He stands up, and my body misses him immediately. I gaze up at his almost naked outline, the state of him leaving me in no doubt that he means it when he says he wants more. I reach up, trail a hand against a solid thigh.
‘Why not tonight?’ I ask, enjoying his sharp intake of breath as I touch him.
‘Because this has all been a lot. Because I’m a slow-burn kind of guy, and I get the feeling that this is worth waiting for. Right now, you need to rest. Tomorrow, like they say in the movies, is another day. Sweet dreams, Kate…’
I can’t quite believe what has just happened. I was convinced he wasn’t interested, that I’d even offended him. Now I’m confused and elated, suffering from emotional whiplash at how quickly this has all changed.
He gives me a wicked grin, and turns to walk up the stairs. I watch his especially fine backside as he goes, wondering how he’d react if I chased him and gave it a little bite. I shake my head to clear the image. I don’t understand any of this. I don’t know what is happening here, but I decide to not care, at least for now. I decide to just enjoy the pleasure that is still ebbing through my body.
I sigh and stretch out on the sofa, totally naked and not even bothered by that. Not even feeling self-conscious.
Because I’m beautiful. Every damn inch of me.
THIRTEEN
BRODY
I wake with the sunrise, to the sound of waves and the call of birds. I also wake with a giant hard-on, which is not surprising considering my dreams. Kate, all of them Kate. The softness of her skin, the way she clung to me, caressing my body like she couldn’t get enough of it. The touch of her tongue against mine, and the fire in her eyes when she murmured my name…fuck. It was incredible.
I ignore my own body, tell it to shut the hell up, and get dressed as quietly as I can. I don’t want to wake her, or see her, or give in to my urges to slam open the bedroom door and tear off her sheets. I’m not an animal, even if I feel like one right now.
I grab up my binoculars, and creep out of the cottage. I need to be alone for a while to sort my head out. I stalled her last night, telling her it was worth waiting for. That was true, but it was also because I’m not sure. I wasn’t sure right up until the moment I kissed her, then all doubt disappeared. It was replaced by feeling out of control, and that’s not a state I enjoy.
Seeing her in the water like that. Seeing her trembling and cold and scared. It was big, dramatic, kicking up a hornet’s nest of emotion. All of that fed into what happened between us – the way our bodies ignited together.
It would have been so easy to carry on, to let our need take over, but I knew it wouldn’t be right. I needed time, even if it went against every instinct I had. It’s not fair to Kate to keep her trapped on this runaway train – I can’t reject her then seduce her then reject her again. I have to slow things down, figure shit out, and I won’t be able to do that while I’m under the same roof as her.
There’s a chill in the air that is exactly what I needed. The wind has died down, and the sea is back to a gentle roll, early morning sunlight glittering on the water. I see the fishing boats heading out for a day’s work, and think,hah, screw you, Xander.You might be hot, but you’re not the right horse.
Real mature, Brody.
I stomp along the shoreline, stopping for a while to watch the sand martins flutter in and out of their cliff nests. I walk on, clambering over some rocks and emerging at yet another stretch of beach. This one is even more secluded, the bright yellow gorse tumbling down towards me, dotted with vivid wildflowers. It’s quite the sight, and as I turn the next corner, it gets even better.
The noise tells me I’m about to see something special, and I’m not wrong. The cliffs and the rocks are alive with birds. Thousands of them, squawking and whistling and crying, soaring in the air and perched on nests. Gannets are circling over the sea, then plunging down to catch their breakfast. I see the dark brown backs of guillemots, and hear the sweet, high-pitched cry of razorbills. Damn, I think, gazing around me. This is bird heaven.
I spend a while exploring, taking photos, and making a quick recording of the sound on my phone, because it’s like nothing else I’ve ever experienced – a weird orchestra of clashing calls. Eventually, my ears catch hold of a new addition – the low croaking moan of a puffin. It’s a strange cry, a cross betweenan old man’s snore and a chainsaw, and I’ve only ever heard it online before.
I freeze, and slowly move my binoculars over the cliffs. I’m kind of in love with puffins, and feel excited to be so close to them. They’re cool birds, returning to the same nesting sites every year, producing a single egg. Plus, a baby puffin is called a puffling, which has got to be the cutest thing ever. Shannon will get a kick out of that, and so will Kate.
Huh, I think, settling my ass down on a damp boulder,when did Kate get added to my list of people to tell fun stuff to?My list that for years now has included only one name – Shannon’s. Jeez, that must have put a lot of pressure on her. Imagine being your dad’s only sounding-board.
I shake my head a little. Now is not the time for thinking. Now is the time for watching. After a few minutes, I find them. A small colony off to the west, some flying in with fish in their bright orange beaks, others popping their heads out of their burrowed nests in the cliff face. I’ve got a big dumb grin on my face, and I couldn’t be happier. Puffins, man. The cure for all evil in the world.
I sit there for the best part of an hour, enjoying the solitude and the sights. The sun is warming my skin, and when I lick my lips I taste salt. It calms me, and even though I’m very much a lapsed Catholic, I offer up a little prayer of thanks. I say hi to Sandy too, and for once thinking of her makes me smile, instead of making me want to cry. She’d love it here – but she’d also love that I’m here, doing this thing. Moving on, maybe. Words that would have struck terror into my heart only a week ago.
Moving on… people always say it like it’s a good thing. Unless they’ve been there, they don’t get it. They don’t understand that moving on also means leaving something behind, and you can’t do that until you’re good and ready. Am I? Am I good and ready? Who knows – but I’m definitely enjoying the puffins.
Wishing I’d brought coffee now, I move back along the coast in the direction of the bay. I get out my phone, wonder if it’s too early to call Shannon. The messaging app tells me she’s online, so what the hell.
‘Dad!’ she says brightly, the sound of her familiar voice warming an already pretty warm heart. ‘I was just thinking about you!’
‘I knew that. I have an app that monitors your thoughts.’
‘That wouldn’t surprise me. How are you?’
‘I’m terrific, sweetheart. I just saw a gannet colony, and puffins – real life puffins!’
She laughs and says: ‘Aw Dad, you sound like a kid on Christmas morning! That’s great, it really is. Were they everything you’d hoped they would be?’
