Page 75 of Love and Loathing

“You weren’t ticklish last night,” he said, gripping her ankle and running a curious hand up her calf.

“Well, I’m not when I’m horny!”

He looked up at her with a wicked grin. “Interesting.” Keeping a tight grip on her ankle, he tickled her experimentally behind the knee. She yelped again.

“Seriously! Stop it!”

He relented, laughing, and whisked off her socks before she could protest again. Then he reached up and drew down her knickers. “And you’re sure you’re not horny?”

She was, admittedly, becoming increasingly so, with his face inches away from her bare pussy. He smiled up at her, clearly reading her mind, then stood up, probably purely to annoy her, and took off her bra.

“In the bath with you. You’re filthy.”

“Takes one to know one.”

He laughed again, but made no move to touch her, merely watching intently as she moved over to the bath and climbed in.

“Temperature OK?”

“Perfect.”

It was. Blissfully hot on her cold skin. Just the way she liked it. Perfect for her achy back. And it was piled with bubbles from the bubble bath he’d bought the first time she came here, when he’d made her a cup of tea, brought her a hot water bottle. Come to think of it, her period was probably due again soon. She ought to check.

“Good,” he said, watching her in satisfaction for a moment before picking up her clothes from the floor, presumably to go and wash them. “I’ll make dinner.”

She laughed to herself as the bathroom door shut, sinking down into the bubbles, remembering Zig’s scowl. Was it worth it? Yes, right now, she was absolutely sure it was worth it.

She sank a little lower, bubbles crackling gently around her shoulders, the water silky and soapy with them. She closed her eyes, muscles relaxing, heat soaking into her bones. Her mind was active, though, the day replaying in a jumbled whirr. There was so much to do but all winter to do it. No rush at all, because the site was hers, couldn’t be taken from her.

What would Aubrey make of it in the spring, in the summer? Would all the green, growing things work their magic on him and make him understand why it was that she cared so much? Would he ever care in the same way she did? It used to be an unspoken dealbreaker for her. Any partnerhadto care. Their souls had to move in the same way as hers. But what were she and Aubrey? Two mismatched cogs, somehow clicking together. Could it work? Would the friction, the gaps, the missed connections be too much?

She lay with her eyes closed, trying to see… Kept probing for a reason why… But she was too happy. Everything seemed possible. Everything inside her sangyes.

She liked him. She liked Aubrey Ford. Truly, deeply. And if it hadn’t been for the memory of a laptop, its hot weight on her lap, the strange keys awkward under her fumbling hands, then her happiness would have been complete. But she sat up again in the bath, eyes open, listening to the bubbles pop.

THIRTY-ONE

Aubrey was on thesofa, dinner mostly prepared, the last part cooking in the oven, when Evie came out of the bathroom. She was wrapped in one of his big towels, face pink from the heat. She flashed him a smile as she crossed the hallway to his bedroom. He watched her bare legs disappear, then got up, went back to the kitchen, and got out the plates.

It was all laid out on the table when she came back dressed in her leggings and one of his hooded zip-up tops. He wore it to the gym in the winter, or sometimes running.

“Do you mind?” she asked. “I only packed one jumper, and I think it’s in the wash. Or needs to be.”

“I don’t mind.”

He was very far from minding. Liked the sight of her slim body swamped in his clothes. A primeval thing, he suspected. Ownership. And their size difference. The primitive part of his brain enjoyed the reminder of both.

“It’s all vegan. Except this, obviously.” He indicated the plate of chargrilled chicken that he was having with the stuffedpeppers, salad, and potatoes. Evie had pine nuts scattered over hers. He seriously doubted it was adequate protein, but the internet had tried to convince him otherwise.

“It’s amazing. Thank you.”

She started talking about the garden again while they ate, telling him all her plans. How the older kids from the local primary school would come to help build the raised beds once the site was made safe, and the younger kids would come to help plant seeds. There was an old, retired guy down the road who had been a builder, had a house full of tools.

“Ancient ones,” Evie said. “Old hand planes and chisels and medieval looking screwdrivers with lumps of oak for handles. And his hands all gnarled and crooked, but still so strong, grip like iron! Zig said he cried when he heard the garden was being closed, this big old gnarly builder— Shit… Sorry… I keep forgetting that you…”

He waved his fork. “Go on. I don’t mind.”

But she hesitated, pushing the remains of her pepper around her plate. Aubrey sighed.

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