Page 51 of Scotch on the Rocks

“Oh.” I didn’t imagine her disappointment. “You don’t find it boring?”

“No, sweetheart.” My grip on her tightened. “The opposite actually.”

14

Juniper

Callum: What did the fast–food worker say to the toilet?

Juniper: Is this a poo joke?

Callum: “Did you order a number two?”

Callum: Get it?

Juniper: A newborn could understand that one, Macabe.

Callum Macabe had kissed me on the forehead and ran away like his shoes were on fire.

He’d stroked my ear.

I don’t know why that was the part my brain kept tripping over. Far filthier things had been shared between us. All I knew was the way he’d pinched my earlobe between his thumb and index finger – like he found that tiny scrap of flesh worthy of divine worship – screamed volumes for what he’d do with my clit.

Notmyclit.

Aclit.A metaphorical clitoris.

Agaggleof clitorises.

No wonder people liked him.A forehead kiss and apinch to the earlobe andClitoris Kenhad left me weak in the knees.

Imight even like him.

And because he’d known exactly what he’d done to me, I’d barely spoken to him the following day.

Or the three days after that.

He arrived at Ivy House at seven p.m. every day, like clockwork. Two steaming mugs of chamomile tea in hand – one for me and one for him – and asked a single question before proceeding up the stairs.

On Tuesday he asked: “What’s your favouriteLord of the Ringsfilm?”

“Return of the King, obviously.”

He’d nodded as if suitably satisfied with the answer and handed over a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in a Brown’s Café bag.

Wednesday: “How many cats did you foster before Shakespeare?”

“Seven. Some for days at a time. Some for weeks. I looked after a sweet ginger tabby called Oscar for close to a year.” The day he got adopted I’d cried in my shower until the water ran cold. I didn’t tell Callum that last part.

That earned me a banana muffin Jess served so sparingly, they were akin to gold dust in Kinleith.

On Thursday I’d been giving a sweet couple from Missouri restaurant recommendations and he’d waited until they left to ask: “If you could add one thing to Ivy House what would it be?”

“A wooden gazebo in the wild garden to host summer weddings.”

He’d smiled at that. And that smile had spread into his cheeks when he’d caught my attention drifting to his bag, already anticipating the sugar rush. I hadn’t even waited forhim to disappear up the stairs before swallowing half of the brownie in a single bite.

What the hell was he getting out of this arrangement? How had he so accurately anticipated my early evening sweet tooth?I couldn’t make sense of it. The anticipation beating like a trapped bird in my chest as I watched the hand of the clock tick past six fifty-nine had started to feel like a foreign body spreading through my bloodstream.That’s just the extra sugar,I assured myself.

---