Page 30 of You, As You Are

Somewhere.A place he shouldn’t be thinking of as much as he’d found himself doing this week.

“That answers that question then.” Aron leaned his elbows on the sticky pub table. “Go on, who is she?”

Iain’s fingers flexed around the glass of his cold beer. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“The redhead you were moving boxes for on Sunday.”

Shit. How did Aron know that?

He’d done the two-minute drive from Ms Vera’s house to Maisie’s new flat back and forth at least four times, which involved parking at the side of the one-way street in the centre of town and Maisie staying with the car while he ran up and downthe steps until the boot was empty of boxes. And he had no clue why. He didn’t know this woman, but when Vera cornered him on their last hike, he’d found it impossible to say no to lending a fourth and fifth hand to the duo’s functioning three.

His friends from his rugby team stared at him under the dim pub lights, smug tilts in their lips like they thought he had a secret woman all of a sudden. He could either pass it off, which would be more suspicious, or he could play things down. So that’s what he did.

“She’s the granddaughter of one of the women I hike with,” he said and slowly drank his beer to give himself longer to think.

“She mustn’t have a fella if you were helping her onDydd Santes Dwynwen?* of all days,” Aron mocked in his thick, rolling accent. “That’s so kind of you, Iain.”

“You sound like a child.” Iain swiped foam from the hair over his lip, ignoring the mention of that particular day.

Cai’s head which twisted like a barn owl revealed he hadn’t seen him helping Maisie. “Who is this woman?”

No, no. Iain wasn’t doing that. He wouldn’t subject Maisie to these two abject flirts. “I’m not telling you her name.”

“She’s about yay tall” — Aron jabbed his hand at Iain’s armpit — “lots of bright-red curls.Bigpersonality, if you know what I’m saying.”

“Alright, that’s enough.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” Aron was a teasing arse but never malicious. “I can just see why you’d like her, that’s all. She’s right up your street.”

“I don’t like her,” Iain said too quickly before regretting it. “Not like that anyway.”

The lie came so easily. It was like he’d practised it every time he passed his bathroom mirror since Sunday. No, it wasn’tlikethat at all – thatwasthe truth.

He’d met her twice and yet Maisie Moss had shaken the foundation he’d put down for himself in this town – the one that he’d intended for permanent bachelorhood whilst his life was such a mess. Those feelings were trouble. With the way that she kept on surprising him, she made him feel ten years younger – the man who he’d let himself be when he’d been freed from his old world. When she’d dived tits first to the floor, he hadn’t laughed like that in … He couldn’t even put a timescale on it.

He didn’t need Maisie around, but he couldn’tnotbe around her. Why else would he have spent his Sunday building furniture and cleaning her flat top to bottom just to have had those hours in her presence?

Because before they’d even said goodbye that first day, he’d wanted to see her again, even though he wasn’t ready for a woman in his life like that.

And damn it, now he was too intrigued.

Cai gestured across the pub. “Is that her?”

Iain whipped around, and the speed that his head spun flung his brain somewhere behind him, smattered it against the wall when his gaze landed on searching eyes and pretty, plump lips.

It was Maisie alright, wearing a bright-marigold, polka dot dress and black leggings tucked into boots, glowing against a backdrop of deep-red pleather and natural brown furniture.

“That’s her alright.” Aron chuckled into his pint.

“She looks alone,” Cai said.

“If only there was someone in here she knew.”

“Shut up,” Iain hissed at the pair of them before they drew Maisie’s attention. The last thing that he needed was for these two shit-stirrers to embarrass him for a laugh.

Cai nudged his knee under the table. “Go talk to her, bring her over.”

“To you idiots? No.” If he wanted to be made to look like a fool, he’d rather do it himself than leave it to their hands.

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