I say goodbye to Emma and decide this is too funny a moment not to capture. I open my camera and snap a selfie, almost blinding myself with the flash. Pax, like the diva he is, licks my ear just as the shutter clicks, and my eyes close in disgust. The resulting photo is not thecute picture I was hoping for.
Instead, it’s a hilarious snap of me with my eyes scrunched closed, and Pax in profile, his tongue in my ear.
It’s not a suggestive picture at all, so I decide it’s totally safe to send to Nash. I attach it to a new message and add a brief note.
Me: Do all the men in Norfolk treat guys like this on a first date?
I hit send with a chuckle and then stand up so my new boyfriend and I can get home before the drizzle that just started gets any worse.
We get back just as the heavens open, and we narrowly escape a soaking. I hang up my coat and leave my boots on the shoe rack, slipping my cold feet into my slippers. I make my way to the kitchen and put the kettle on.
I check my phone and see a response from Nash.
Nash: LOL. It seems you have yourself an admirer. He’s a lucky man.
I try. I swear, I try to ignore the swoop of excitement in my belly at his words that feels like a kaleidoscope of butterflies taking flight in there. But his message does nothing but reignite the tiny flame of hope in my heart.
And if I’m honest with myself, I’m not ready to blow it out.
Fourteen
Nash
The last two weeks have both flown by and dragged interminably.
As I’ve been juggling finalising plans with David to make sure the next phase of our product development goes smoothly, liaising with my patent attorney, Kwame, to review my payment structure for my existing devices on the market, and both figuratively and literally preparing for the arrival of a child into my home, time has felt like it’s against me.
There have not been enough hours in the day for endless online video meetings, a trip into London, getting a Christmas tree, and what felt like days wandering Ikea with Mum and Wren while they purchased a van-load of flat-pack furniture for my kid’s bedroom. I already have a bed in there, but the rest of the furniture stands against walls like an army of Minecraft soldiers standing sentry.
I haven’t been able to face putting the furniture together yet. I won’t until I hear from the matching panel, who are meeting tomorrow morning.
On the other hand, each message from Corey that I ignore, every Sunday dinner with my family I avoid, just in case Aidan and Rain bring him along, or whenever I duck into the nearest available hiding spot when I see him around the village, time moves so slowly, I swear I see glaciers racing past me.
I feel like a complete and utter arsehole. Especially now Corey’s stopped sending me text messages at all. After that first message with Pax licking his ear, I had stared at his cute scrunched-up face, his wide grin caught in a laugh, for far longer than I care to admit. I’d never seen anything so incredibly beautiful that my heart literally skipped a beat.
And then my absolutely stupid, thoughtless, flirty response had proven I couldn’t control myself around Corey. He’s too sweet, too endearing, too fucking perfect. My heart doesn’t stand a chance around him, and I can’t openthat box while the adoption is still going through. I just can’t.
Shelley is sick and tired of me whinging at her. When I had to go to London to meet with Kwame, I stayed overnight with her and Owen. We’d put the world to rights over dinner, and then the interrogation had begun. Suffice it to say, she thinks I’m an idiot and a bit of a twat for leading him on and then ghosting him.
I don’t disagree.
Even Aidan has been on my case about it, and Rain gave me the worst side-eye I’ve ever seen when I bumped into him in the post office the other day. I’m sure that’s all them, though. Corey doesn’t seem the type to broadcast what a dick I’m being, and I hate myself for maybe hurting his feelings.
But I have to protect my actual heart here. There’s no way Corey would want some old git like me pining over him, so while yes, it’s shitty to be avoiding him, at least as far as he knows, I’m just being a bad friend. A bad friend who is desperately trying to kill off a very inconvenient bout of real feelings.
I’ll have no choice but to see him tonight, though. Tonight… is Eve eve.
Eve eve – or the twenty-third of December,as any normal person calls it – has been a tradition in my family for as long as I can remember. As soon as Aidan and I were legal, we started going to the pub this night every year with Sam, Chris, and Poppy, where we proceeded to get absolutely blotto. By wasting ourselves on the day before Christmas Eve, we ensured we were able to do all the obligatory family shit, albeit with a raging hangover, that we resented so much as teenagers, but that is now pretty much our favourite part of this time of year.
As our younger siblings reached the legal (ish) drinking age – small villages, what can I say? There’s always been a bit of strategic looking the other way that goes on in the pubs around here – Archer, Cole, and eventually Wren would also join us. Lo and behold, here we are, a decade and a half since I had my first legal beer in this pub, still doing the same thing. Namely, early doors beers, and usually being the ones to close down the pub after about six hours’ drinking time.
I’m the first to arrive and order myself a pint of beer on my way in. I haven’t even paid before the rest of the rabble pile in, and my round gets a lot more expensive. Corey slips in quietly behind Aidan, and I decide to bite the bullet, since I know what everyone else’s order will be.
“Corey? What would you like?” I say, disgusted at myself and the way I’m pretending I haven’t been ignoring him for weeks.
“Oh,” he says, a little startled, that rabbit in the headlights look taking over him once again. “That’s OK. I can get my own.” Fuck, I’m a twat.
“No, it’s my round. Please, let me buy you a drink?” I ask, and if it sounds a little like I’m begging in my own head, then I’ll just pretend I’m imagining it.
