I didn’t smell like something expensive. Didn’t know what snail mucus did, or even toner, if I was completely honest. I didn’t know how to pay taxes. I didn’t own a French press. I ate dry cereal out of the box for breakfast and drove a car that only started thirty-three per cent of the time.
Instead of any of that, the only words I could form were, “You kissed me.”
He blew out a slow breath. Nodded like he’d been expecting it. “And I shouldn’t have.”
“I don’t know, I just . . .” This really wasn’t the time to talk about this. I needed to shower. To get Teddy up andfed. I couldn’t stop. “I didn’t expect it. We didn’t discuss . . .anythingreally. What we’d tell people. How we’d act in public.” I swallowed tightly, looking at my bare feet as I admitted, “I think we need some ground rules.”Ineeded ground rules, felt more accurate. So I didn’t lose myself in this.
A long silence followed. I lifted my head to look at him again.
He was staring at me. “You aren’t calling it off?”
“You thought I’d go back on my word?” He looked uncertain. It felt wrong on his face. He was the most self-assured man I’d ever met.
“I wouldn’t blame you,” he said and winced, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry about yesterday. I saw Callum and Juniper and got in my head. Panicked. When I should have checked with you first . . . made sure you were comfortable—”
“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”
I watched him take a deep breath. “You’re right about the ground rules.”
“Maybe we call them guidelines.”
“That seems manageable.” His hands went to his hips. “Do you have a notebook?”
“DoIhave a notebook?” I gestured toward the sofa, inviting him to sit, grabbing the spiral notebook and pen I kept beside the fridge for shopping lists.
His legs were slightly split in that way men always sat, and I perched beside him on the saggy cushions, handing the notebook and pen over. Our fingers brushed before he flipped to a new page and wrote both of our names at the top in small, neat letters. Of course he had the nicest handwriting I’d ever seen.
“I guess the first question I should ask is . . .” I cleared my throat.Just do it.You’re both adults. Then why did this all feel so incredibly lame? “What do you expect from a girlfriend, in terms of . . . of intimacy?”
His head jerked. “I don’texpectanything.” He practically spat the words.
“Oh.” I tucked my feet beneath me.
“Isla.” He bent a little to stare me in the eye. “We do whatever you’re comfortable with in the moment. If you want to hold my hand one day but don’t the next, that’s fine. I’ve never been apublic display of affectiontype of person anyway.”
“Cameron was the opposite, in the beginning at least,” I explained. “He’d take me to dinner at whatever restaurant he worked at to show me off. Kiss me in front of his friends.” From the corner of my eye, I watched Alistair’s tongue push against the inside of his cheek. “Okay, I’m fine with hand-holding.”
Christ. I sounded ten years old.
“Good.” He didn’t write it down. Instead, he dropped the pen and extended his hand. I blinked at him. Then at his long fingers, taking far too long to understand he was asking for permission. Asking me to take it.
A whooshing sound filled my ears. I barely managed a nod, holding out my own shaking hand, and we both watched as our fingertips tangled together. He kept the movement slow, the graze soft, like I was a startled doe.
My breath caught anyway. Windpipe contracting around the painful prickle in the back of my throat as a wave of heat circulated from every tiny point of contact.
Was I really so touch-starved that simply holding hands on my lumpy sofa made me want to cry?
Pathetic.
“Is this okay?” he asked.
Our eyes met. Awareness zinged through me like a livewire. His hand was warm, a little calloused – nothing like my clammy skin. His fingers slotted between mine, right down to the last knuckle.Breathe, I ordered myself.Youhavetobreathe.
“Is this okay?” he repeated. “The hand-holding?”
“Oh . . . yes,” I started. It was so raspy, my cheeks burned. His fingers tightened. “What about – what about other stuff?”
“I give you free rein to touch me anywhere you want.” An invitation, yet he sounded entirely nonplussed by the prospect. Even as the warm pad of his thumb swept an unhurried circle around the heel of my hand.
