Page 50 of Second Chances at the Board Game Café

Harry scrambled out of bed, and slipped his feet back into the slippers. ‘I’ll see you out.’

‘Thank you for a lovely evening,’ she said. ‘I’ll call you, I promise.’

Harry looked reassured by this, putting an arm round her and pulling her back in for a kiss. She succumbed for a moment, relishing the feeling of his soft lips upon hers, his hands around her waist, before wriggling free.

‘I’ve got to go or I’ll miss the last bus.’

She practically ran down the stairs with Harry following. In the hallway he leaned past her, opening the latch.

‘Taylor, wait,’ he said. ‘Can I see you again?’

She gulped. ‘Harry, it’s complicated.’

‘Ah,’ was all he said.

She glanced at her phone. Unless she suddenly turned into Usain Bolt, she would miss the bus. ‘You see, the thing is…’

Harry put his hand up to silence her. ‘Taylor, there’s no need to explain. Don’t miss your bus. I’d drive you home, but I’m afraid I’m over the limit.’

*

Nothing sobered you up so quickly as running for the last bus through the cold night air.

She was an idiot.

A complete idiot.

She’d always found Harry difficult to read, until tonight. Tonight it had been obvious that he was really into her, and even more obvious that he was disappointed when she’d said she had to leave. She felt so mean. She hadn’t intended to lead him on, but that was exactly what she’d done. She should have warned him before she got into bed with him that a relationship wasn’t on the cards. She should have made her speech as she’d intended, told him about Max. She hadn’t been fair to him.

She’d have to phone him tomorrow, explain properly. She hoped he’d understand, that she wouldn’t lose him completely. Because for all her determination to be independent, to manage on her own, Harry had made her realise how lovely it was to have a friend.

A friend with benefits perhaps?

Or perhaps not.

Even if Harry agreed to that – and she couldn’t imagine that somehow – she knew she couldn’t handle it. Every time she saw Harry, if this evening was anything to go by, she’d get more and more attached. A friends with benefits arrangement wouldn’t work. Not with a man she was already falling for.

26

Damn. Harry thought as he closed the door behind her. He should have called her a taxi. Better still, he should have had the foresight not to drink all that wine and then he could have driven her home.

He could have at least offered to walk her to the bus stop. Why hadn’t he thought of that? He prided himself on being a gentleman, but it had all happened so fast. One minute she was beside him in bed, and he couldn’t quite believe his luck. The next, she was leaving, saying it was complicated. Story of his life.

He walked back upstairs and got back into bed. Under the duvet, it was still warm where her body had been a few minutes earlier. He ran his hand over the sheets, recalling how it had felt to run his hands over her. Making love to Taylor had been wonderful. She was beautiful, yes, but it wasn’t merely physical attraction. Even though they barely knew each other, they’d felt so connected.

At least, he’d felt connected. What a rollercoaster of an evening.

He’d managed to pull off dinner, following all of Emily’s instructions to the letter. There’d been no awkward silences, though he’d sensed that he’d overdone it a bit with the tax advice. Then she’d said something about a guided tour, and he really thought she just wanted a nosey round the house, but as she led him upstairs, the penny dropped. She was taking him to his bedroom.

He was nervous he couldn’t speak.

19. 38. 57. 76. 95. 114. 133.

He’d followed her in, grabbing The Galloping Sausage and Other Train Curiosities off his bedside table and kicking it under the bed to make sure it wasn’t visible. He couldn’t do much about the picture on the wall; Taylor was already looking at Rain, Steam, and Speed – The Great Western Railway.

He had stood behind her, wondering if it would be too forward to put his arms around her waist. Then worrying that having a train picture on his bedroom wall must seem geeky, he’d said, ‘It’s a Turner.’

She’d said something about art, and then she’d taken the pen from behind his ear and said, ‘I don’t think we’re going to be needing this again tonight, do you?’