I snap a photo of her as she stands at the bar. Shannon answers with some flame emojis, which I guess is her way of saying she thinks Kate is hot.
Kate is hot, I have to admit. Not in a glamorous, in-your-face kind of way. It’s quieter than that. Sneakier. Her hair. Her eyes. Her smile. The softness of her skin. The kindness she exudes. Damn… I’m getting carried away here. That part of my life died with Sandy, and although I have had offers since, I’ve just never been interested. Even Shannon’s tried to set me up on dates, and I’ve always resisted. So why now? Why here, and why Kate? Why am I suddenly noticing a woman again?
And what the hell do I do about it? Ignore it, I think, as she throws back her head and laughs at something Xander has said. Ignore it, and hope it goes away.
I decide I’ve had enough for tonight. Enough drink, enough music, enough company. I’m never going to be the kind of guywho fits into all of this – who relaxes into a community. I’m always looking for the risks, always have one eye on the exits. In this case, it’s simple – there’s a door right in front of me.
I’m hoping to get away without anybody noticing, but Kate runs out after me, into the dusk of the evening. The air smells of salt and seaweed, the cliffs glimmering shapes behind us. There’s a strong wind blowing, whipping up the waves to a surfer-level frenzy. The sound of the water crashing into land mixes with the singing from inside the pub, and it’s like an assault on all my senses. Mainly from her.
‘Brody!’ she says, grabbing hold of my shoulder. ‘Are you going home?’
‘I’m going back to the cottage, yeah. I’m whacked. You stay out. Enjoy yourself.’
‘No, I’ll come back too. It was great, but I met a lot of people, and I’m really not used to it. It’s good, not being invisible, but my social battery is almost flat.’
‘Invisible?’ I echo. ‘Kate, you are one of the least invisible people I’ve ever known!’
She smiles a little, looking unsure. ‘Oh. Well. That’s nice. Shirley gave me a bottle of brandy to take home with us. That’s nice too, isn’t it? Fancy a nightcap?’
I’m picking up on those danger signals again, and know I’ve been sending out a few of my own as well. I make a noncommittal noise, and we walk along to the little house. I’m smug when the door opens on the first try this time, and go to light the logs on the fire. It isn’t especially cold, but it just feels right.
As I’m straightening again, my back reminds me that it’s still there. That it still hates me. I try to hide the pain, but she notices of course.
‘I’m going to run you a bath,’ she tells me, looking concerned. ‘And you’re going to soak in it for a while. Then you’re goingto let me give you a massage. I went on a course once. You’re in safe hands.’ She holds them up, as if to show me she isn’t holding a weapon.Hell no, I think. That would end badly. The tub, though? That I can live with.
‘I’m capable of running water myself,’ I tell her.
‘I realise that, Brody. But every now and then, isn’t it nice to just let somebody look after you a little? You were kind to me last night, and you’ve really made a difference to Moira. Let me help you, please?’
There’s a lightly pleading note to her voice, and I wonder how long it is since she felt useful. Since she felt needed. From what she’s said, even when she was married it wasn’t that way. And one thing I’ve learned over the years, it’s that we all want to feel needed. Shannon moving away has proved that to me. I nod in agreement, and she skips up the stairs, telling me she’s going to grab a quick shower first.
A while later she calls me up, and as I climb the steps I smell something… feminine. Floral. The complete opposite of the things I usually use in the bathroom, which come in big black tubs and might as well say ‘Men Only’ on a picture of a hand grenade.
‘I’m sorry about the lavender,’ she says, as we meet outside the bathroom. She’s wearing clean clothes, a white peasant-style dress that hugs her slender figure. Her hair is wet, streaming over her shoulders. ‘It was the only thing I had with me. I’m sure you’re confident enough in your masculinity to survive, though. It’s nice and hot, and so big! I think even you’ll fit in it…’
Her eyes wander over me, and I get the feeling she’s sizing me up. Imagining me in the tub. I nod in thanks, and close the door. I shut it, and lock it, and then lean against it. Damn. This is getting complicated. I don’t want to feel the things I’m feeling. I don’t want to want her. She’s vulnerable, and I’m me, and the whole thing would be a disaster.
I strip off my clothes, and climb in, carefully lowering myself into the water. It gives me instant relief, and I sigh as some of the pain eases. She was right. It is a big tub. Big enough for two…
I close down that train of thought before it derails me. Deep breathing, and thinking about roof repairs. Nice and unsexy, all the way.
I spend a good half hour in there, topping up the water, sneakily enjoying the lavender. I hear music from downstairs, and every now and then the sound of Kate singing along. She has a pretty voice. And a pretty face. And…shit!I clamber out with a splash. I can’t lie here picturing all the pretty that Kate has, not while I’m alone and naked. I’m already getting hard, and frankly it’s embarrassing. My body is behaving like a teenager.
I wrap a towel around my waist, and walk into the hallway. Naturally enough, she chooses that moment to make an appearance. Her eyes go wide as she sees me, and her cheeks flame as she takes me in. I’m not as fit as I once was, but I still lift iron, and I’m in good shape. A small smile appears as she gazes at the towel, then she seems to realise what she’s doing and snaps her head back up.
‘Sorry!’ she says. ‘I was just checking you hadn’t drowned!’
‘Nope,’ I reply, wishing she’d go away. ‘Very much alive and kicking.’
‘I see that… um, do you want to come and have a brandy? Or do you want me to give you a massage?’
Hell yes, I think. I want both of those, ideally at the same time. I shake my head firmly. ‘No to the massage. Feeling much better now. I’ll, uh, put some clothes on.’
Her tongue flickers out to lick her lips, and it’s all I can do not to reach out, push her back against the wall, and kiss her. The way she’s looking at me right now, I don’t think she’d object.
‘Okey doke!’ she says brightly, still blushing, but finally leaving. I groan in frustration, and go into my room to getdressed. Possibly say a prayer to the patron saint of horny old men.
I find her curled up on the sofa, glass of brandy in hand, gazing at the fire. I take the chair opposite with my own drink. I feel wound up, wary, but alive in a way I haven’t been for so long. This is a bad idea, but I don’t seem able to shut it down. I can’t stop looking at her, the way her fingers run over her glass, her bare toes, the swell of her breasts when she breathes. She’s turned me into a goddamn pervert.
