Page 116 of You, As You Are

Iain gathered everything into the bag and held out his hand to walk her inside. She took it, still giddy that there wasn’t a pretence to their touches anymore, that there was intention to their closeness they hadn’t acknowledged before.

The friend-zone no longer existed. She couldn’t place Iain into a box and label him as ‘do not touch’ anymore. Not when he’d made it so clear that he wanted her. And she absolutely wantedhim.

One knee at a time, Iain got up onto the bed and rearranged the pillows before sitting with his back against the slatted headboard, legs spread apart. The narrowest part of that ‘V’ they created made Maisie’s pulse accelerate. She wouldn’t need any form of cardio today when the sight of Iain offering himself up added another option to the list of things that made her heart race.

He’s teaching you to crochet. Pull yourself together.

Her inner voice strangely sounded like it could’ve been Ted who stared at her through his brow from his bed, unimpressed. Somewhere inside of that dog was a trapped human that understood everything happening around him.

Maisie took a long, deep, necessary breath, realising how they would be sleeping here together tonight when they’d agreed to take things slow physically, and joined him. Careful of her bruised knee, she shuffled her bum into place.

“There must be other ways to teach,” she pondered.

“This feels the most fun. I can see what you’re doing better.” Hands came around her with yarn and hook and the half-made blue rectangle. “Sit back, Daffy, it’s okay.”

She wasn’t okay. She was going to combust if she felt more of Iain’s jean-clad thighs around her. Simply sitting this way was more intimate than how they’d kissed earlier.

Okay, perhaps notmore,but a different kind of intimate. A delicate moment without expectation.

Maisie eased herself back until she met Iain’s broad chest, releasing her held breath and relaxing as he took her weight. For a moment she considered tipping her head to one side and curling into him completely.

Iain swept her curls that were an unruly mess from their unexpected soak in the rain off her shoulder, bringing his face over it next, and the image of his profile in her periphery was so obscure, Maisie quietly laughed.

For a minute or so, he used his hands to guide her fingers and showed her something called a chain stitch that started a new row, then a half treble crochet stitch that continued it.

“What will it be?” she asked as she tried to learn the order and rhythm of the movements Iain slowly walked her through.

“A baby blanket. I’ll donate it to the hospital at home when it’s done.”

Maisie’s heart expanded for yet another reason, because big, grumpy Iain Howell was in fact a total sweetheart. How could it have taken half her life of moving through men who were always justokayto finally get to this incredible one? This man behind her was a rare find, and no one could convince her otherwise.

“You know, you could absolutely sell these,” she said. “The scarf you gave to Vera was so beautiful. There’s a whole world of people on online marketplaces who snatch crocheted things up every day.”

Iain’s chin shook against her shoulder. “I don’t want to sell.”

“Why not?” Maisie was genuinely curious. Her business had started off from a single, small idea – there was no reason that Iain’s couldn’t too. And it was something that he enjoyed doing, which is more than she could say for his current job.

“I do this for myself, Daffy. To try and capitalise on my coping mechanisms doesn’t feel right. And I like giving them away.”

Iain let her hands go and she completed another chain, albeit at half the speed. “I understand. Sometimes passions should just stay as passions.”

Iain’s nose hitched against her jaw, and she squeaked. “You’ll come to see how passionate I am soon enough.” His fingers stroked back and forth on the outer of her thighs, teasing her and taunting her. He was so delicate yet firm, the pressure just right.

The yarn and hook went forgotten in Maisie’s lap. Thighs pressed together, she captured the ache that throbbed between them. What was she supposed to be doing with her hands?

Her voice went breathy as fingertips stroked circles around her hips. “Iain?”

“Mm-hmm?” he hummed, the sound reverberating through her back against his solid chest, his warm lips hovering behind her ear.

“What are we doing?” she rasped, because though her body wasn’t confused, her brain definitely was. “We talked about sex earlier, and now we’re …”

“Enjoying the quiet moment.”

The one-eighty had her brain in a spin. “You haven’t … changed your mind about what you said?”

Iain nudged her limp wrists to continue crocheting. “I’m a straightforward man, Maisie,” he said. “I won’t play games with you like that.”

Their afternoon passed into evening slowly. Not a kind of slowness that dragged on and on, but one where they savoured the worry-free time. She’d only managed to do a couple of rows with Iain’s supervision before Maisie decided that she didn’t want to waste all his yarn, so gave it back. He’d sat behind her for an entire hour, coaxing her through the process when she’d gotten stuck.

---