Page 44 of Maybe
“What ifyoumove onto someone better?” I countered. “Do I need to remind you I’m a busker with about ten quid to his name? And responsible for a small child?”
Isaac pursed his lips. “I’m not going to even justify that with a response, Ez. But that sort of thing doesn’t have an undo button. Once—if—we travel down that road, there’s no turning back. And if it does go tits up, where would it leave us? And, more importantly, Jonty, too? What if I got to know him and love him properly, and then I just disappeared one day? I know how that feels, Ez, and, trust me, it’s fucking miserable and confusing. He’s your boy. I wouldn’t ever want that for him.”
Did I mention my man had a beautiful soul?
I squeezed Isaac’s hand tight. “I can’t promise, because none of us wield a crystal ball, but I don’t think any of that will happen. We’re still the same people we always were, we still have something more than brotherly love for each other, and I’m prepared to give us a chance.” I pulled him in closer. “Trust me, Isaac. I’m a sucker for hairy baked potatoes.”
Who knewhairy bakedpotatoeswere the magic words to make Isaac close the gap between our mouths and kiss me? If I’d known, I’d have spoken them a hell of a lot sooner. Obviously, it was a kiss that started with a laugh, because… hairy baked potatoes. But Isaac’s obliviousness towards his own attractiveness, how he had no idea he filled the four corners of my being, was also fucking hilarious.
My laugh, however, stopped as abruptly as it begun, because Isaac’s dear face was cradled between my palms—soberly this time—and his tongue was in my mouth, startling a gasp from my lips.
Was it the greatest kiss I’d ever received? The most passionate? Probably not. Our teeth clashed and the angle was awkward, and it was almost over before I’d got my head around it.
But, with the right person, even an ordinary, short kiss feels better than the most exhilarating of protracted, overindulgent guitar solos.
“What did I do to deserve that?”
Isaac’s eyes combed my face as if the answer was written across it. “I’m not sure. I’ve been telling you in a variety of ways how all would be such a bad idea, and how terrible I am at, you know, this kind of stuff.” He shook his head. “I might as well be saying it in Zulu for all the attention you’re paying.” Disentangling himself, he shuffled down the sofa and out of my arms. “But we’re not doing it again.”
“We’re not?”
“No,” he said firmly. “Not yet.”
“But you want to.” I clung onto thatyet. “I’ll be able to persuade you.”
“Probably.” Half-smiling, he toyed with my fingers. “But I need some time to get my head around everything. I still wish my feelings for you were along similar lines of my feelings for Edand Saffy. To add to the pile labellednormalandbrotherly.” His gaze flicked across to mine. “But they’re not. Looking back, they never have been. And God knows I’ve tried to reroute them. But they won't play ball.”
“You can’t pin feelings like a moth, Isaac. For what it’s worth, I’ve tried too.”
We both knewfeelingswas a euphemism for love. But in this context, that little word was too big, too special, too much to lay out on the table right now. And anyhow, we already knew we loved each other. It was merely thehowI needed to nail down. With a little coaxing, by the end of the week, he’d be in my arms.
“So I won’t see you next week, if that’s okay,” he continued.
My optimistic vibes juddered to a standstill. “Not really, no.”
He shrugged. “I’m working long days followed by a set of nights. But when I do see you afterward, I want to get to know you again. As my brother first. I want… I think I want us to take it slow?”
“Brothers, then lovers.” I nodded, breathing a sigh of relief. I could work with that. “Got it.”
“And I’m texting you Gerald’s phone number. I expect you to have got in touch with him before I next see you.”
I chuckled. “I’ll pass if it’s all the same to you. He’s not my type. Have you seen the size of his nose?” I tested my luck by pecking Isaac on his much smaller, slightly upturned one. “I bet Gerry can sniff out a Sunday roast by Wednesday with that thing.”
My type wrinkled his now wet nose. “Good,” he murmured, staring at me like a very light touch feels, so soft it almost tickled. “I’m not one of life’s sharers either. An apology to him will do.”
CHAPTER 17
EZRA
That wretched past? We don’t live there anymore, and we never need to go back.
I’d made it sound so easy. Maybe, in some ways, for me it was. Moving on hadn’t been my choice—it had been thrust on me. I had never been invited back.
But Isaac had Janice and the twins, an inherited flat, money in the bank. And, hanging like an ever-tightening noose around his neck, a hospital lanyard with our venerated surname plastered across it. Like I’d explained to Jonty, trying to complete the rusty monkey bars in the park, he had to let go with one hand to progress forwards, but he still wanted to hold on to, and bring, the past with him.
Which, as Carly had not so subtly hinted, meant I also had to revisit it.
Slouched against an old oak—pull your shoulders back, Ezra, stand up straighter!—in the park opposite a childhood home harbouring more painful memories than I could enumerate, the hankering for nicotine was almost overpowering. I wasn’t sure what was wilting quicker, myresolve or the cheap chrysanthemums clutched in my clammy hand.
