Later that night, after Ash has been and gone and Siân has headed upstairs to bed, I pull on my shoes and coat and slip out the back door.
The tiny, subtle stroke he gave my arm as he was leaving still lingers on my skin two hours later and I’ve given up trying to fight this. It will end in disaster – there’s no way we’re coming out of it unscathed – but maybe if we let this thing between us burn brightly enough, the flame will fizzle out.
Or maybe it will crash and burn in a fireball so brilliant that we’ll never recover.
Either way, I’m in.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When I see how dark the cabin is, I switch off my torch and head for the clearing. It’s a half-moon tonight and by the time I’m stepping out of the woods into long grass, my eyes have adjusted enough to the darkness to see that Ash is at the top of the hill.
‘Ash,’ I call quietly.
‘Hey!’ He jumps to his feet with surprise and immediately bounds towards me. When he reaches me, he clasps my face with his hands, almost as though he can’t believe I’m here.
‘Hello,’ I say, amused by his reaction.
‘I’m so happy to see you.’ He really does sound delighted.
‘I’m happy to see you too,’ I reply with a smile, bracing my palms on his chest.
‘Come. The grass is so wet.’
He takes my hand and leads me over to the rug. I feel the crinkle of plastic from the waterproof liner as I step onto it and then he sits down behind me, tugging me into the space between his legs and circling his arms around me from behind.
It feels like the most natural thing in the world to be completely wrapped up in him again.
‘How was your conference?’ I ask.
‘Boring as fuck,’ he replies.
‘What was it about?’
‘Estate management. My father makes me go to them occasionally.’
‘What do you call your parents to their faces?’
He always refers to them as his mother and father, never his mum and dad.
‘Mother and Father,’ he replies.
‘No, really?’ I ask with astonishment, craning my neck to look at him.
He chuckles and I feel the vibration move right through my body.
‘I didn’t use to,’ he says. ‘I used to call them Mama and Papa, but Celyn and Taran made fun of me, so I stopped.’
‘That’s so mean!’ I exclaim, trying not to laugh. ‘What did they call their parents?’
‘Mam and Tad – that’s Mum and Dad in Welsh. The thought of calling my parents something so informal seemed ludicrous. So, Mother and Father it is.’
‘What will you get your children to call you?’
He hesitates. And then he shrugs. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Not Mam and Tad?’
‘I don’t know,’ he says again.
