‘Here you go,’ he said, handing her one.
‘Thanks.’
As he passed the beer across, their fingers brushed. Electricity zipped through his body, as though someone had tasered him. They sat on the sofa, Nick trying to look relaxed despite his tingling nerves.
‘So,’ he said, leaning back on the sofa, hoping he appeared casual, ‘what was that all about then, at the community centre? I was beginning to think you couldn’t stand the thought of being in a play with me.’
‘No.’ Kitty leaned forward, her hands clasped between her knees, the beer untouched on the floor beside her. ‘It had nothing to do with you. It was… my… my problem.’
‘I thought you used to love acting,’ he said. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on.’
‘It’s not about the acting,’ said Kitty, ‘and I can’t say too much, so I’m going to need you to trust me.’
‘Go on.’
Kitty let out a long breath through her pursed lips. She relaxed into the sofa, refusing to catch Nick’s eye. ‘I used to love acting. That isn’t the problem. The problem is the publicity.’
Nick frowned and took a swig of his beer. ‘You’ve lost me. I’ve no clue what you’re talking about.’
Kitty let out another long breath. ‘I can’t explain why, but there are people in my past who I’d rather didn’t know where I am. I came to Saffron Bay for a second chance. And if I’m suddenly plastered all over the internet for being in a play, it could ruin everything.’
‘So you’ve come here to hide?’ asked Nick, his eyebrows raised.
‘Not hide exactly. More like… to start again.’
Starting again. Yes. ‘I kind of get that,’ said Nick. ‘I guess that’s what Emily’s been for me – a second chance, in a way.’
Kitty smiled. ‘Thank you for understanding.’
Nick laughed. ‘I’m not sure I understand completely, but you asked me to trust you, and that’s what I’ll do.’ His nerves had gone, replaced by sympathy for what this woman, who appeared so cool on the surface, was going through. He didn’t want to make life worse for her, not at all. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘it’s totally cool if you don’t want to be in the play. I’m sure we’ll be able to find someone else.’ Not that he wanted anyone but her. The realisation shook him.
‘Actually…’ Kitty picked up her beer and took a sip. ‘I’ve been talking to Alice about it. She’s persuaded me to give it a go.’
‘What?’ Nick twisted to look at her. ‘You mean you’ll do it?’
Kitty turned to face him. ‘I’ll try,’ she said. ‘Although I’m rusty. I might be rubbish.’
Nick instinctively reached out a hand and squeezed Kitty’s. Her cheeks flushed, and he pulled his hand away, embarrassed. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s… great news, that’s all.’
‘It’s OK.’ Kitty took his hand in a gesture that seemed to surprise her as much as it did him. They sat there, neither of them meeting the other’s eyes, neither of them pulling away. The moment stretched, and on instinct, Nick shuffled closer. Kitty did the same, finally turning and holding his gaze.
Nick’s heart hammered in his chest. Was this really going to happen? Did they even want it to happen? Their legs weretouching, the smoothness of Kitty’s skin burning him and causing a reaction he was worried he wouldn’t be able to hide. Kitty leaned forward, and their lips met.
His body responded, and as their kiss grew deeper, Nick suspected there was no going back from this moment. He pulled Kitty further into his arms, their limbs entangled as they fell against the sofa. They rolled down onto the rug, Kitty climbing on top of him and placing a series of gentle kisses against his neck, her hands reaching down and slipping beneath his T-shirt. Her fingers loosened the clasp of his belt, and he groaned.
‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ asked Nick.
‘Shut up,’ said Kitty. Her laughter tickled his skin as her kisses moved lower.
Nick couldn’t remember wanting someone so much, and he wasn’t sure anyone had ever fitted so neatly in his arms. It was as though their bodies had been designed to hold each other. He closed his eyes, sinking into the moment…
‘What on earth is going on in my living room?’
Kitty sprang off Nick, and onto her feet as though she’d been electrocuted. Nick fumbled with his T-shirt while scrambling upright. His face flamed as he took in the sight of his parents – suitcases by their feet, arms folded, scowls on their faces.
‘Nicholas,’ said his mother, in a voice both cold and shaky. Her hair was unusually messy, the lines on her face deeper, and despite a suntan, her skin looked grey. ‘We’ve been travelling all day, it’s late, your father is ill, the cruise was… well, the less said about that the better, and I come home to find… to find… some hussy writhing around on my living-room floor! All day I’ve been longing to sit down on my own sofa with a gin and tonic. And now I find my house is being used as a brothel! Just when I thought today couldn’t get any worse!’ She slumped down into an armchair and put her head in her hands.
‘What are you doing home?’ Nick’s response to the outburst was far from adequate but, smothered in the fog of embarrassment, he couldn’t think straight.
