‘Oh, sorry.’ Kirsten’s eyes round as they track a rivulet of water rolling down the line of hair bisecting his newly-emerged abs. ‘I- um…’ She swallows visibly as the droplet meets white cotton.
‘Everything okay?’ He pushes a hand through his soaking hair, willing his body not to react. Has any woman ever stared at him as though if she doesn’t have him immediately, she’ll spontaneously combust? Or if she does, there’ll still be plenty of flames? He gulps. How much longer can he keep her at arm’s length, when it’s the opposite of what he craves?
Deliberately, she lifts her gaze to his face. ‘Um, no. I have an emergency and need your help.’
‘What’s up?’
‘I need to leave for my bank appointment in five minutes, hence the outfit,’ she gestures to the black skirt suit and blue blouse hugging her curves, wearing heels so high the top of her head almost brushes his chin, ‘and the school called. Rosie isn’t well and needs picking up. Could you possibly collect her?’ Her white teeth flash. ‘You know from how she gazed at you adoringly after that super serious conversation about which Disney Princess kicks the most arse, that you’re one of her favourite people.’ She frowns at her watch. ‘Sorry, I know it’s short notice.’
He hesitates. ‘I don’t know much about looking after sick kids.’
‘Oh. Didn’t your mum look after you when you were ill?’
‘She wasn’t that sort of mother,’ he says wryly, to mask the unexpected niggle of unhappiness and anger. ‘She was half-Scottish, and tough.’
‘Never mind,’ Kirsten lowers her voice, ‘next time you’re ill, I can play nurse.’
‘That’s just teasing,’ he replies, enjoying the banter. Eyeing her curiously, he asks, ‘Are you the kind of nurse who wears stocking and suspenders?’
In the next moment, she’s inside his flat and he’s pinned against the wall, Kirsten’s palm hot on his damp chest as she holds him still. Both his hearts pound as she presses their bodies together.
‘You’ll find out one day,’ she breathes in his ear, before releasing him. Stepping back, she adjusts her blouse, freckled cheeks pink. ‘I shouldn’t be long. By the time you get back, I hopefully won’t be far behind. School said she’s got a slight temperature and sore stomach, so I’d recommend a bowl, bag and towel for the van.’
He blinks at the abrupt topic change from seduction to adult practicalities. Parents are obviously great at multi-tasking. Re-securing his towel, he says gruffly, ‘Okay. Good luck at the bank. It’s about expanding the business, right?’
Her smile of gratitude is blinding. ‘Yes. Thanks. I appreciate this.’ She jingles her car keys. ‘Better go.’ Turning around, she strides off with a swing in her step, knowing he’s watching her hips sway. Just before rounding the corner, she calls, ‘By the way, I’m thinking something white and lacy for the nursing gig.’
Slamming the door, he exhales, running a hand over his face. Jesus. Is she trying to kill him? Thank God the little voice in his head is nowhere to be found. He’d probably traumatise her. Regrouping, he races back into the shower and blasts himself with cold water. He’s been given a responsibility and intends to take it seriously. When he leaves his flat to drive to the school, he’s so intent on his mission he forgets to put his baseball cap on.
A couple of hours later, he replies to Kirsten’s apologetic text about being massively delayed at the bank and traffic being a nightmare.
Don’t worry, Rosie’s feeling better,
and we’ve watched live action
Beauty & the Beast (not bad).
Take your time, we’re good. H
Oh, great! Thanks so much
In that case, I’ll be cheeky &
do a quick shop. Dinner at mine
tonight as thanks. K xx
His stomach twists with nerves at the invite, feeling like he’s back in secondary school and about to ask out the most popular girl in the year.Sounds good, he replies.Let me know what time you wantus.After a moment, he adds,H x
Tucking his phone away, he climbs off his blocky black sofa, which he recently let Kirsten talk him into buying three lime-green cushions for. ‘Right, kiddo, time for chores,’ he tells Rosie. Her complexion’s a normal colour, and she hasn’t mentioned feeling sick for a while. Turns out the reason she felt unwell was from sneaking her mum’s iced cupcakes into class and sharing them with her little buddies. She spilled the whole sorry tale in the van as soon as he’d picked her up after confirming the password to the school receptionist. Rosie’s nausea was as much from guilt as it was sugar intake. He’d talk to Kirsten about it later. The little girl had said sorry, but he knew she was lucky none of the other kids were allergic to the cake ingredients and had a bad reaction, so he’d been honest about needing to tell her mum. Idly wondering how allergies had even occurred to him, or how he’d managed to quell the tears gathering in Rosie’s eyes by asking her to recount the plot of her favourite Disney film, he smiles down at her.
She tilts her head at him adorably. ‘Aww. Can’t we watch another film? Pleeeaaasseee?’
‘Nope,’ he answers cheerfully, ‘the fresh air will do you good, and the roses in the walled garden need deadheading. If you help, you can collect some for your mum to say sorry.’
‘Okay,’ she says glumly, no doubt imagining her mum’s reaction to her crafty thievery. Then she brightens. ‘Can we go get my gardening gloves?’
‘Sure. Your mum told me where the spare key is.’ Under the mat outside the front door. The woman’s too trusting. On the other hand, when he thinks about the community they’ve built, it doesn’t seem so naïve after all.
