Page 17 of What's the time, Mr. Wolfe
“Are you okay?” Sebastian asked.
“No, whacked my funny bone. What are you here for?” I asked.
“No amount of funny bone will make you smile, I take it?”
I gave him a broad fake smile and then laughed. “I fell over my rucksack,” I said, pointing down the hall.
“Yes, I can see the hazards you’ve left in your wake.”
His chuckle caused my lips to twitch—both pairs.
“What can I do for you, Mr. Wolfe?”
He held aloft a bottle of champagne. “I thought we should celebrate your new life.”
“Unless you’d prefer something else,” he added, and I wondered if he could see disappointment in my face.
“Not my drink, not that I’ve drunk much of it,” I replied.
“I suspect the cheap shit you’ve had would turn you off.”
I stared at him. Without speaking, I started closing the door. He blocked it with his foot.
“That was uncalled for from me,” he said, bowing his head.
“That isn’t an apology,” I stated.
He didn’t offer one, initially. So I kicked at his foot to move it. “You don’t have any rights to force your way in here, even if you do own it,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Ruby. What I said was crass and uncalled for. I’d like to share a glass of champagne with you to celebrate your new position.” His voice wrapped itself around my skin, causing the hairs to stand on end, and putting me in a situation where even if I wanted to, I couldn’t say no.
I opened the door fully.
“Thank you,” he said, stepping inside and standing close to me.
“You know your way to the kitchen. I’ll just tuck Grandma in.”
I wanted just a minute to breathe. I could feel the heat radiate from him, he stood that close.
I heard him opening cupboards while I pulled Grandma’s blanket up around her chin. I kissed her forehead as she closed her eyes. She wasn’t in a talkative mood that evening, which happened more often than I liked. It meant she was slipping further away from me.
I turned off the ceiling light, leaving a small bedside lamp on, and gently closed the door. Before I headed to the kitchen, I took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly.
“You don’t have any glasses?” he asked as I went around the kitchen, closing all the doors after him.
I picked up two. “What are these?” I asked.
He pursed his lips, then licked over his lower one. “Let me rephrase. You don’t have any champagne glasses?”
“Never needed them, Mr. Wolfe. Don’t have much call for celebratory drinks. But I’ll be sure to visit the champagne flute store and grab some when I’m next in town.” I smiled as sweetly as I could at him.
“Someone should put you over their lap,” he said so quietly, I strained to hear. I near-on melted.
“I’m yet to find anyone man enough to try,” I answered, waving the two water tumblers in the airs.
He snatched them from me and opened the champagne. He poured and when one fizzed up, he placed his finger in it. The bubbles subsided and I watched, mesmerised, as he placed that finger in his mouth and sucked.
He then handed me a glass. I sat, I had to, I think my legs would have given way. He came and sat opposite me.
