Page 127 of Only Ever You

She clipped her ankle like always on the practically invisible frame of the coffee table in her rush to dive into her favourite cushions. Her cheek smushed into the white fluff and a small laugh reverberated from over by the drinks cabinet in the corner which saved trekking up and down the stairs on tipsy nights. She didn’t care if Bash found it funny how much she loved these cushions. They smelled so much like his woodsy cologne, and maybe subconsciously that’s why she’d always favoured them.

Loaded with a record from Bash’s vast collection in the bookcase, his retro record player sat upon a walnut cabinet and crackled through side one of Ella Fitzgerald’s 1967 Christmas album.

Ella’s voice quietly played through the dimly lit room as Bash came and joined her, cuddling her into his side. He slithered his arms around her waist and tucked himself up against her from behind. He felt so nice there, like a protective bear not wanting to let her go.

It wasn’t long before there was a crisp raspberry lemonade in her hand and fingers massaging her scalp as she reclined into Bash’s side, her head against his shoulder. Being surrounded by his warmth and his very presence was like a happy drug straight into Faye’s veins.

The only evidence it was still the festive season at all was the lone, thin Christmas tree tucked between the two gigantic windows. Faye couldn’t help but stare at it, wondering how different Christmas might’ve looked altogether if Bash hadn't gone to Shropshire, if he’d stayed here and invited her to join him as soon as he’d heard her boiler had broken like his parents teased he should’ve done.

It was only natural to try and guess if things between them would’ve worked out the same or not without the fireside cuddle and the mistletoe kiss.

Maybe their secrets would still be called secrets …

Faye didn’t regret the choices they’d made this week. Not in the slightest. She felt as though she was finally right where she’d always belonged.

Their eyes met, and it was as if Bash was trying to turn her heart to jelly. She ran her hand up his shoulder and twirled the short strands of his hair at the nape.

“Why are you looking at me like that this time?” The same way he’d looked at her on the last sofa they’d shared.

Bash cuddled her closer, his lopsided smile staying put. “I’ve always looked at you like this.”

Maybe he had. Maybe only now Faye knew what it meant.

“Hmm, no you haven’t.” She caressed the back of his neck, feeling him sigh. “But I don’t ever want you to stop.”

Faye’d thought she’d never find anyone to endure loving her – someone to be there for the long run that she could trust her heart with. But Bash had been there for eleven years, and by everything he’s said and done, he wasn’t going anywhere else.

He knew all of her messy parts, and he hadn’t left.

Was this happiness just the early giddiness of a new relationship? Ellie would definitely say so. And Faye was going to cling onto that feeling for as long as she could.

“What would you like first?” she asked, lowering her voice purposefully. “Dinner … ordessert?”

Bash swept his fingers back and forth across her inner thigh and Faye knew exactly what he was thinking, her heart skipping faster with each swipe of his thumb. “That depends … when was the last time you ate?”

She thought about it as seriously as he’d asked, because missing meals was not something to joke about in front of Bash. “I ate lunch at one, and a banana muffin at four.”

Bash tilted his head with a slow exhale, saying without words that any other activities for the evening would have to wait.

“Come on, Peanut. As much as I want to toss you into my bed, I’m feeding you first.”

* Make yourself at home

39

FAYE

Bash had stockedup his fridge whilst she’d been at work and thoroughly fed her on home made chow mein and not-so-homemade duck spring rolls. He’d offered up his bathroom – one of many – for her to use whilst he washed the dishes, since it was, quote, “the only one that you’ll need to use,” meaning she’d absolutely be sleeping in his bedroom tonight.

Her phone was blissfully on silent-mode, but she’d glanced at what messages there were: a couple from Ellie, a series of holiday photos from her father, and a request to video chat again soon from her mother. She should probably call tonight and tell her mum more about her Christmas with the Phillips-Dumonts than she’d been able to do in their quick video call on Christmas morning.

As that thought crossed her mind, she wondered sometimes what it’d be like to spend Christmas on the other side of the world, where Christmas was in summer and Santa rode a surfboard instead of a sleigh. She wondered if her dad and Ruth were just as bundled in hats, coats, and heavy woollen scarves in Norway as her, or if they’d acclimated to the bitter temperatures yet.

Faye showered and eventually made her way down to the ground floor, wondering how anyone was supposed to ever find anyone else in a house containing five floors without some sort of walkie-talkie system.

In fluffy white socks, she padded through the reception hall to the kitchen, following the tinkering sound of glass. Each step filled her with more excitement than the last. There was no point in hiding what her body wanted right then. The hand that Bash slid back and forth over her thigh as they’d eaten, cross-legged at the coffee table, had done enough to set matches to the fuses of desire within her. She had no shame in showing it anymore.

Spotlights dim, the cream kitchen looked like a set from a regency drama, still true to time with its fittings. The aga alone could probably solve Faye’s heating dilemma all by itself. Herringbone hardwood floors, bespoke crown moulding. It was a home kitchen her baker’s heart would die for.

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