as I picture the porta-cabin he calls an office and the gaggle of women who work there.
“I need it doing and you need a job to keep you going before you’re back up them trees. Sounds like a fair deal to me.”
He shrugs as though it’s a done deal, and he’s right: it’s more than a fair deal considering he’s been paying me for sod all since the accident.
I still want to punch him in the face, though, and it takes all my favourite Ludo memories to stop me doing it.
Bernard buys me another cup of tea, then leaves me to it in the greasy spoon café he invited me to for a “business breakfast.” With him gone, I sit back in my chair, relieved. Despite my aversion to working in his office, I’ve been shitting myself that he was going to ditch me all week. The fact that he hasn’t,andthat he seems to believe I’ll be fit enough one day to do my old job, has left me feeling ten stone lighter.
I sip my tea while I scroll through my phone. It’s been three days since I last spoke to Ludo and a week since he came over and taught me to make soup. My lips pulse and throb as I recall every second they spent pressed against his, but I don’t text him. It’s his turn to message me, and so far I’ve made myself stick to that rule. Ludo is unlike anyone I’ve ever known, but instinct tells me to give him space. That if he wants to talk to me, to see me, to kiss me again, he will. For now, that he answers my sporadic messages is enough.
As if on cue, my phone flashes. I grip it tighter, but the message that invades my screen isn’t Ludo; it’s Michael, and my mood drops like a stone. My usual MO is to ignore him, but for reasons I can’t comprehend, I open the message.
Michael:Just wondering how you are. We’re having a BBQ next week and would love you to come. No drinking, though, okay?
Only Michael could express concern for me, make me feel wanted, and judge the shit out of me in one message. I want to delete it and pretend it never arrived, but I know that will only lead to phone calls I’ll have to ignore too. Knocks at the door. Notes through my letterbox.Fuck that shit.There’s only one person I want knocking at my door, and it’s the only soul on earth who’s never judged me. I picture Ludo’s sweet face as I tap out words I don’t mean to my cousin.
Aidan:might be working, i’ll let you know. thanks for asking me though, would love to see u too
Michael doesn’t reply, leaving me to believe that perhaps he didn’t mean it either, but as I toss my phone on the table, it lights up again. And it’s Ludo.
Huh. Maybe karma is a thing.
* * *
Ludo
I meet Aidan in the woods. Somehow it seems safer than my house or his, for him at least, if the dreams I’ve been having about him are anything to go by. In the back of my mind, I’m grateful that my obsession with him is allowing me to sleep better than I have in months, but still. Aidan lit a fire with his kiss, and I’m having trouble keeping it under control.
He’s waiting for me by the tree I’ve come to think of as his. It’s a long way from his bedsit, and when he’s slow to rise from his perch on a nearby stump, I worry that I’ve made him walk too far.
“It’s fine.” He dismisses my concern with a wave of his work-hardened hands. “Does me good to get out, especially if I don’t go to the pub.”
“Which pub do you go to?”
