“The bright side is that the rent is paid and the lease has another two months to run. If the cost of living would calm the fuck down, I might actually save enough cash to rent somewhere else, which will beat sleeping in my cousin’s spare room.”
“You don’t get along?”
“We get along fine.” It isn’t Kev’s fault that I want what I can’t have. “Him and his missus are all I got. And the only reason I don’t want to move in with them is that they’ve been looking into fostering. Can’t do that if I’m hogging their spare room, can they?” I draw a final thick line. “I’m over it.”
I’ve got to be.
“The one thing I’m not over is losing my desk.”
Alasdair almost makes eye contact. His still bright gaze flicks away just as quickly. “Your desk?”
“A restoration project. It wasn’t really mine. Just felt that way because I found it. The money I bid for it at auction didn’t belong to me. It was paid for out of this budget.” I tap the item on Flynn’s checklist that Harry had translated asstage the flat.“It was pretty.” I come way too close to snagging an even prettier strand of hair the same colour as that desk’s fire-filled wood. “All I’m really saying is that I get it, yeah?”
“Get what?”
I’ve already talked more in this kitchen during the last ten minutes than I have in the last two months. Him finally meeting my eyes encourages me to keep yapping.
“I mean that I get it.” I steal Harry’s words and repurpose them for someone truly hurting. “You’re on a struggle bus right now. Not for the same reason as me. But I have cleared a fuckton of houses. Seen plenty of people struggle with that process in all kinds of ways. Lately, I can’t help thinking that the hardest part isn’t letting go of the stuff. It’s letting go of someone who waspart of your life, yeah? Especially if they made you feel needed.” I get a brief flashback of Flynn’s praise at each new piece I found and polished. I cough around the lump in my throat that praise left. “Especially if you thought they might be around for longer.”
He nods, and his glance locks with mine for another brief and fragile moment.
His eyes are still bright and shiny, and I’ve never come closer to giving a virtual stranger a good long cuddle. That’s the actual opposite of how Kev told me to treat my next client, so I slot the dry-erase pen away and back off.
“We’ll do it together, yeah? Go take a look at”—I reuse his own descriptor—“your massive muddle. See if that other company were right about it not being worth anyone’s time. Just give me a few minutes to shower off the worst of Tower Hamlets.”
And that’s what I do.
I shower super fast, and I don’t know what he does while I’m washing off the stench of all those stairwell urinals. All I do know is that the only towel left is small. It doesn’t cover much once I’m done and need to dart from the bathroom to my bedroom. At least I try to dart across to my bedroom.
Alasdair is in the hallway between me and it.
His gaze drops to fabric not much bigger than a facecloth, and I blurt, “He had the bath towels packed up and taken.” It’s a good thing I’m not Blake. This towel would have to wave a white flag. But it turns out the size of my towel isn’t what snags his attention.
Alasdair spots what a hot shower reactivated—the hives on my chest prickle, and I can’t help scratching.
He’s suddenly a whole lot closer.
“Ouch.” His fingertips hover over vivid blotches. “Let me take a closer look at these.”
Before I know it, I’m backed into the bathroom where the light is brighter. That’s where he gets even closer to study each welt and every scratch mark, and it’s where he gives me another order. “Turn around.”
I do, still clutching my tiny towel over my privates, and I can’t lie, I’ve braced against a bathroom wall and bared my arse for strangers once or twice. That was all part of figuring out what works for me, but this isn’t a hookup. I quickly turn around to face him. “My back’s fine.”
His hold on my shoulders is surprisingly firm. So is the pressure he exerts. I’m not saying that he shoves me around—I’m too heavyset for someone slim like him to do that. I’m just saying his soft yet stern eye contact tells me without words that he won’t take no for an answer. So I do what he wants, bare arse regardless. I turn, and he murmurs from so close that his warm breath coasts across my shoulder.
“Infections can set in before you know it.” His fingertips skim the thick meat of my delts. My spine gets similarly studied, I guess, given how long it takes for his touch to move lower. Each time his fingertips move in uneven circles, I guess he traces the outline of another raised patch, and he does it all in silence.
It’s the worst time in the world for my dick to take notice.
It wakes up from a winter-long hibernation all because someone I barely know pays close attention. Alasdair gives me all kinds of tingly feelings, and not just because he checks an allergic reaction.
He’s taking care.
Of me.
The crack in my voice echoes off Italian marble. “I can look after myself.” I clear my throat and hope this sounds less strangled. “I mean, I don’t need a nurse.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’ll never be one.” His touch returns to where it started, high up on my shoulders. “I’d need to get goodgrades in my Highers. Passing those exams was never gonna happen, so I’m an in-home carer.Wasan in-home carer, I mean. One who still has bills to pay, so I’ve taken on some temp work in care homes until the end of the month.”
