‘Aye, it was getting to that awkward itchy stage,’ I reply, rubbing my jaw. ‘I might also have plans.’ I add a comic wiggle of my brows, giving nothing away.
‘Intriguing.’ As I reach the dining table, she holds her hand up to my face. ‘So smooth.’
‘You like that, do you?’
‘Maybe I’ll tell you later.’ Her hand falls away. Sitting sideways in her chair, she leans back against the wall. ‘The meat didn’t burn, by the way.’
‘What? Oh, yeah. The meat. Good. I’m glad.’
‘Weird.’ She narrows her eyes, though she can’t suppress her smile.
‘Who me? Aye, maybe I am. Weird, I mean.’
‘And getting weirder by the second.’
‘Well,’ I answer, pulling her up from the chair by her hands, ‘this weirdo has run you a bath with bubbles and everything.’ On her feet, she slides her arms around the back of my neck.
‘Are you trying to tell me I smell?’
‘Aye. You reek to high heavens.’ Loosening her hands, I turn her in the direction of the stairs, smacking her arse and making her squeak a little. ‘I don’t know. You try to do something nice and all you get in return is grief.’
‘You’re up to something,’ she says, turning as she reaches the bottom of the stairs.
‘You’re right, I am. But you won’t find out what if you’re going to stand there all night.’ With a smile a mile wide, she darts up the stairs.
‘I’ve left one of my shirts on the bed for you.’
‘Thank you!’
She hasn’t exactly run out of clean clothes but is running low. Hence the loaner T-shirts and stuff. I’m not complaining because I’ve loved seeing her in my stuff. Though I wish I’d had some way of digging out her car after she’d mentioned she’d left her wedding outfit across the back seat. It’d be nice for her to have something nice to wear. But on second thoughts, she’d only ask a million questions why. Also, I wouldn’t get to see her in my shirt.
I check the contents of the oven.All good.Pulling out a bottle of wine, I’m glad and not for not the first time, that I’d brought a mixed case with me for my first trip. I wasn’t planning on drinking it all. I just thought it’d save me from bringing more later this month.
How wrong I was.
Next is crockery, silverware, and glasses. I don’t have table linens, but I did bring candles, just in case. In case of a storm, as a matter of fact.Storm Isobel.They’re only tea lights but will do in a pinch. I light them, popping them into a couple of Moroccan looking glasses chosen by the decorator. I’m pleased I’d passed the decorating onto her. The little touches have made all the difference to the place, though I doubt I’d have been playing Scrabble by myself. Her services came at a cut rate given that I’ve pushed a little work her way recently.
Placing the tea lights in the middle of the table, I uncork a bottle of Merlot and leave it on the table to breathe, then quickly throw a couple of small salads together.I’ll grill the halloumi last minute, I think. I turn to rinse my hands under the tap, wishing I’d brought pomegranate molasses to go with the apple and watercress salad. The thought makes me smile—strange enough that I bought halloumi most people would think. But I like good food and being single has meant I’ve become a braw cook, if I do say so myself. And I do. Also, I find I like cooking for Isobel. I flick off the mixer tap, my gaze caught on something in the window.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
The snow on the roof is dripping to the ground as it melts. Along with it goes my heart. I don’t move again until I start to hear her sing. Not sing exactly, more hum a little tune, followed by the sound of water moving around the bathtub.
I make my way to the sofa, pulling out the garment bag from where I’d shoved it while Isobel wasn’t looking, my jaw tight and my mood well and truly ebbing. My trip to the bank on Monday is to speak to the business manager. Business is growing, and I need a short-term loan, maybe an overdraft, so I’d packed a suit. I thought I’d best turn up looking like the businessman I purport to be, rather than like Josh, my jean-clad apprentice.
I’m a wee bit too old to be an apprentice.
You’re also a wee bit old to be playing silly games.
‘What are you doing down there?’
Her sweet voice makes me remember the reason behind this convoluted piece of madness—the stuff of stupid rom-coms and fluffy magazines. I’m doing this for her. For the woman who needs to realise there’s a good man out there for her.
It’s just a shame that man can’t be me.
Come on, move it, fucker. And not to the stairs, and certainly not up the stairs to ask if she needs help washing her back. Or elsewhere. But the sound of her humming and the sluicing of water are so very tempting. But no, I need to get on with my plans. This isn’t about me. This is about making her feel good. And while washing her thoroughly would undoubtably make her feel very fucking good, I have other goals in mind just now.
‘Nothing,’ I call back blandly. ‘How’s your bath?’ I throw the garment back across the sofa, pulling the zipper very slowly, which, on reflection, is a bit daft. ‘How’s the water?’
‘Just perfect. You should join me.’
My dick twitches.Not helpful, pal. ‘I wish I could. But... my meat.’ Is rock fucking hard right now, and right now is neither the time nor the place.
‘I have just the thing for your meat.’ Her laughter is low and throaty, the water swirling again.Swirling between her soft skin and the porcelain tub. The bubbles will have disappeared by now, revealing the dusky pink of her nipples and her creamy skin.
No, down, lad.Fucking great. Now who’s the mental case? The girl in the bath or the loon talking to his knob?
‘I’m waiting ... ’ she calls, her voice full of temptation again.
Fuck. Fuck.Fuck!
