‘Don’t call yourself an idiot,’ Joe admonished and I heard myself laugh. ‘Look around, it’s beautiful. Fields of wheat, wildflowers, adorable sheep. There are many fucking sheep, Sophie, tell me that’s not amazing? There’s nowhere else in the world like the English countryside in the middle of summer.’
I rolled my eyes and took a bite of my ice cream. ‘You were in New York too long.’
‘Truce or no truce, I’m afraid I will have to fight you on this. Stand still and tell me what you see.’
‘Other than sky, dirt and an idiot with an ice cream?’ Scanning our surroundings, I hitched up my shoulders into a shrug. ‘I give up. Lots of reminders that I forgot my hay fever tablets?’
‘Now sit down,’ he instructed, nodding at a fallen tree that rested by the side of the lane, a kind of makeshift bench. ‘I’ll tell you what I see.’
We both sat, him moving closer to me than was necessary, and I could smell the synthetic strawberry and sugary sweetness of his ice cream fighting with the light woody touch of his cologne. The true quiet of the countryside had always unnerved me. I’d always been a city mouse, or more like a mid-sized town guinea pig. Tring wasn’t exactly the epicentre of the world but I liked to know there were people around me, relatively reliable public transport and a twenty-four hour shop with milk, teabags and that one out of date can of chickpeas that had been on the bottom shelf as long as I could remember. Sitting here beside Joe, I quickly developed a new appreciation for the middle of nowhere. The air was already heavy and hot but the tall grass behind us rustled as we sat, a soothing, fluttering sound that almost made me want to lie down and feel them brush against my skin.
‘Look at that sky, crystal clear and cornflower blue,’ Joe said, seemingly awestruck by a perfectly normal day. ‘Then you’ve got the fields, all those merging shades of gold and green.’
‘I thought I was supposed to be the romance writer,’ I replied. ‘Sounds like you’re describing a leprechaun orgy.’
‘And I thought you were a primary school teacher.’
I took a big bite of my 99. ‘You should eat that monstrosity before it melts,’ I told him, fighting through the brain freeze. ‘It wasn’t cheap, you know.’
‘Got it. We’re changing the subject. No problem.’
He did as he was told but he couldn’t just eat an ice cream like a normal person, oh no, that would be too easy. Joe concentrated on the task at hand with a passion that made me weak. Every time his tongue darted out of his mouth and wrapped itself around the ice cream, his eyes closed with pleasure and involuntary groans of ecstasy escaped his throat. It was obscene.
I’d never been so turned on in my life.
‘I have a confession to make,’ he said, licking his fingers one at a time when the ice cream was gone.
‘A confession?’ I replied, thick, creamy vanilla dripping down my fingers, melting almost as fast as I was. He reached his hand out towards my face and I held my breath, his thumb grazing my chin as he slipped my bag off my shoulder and reached inside to pull out the hardback edition ofButterflies.
‘It’s about your book—’
‘Asifthat’s the Spice Rack special edition ofButterflies?’
Appearing out of nowhere, a girl somewhere around my sister’s age came running towards us, arms outstretched, her hands making desperate grabby motions. ‘It is! How do you have this? No one on earth has this!’
‘Where the fuck did she come from?’ I asked Joe, looking over both shoulders and seeing no one else for miles.
‘I was out running,’ she replied, doubled over as she caught her breath. ‘I saw the book, I ran faster.’
Joe turned the book over in his hands to check the back cover and there it was, the little gold Spice Rack book of the month logo. The girl gasped, pressing multicoloured fingernails against her red lipsticked mouth. Out for a run in a full beat wearing gold lamé leggings and a lilac lace bralette. First two ice creams cost me the best part of twenty pounds and now this? I swear I aged a decade every day.
‘There were teasers on TikTok but it hasn’t even been confirmed yet. This is the most exciting thing that has ever happened to me, you’ve got to tell me how you got it,’ the girl babbled, then she turned her gaze on me, eyes opening wide, defying the weight of her false lashes. ‘You,’ she whispered. ‘Are you—’
‘I work for the publisher,’ Joe interrupted, casually waving the book back and forth to get her attention. It worked, she couldn’t take her eyes off it. She was Gollum andButterflieswas her precious. ‘It hasn’t been announced yet, I managed to get an early copy for my friend.’
‘Please,’ she said with complete reverence, hands clasped together in prayer. ‘Can I touch it? I promise I won’t run off with it, I just want to see it.’
Joe looked at me, I looked at her then back at him.
‘Of course you can,’ I said, taking it from Joe and handing it over. ‘It’s just a book.’
She took it carefully in her hands, grasping it only at the very edges. People held newborn babies with less care.
‘It’s stunning. The foiled boards, the spredges, the printed endpapers …’
Even though I knew my book inside out, I suddenly got the feeling we were intruding on somethingextremely personal. She had a relationship withButterfliesthat existed well beyond me, a completely different connection. I might be its mother but she was its lover and watching her fondle the book with her mouth hanging half open felt deeply inappropriate.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ Joe asked as I dropped the remains of my ice cream behind the tree trunk, too anxious to eat it now. ‘What is it that you love aboutButterflies?’
