Page 83 of The Wedding Engagement

He felt her convulse slightly as she suppressed a laugh, the bare skin of her arm brushing against his. She had goose bumps.

“Apparently,” she said in a low voice, “according to a local source, he’s been suspended from work for a bit. Got caught shagging one of the nursing staff in a broom cupboard when he was meant to be performing an operation.”

Arran arched an eyebrow in his best Mrs. MacKay impression. “Very important work indeed.”

Liv shot him a grin.

Broom-Cupboard Shagger kept droning on, something about intramedullary nails, whatever they fuck they were. Arran suppressed a yawn. What kind of twat used medical terminology in a talk for four-year-olds? This kind, obviously.

Liv clapped her hands together loudly, cutting the guy off. “Thank you so much to Charlie’s daddy! What a wonderful talk, wasn’t it, everybody?”

The kids were chatting among themselves and pretty much ignoring the speaker. The man himself seemed oblivious, clearly laboring under the misapprehension that Liv’s enthusiastic outburst was a sign of true admiration rather than a tactic to get the fucker to shut the hell up.

“Okay, class,” Liv said, commanding the kids’ attention with just the tone of her voice. Arran’s heart swelled with admiration. “Time for us to move over into the painting corner for Jayce’s daddy’s talk. And then Emily’s mummy will speak to us in the messy play area.”

There was much excited chatter as the children came over to where Arran had set up some small easels for everyone. Arran went around the group handing out aprons, and Liv helped the kids get them on. Cupboard Shagger was standing to one side eyeing them all, with Mrs. Mackay standing quite close next to him. Perhaps hoping to snag herself a shot in the supply cupboard later.

“Okay,” Arran said, rubbing his hands together. “Who likes to paint?”

“Me!” the whole class shouted, most of them shoving their hand right up in the air in an enthusiastic display.

“Excellent,” he said, taking a seat by his own easel. “Because painting is what I do for a living.”

There was a murmur of awe from the class at the idea that something they saw as a fun activity could be an actual job.

“I want to be a painter,” a wee girl said.

“Me too,” said the boy next to her.

“I’m going to be a painter like my daddy,” Jayce said proudly, and it made Arran’s heart soar. He glanced over at Liv, who was sitting among the kids, and she was looking at him with a soft smile on her face.

“Right. Down to business!” Arran said. “Each of you has a little mirror pinned to your easel. We’re going to have a go at self-portraits. That’s where you paint yourself. So have look in the mirror, and try to paint what you see onto your paper.”

There was more excited chatter as the children took up their brushes and began dipping them in the paints, splashing color onto their paper.

Arran did a quick representation of himself on his own paper, then got up to go around the class and praise each one in turn.

Every now and again Arran would look up from whomever he was chatting to, to find Liv watching him with that same soft look. And it made him all the more determined to be there for anything she needed from him.

—

“Come on, then. Tell mewhat’s happening,” Brodie told her, his blue eyes sparkling through the phone screen.

Liv set the phone on the table, leaning it against her mug, while she shoved a few things into her bag. “Nothing’s happening. He’s just painting my portrait.”

Brodie rolled his eyes. “You’re telling me that after all my jealousy-inducing hard work on the sten, nothing happened with you guys?”

“Well…” She paused. “It did. But only one kiss.”

He huffed out a breath. “For goodness’ sake, woman. Just jump the guy already.”

Liv zipped her bag, lifting the phone again and choosing to ignore that statement. “Enough about me. I want the deets about you and Ben. Did something happen with you guys? I noticed you both disappeared up to bed around the same time. But the next day we were all too distracted with the police for me to ask you about it.”

Brodie frowned. “Are you okay, by the way? After all that?”

“Fine,” she told him, suppressing the weird, guilty feeling that surfaced whenever she remembered the guy’s bloody nose. “They’ve got it in hand. Now, stop changing the subject. What happened with Ben?”

A broad smile broke out over Brodie’s face. “A gentleman never tells.”

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