Chapter Thirty-Six
Fin
Rich, handsome and solvent.
There has to be a catch knowing my luck.Rich, that’s the catch, according to my experiences.
Why the hell didn’t I ask him his surname?Because I was too busy trying to convince myself this was nothing but sex.
Hella successful, Fin.
I should be angry—should be pissy—but I know my secrets are bigger than his. As we walk along the damp sidewalk, I make a mental note to google the shit out of him.Shit. He could do the same—how long will using my maiden name hide me then?
Dating and widow. Two words that shouldn’t be said together aloud.
I am going to tell him. Probably not today, but soon, I promise myself. I’ll tell him I’m not newly divorced, but rather he’s boning a woman whose husband isn’t yet cold in the ground. That is, if he’d been available for burial.
Oh, please shut up,I tell my brain.I’m not ready to say those words.
I’ll also have to tell him that he’s the reason I married at all. Or rather, he was the catalyst used by a very naive and inexperienced girl. Maybe I should mention I had blue hair; see if that rings any bells. I’ll also have to tell him that it looks like I’ll be moving to London in a few weeks, if yesterday’s call from the event company is any indication.
He lives in London. Yes, I know. It’s a big place.
‘You’re very quiet,’ Rory says, pulling on my hand.Holding hands. Out in the daylight for all to see.
I try to pull it back, to make a show of putting it in my pocket while complaining of the cold, but it seems that idea’s a no-go.
‘Gimme it back,’ I say, sort of whiney. ‘Itiscold.’
With a cryptic smile, he feeds my hand, still in his, into the pocket of his jacket. ‘Better?’ The real answer is both yes and no. ‘So, we’re going to the hair salon and then we’re heading where?’
‘Work, I suppose.’
‘Nah. I’m done over there. My vote would be a pub, or better still, a hotel. One with a huge bath. Yeah,’ he adds, sliding his heated glaze my way. ‘Hotel fucking would definitely warm you up.’
‘You might be done, but I’m not.’ The rest? I’m not touching that.
‘You said it yourself, you make your own hours. But if you’re insistent, it’ll be a night in a cold stable block and an even colder shower later. I can’t be letting you have the hot water two mornings in a row.’
‘When are you heading back? To London, I mean.’Change the subject. Away from sex.
‘Salon first. Then hotel fucking.’Okay, I tried. ‘Then maybe a spot of lunch, because you ate only enough dried bread to feed a wee sparrow this morning. Then later, logistical planning. You know, future stuff.’
Logistics. Planning. Future stuff. Big scary words. I’m not ready—oh, shit. I think I’m having a panic attack. The lump of fear in my stomach expands until it’s filling my throat. I can feel myself shaking, my feet getting slower, shuffling against the pavement until I grind to a halt.
I’m suddenly spun around, Rory’s hands on my shoulders. ‘Breathe,’ he says gently. ‘We don’t need to rush. When you’re ready, we’ll talk.’
Folding me into his arms, he kisses my head when a door nearby opens, a familiar tinkling preceded by June’s excited tone.
‘Away inside a’fore the heavens open. The sky’s as black as the Earl of Hell’s waistcoat!’ The door chimes again as it closes.
‘We’ve been busted,’ Rory says, laughing softly into my hair.
‘Are they still watching?’ I so don’t want to look.
‘Well,’ he says, tilting his head. ‘It looks like your blonde friend, the one with the big rack, is doing a sort of ceilidh through the shop.’
‘That’s her victory dance.’
