He began to drift away, running a hand through his wet hair as he dug in his damp pocket for his bike keys.
One step back.
Two.
Fuck that.
I caught his hand. “Come with us.”
* * *
Folk followed us home on his Fat Boy while Ivy vibrated in the car with me, her excitement so fierce she didn’t know what to do with herself.
Knew the feeling.
Smothered it with trying to remember what I had in the fridge that wasn’t bacon or chicken.
At the house, Ivy grabbed Folk’s hand and yanked him into the living room before he’d got one boot off. Cam had bought her a fish tank for her birthday, and she had a fish from every council member swimming around in it.
I left them to it and skulked around in the kitchen, trying to calibrate a lunch that was bland enough that Ivy would eat it and healthy enough that Folk might.
Ten minutes later, his hand on my back made me jump. “You don’t have to feed me.”
“You didn’t have to spend your morning teaching my kid a life skill.”
“She already had it. All I did was show her where it was.”
“Yeah, okay.” I rolled my eyes with a grin. Was he kidding me? Did he think I hadn’t noticed or appreciated the fact that he’d given Ivy so much of his undivided attention that I’d barely got wet? “Take your crappy toasted sandwich anyway, eh? Make me feel better.”
“About what? Spending time with you was everything I needed.”
Ivy’s sandwich was plain cheese. I cut it into triangles and set it on her plate before I treated myself to Folk’s warm gaze. “Bad night?”
“Long.” Folk reached across me and stole a cucumber slice. “I needed a reset.”
“That why you bombed into the sea?”
“Bombed?”
“That’s how it felt when I saw you do it.” The admission was out of me before I thought to stop it. “Someone I served with killed themselves that way at Beachy Head.”
“A friend?”
“Not really.” I pointed my knife at a pile of sliced tomatoes. Folk nodded, so I loaded it into the buttie I’d made for him and wedged it into the sandwich press. “I just remember it a little too well, you know?”
“You ever think about doing it?”
“What? No. I mean... no. Not really.”
Folk shifted so he was leaning against the counter. He’d lost his boots and socks, but damp shorts still clung to his legs.
Fix that.
I leaned over to the basket on the kitchen table and tugged a pair of clean sweats free from the tangle of unfolded clothes. “Put these on.”
Folk hesitated for a split second. Then shrugged. “Where’s your bathroom?”
“Straight up the stairs. Grab a shower if you want. There’s towels on the shelf.”
