Page 22 of Forever, Maybe
Aye, married!His mind continued the imaginary conversation.So what? My parents tied the knot when they were only twenty. And lassies love engagements and weddings. Your girlfriend’s always dropping big, fat hints that you should put a ring on it.
Imaginary Joe arched an eyebrow, pursing his mouth.Your funeral, pal. Dinnae come greetin’ to me when she knocks you back.
But Joe hadn’t been here earlier. He hadn’t heard Daniel spill his guts about how utterly shit the past few days had been, or seen Nell wrap her arms around him like she was holding him together. Daniel had rested his chin on top of her head, closing his eyes to inhale the familiar, comforting scent of her hair. Then he’d opened them in disbelief as she murmured, her words muffled against his chest, “Oh, Danny, I do love you.”
The first time she’d ever said theLword.
Now, as he mulled over the thought of asking her to marry him, his heart pounded so hard it felt like it might crack a rib on its way out. But Nell was leaving for her parents’ house tomorrow, and the panic of losing her to time and distance gnawed at him, outweighing even the fear of her saying no.
If he didn’t ask her now, when would he?
It didn’t seem proper to ask her the oh-so-important question while he was in bed. He yanked on his jeans. Again, asking her to marry him demanded a degree of dignity that you didn’t get while wearing only boxer shorts.
He was still buttoning them up when Nell pushed against the heavy hinges of the door to her room with one shoulder, holding a tray laden with mugs of wine and a plate of oatcakes and cheese, the latter broken into crumbly chunks.
“Some cheeky bastard’s stole half your cheese!” she exclaimed, outrage dancing across her face in the form of widened eyes and a comedy pout. Nell didn’t bother with social norms like keeping supplies in for visitors. Given how much time he spent at the halls, Daniel would starve if he didn’t bring his own food.
“That was vintage cheddar!” He eyed Nell’s tray. The thief had made off with at least ten gourmet sandwiches’ worth of cheese. The sandwiches he charged double for when he sold them in the Hyndland shop where people were willing to pay for quality.
Still, the theft provided him with a neat opening. “Must be awfy annoying when people nick your food.”
Nell dumped the tray on the chest of drawers and handed him a mug. She took the other one and collapsed back onto the bed. “Totally!”
“Mebbe it would be nice to live somewhere where folks didn’t do that.”
“Like my own place? I wish. It will be fifty years into the new millennium before I can afford my own flat. And only then if I’ve managed that rare art school graduate thing of convincing people that I’m the new Picasso.”
He caught her hand in his, turning over the thin fingers in his palm. “Nell, your pictures are the dog’s bollocks.”
The tips of her other hand’s fingers brushed against his cheek. “Sweetie, youwouldsay that!”
He could tell her a thousand times over that her work blew his socks off, but she’d never believe him. She never did. Still, the conversation had veered off course, and he couldn’t let the night slip away without an answer.
Grabbing her hand, he held it tight when she tried to pull away.
“Danny!” she protested, her tone half-annoyed, half-laughing.
The only person in the world he’d let call him that.
“Nell, I need to ask you something! A serious something!”
Her lips twitched. “Ooh! Okay, then! I agree to give the golden showers thing a try. I’m not convinced that it’s even remotely erotic but, if necessary, I will drink a pint of water, squat above you and—”
“No!” He grasped her fingers. “Jesus! Nobody wants anybody to pee in their mouth! Nell, I love you. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. Marry me, gorgeous. Please.”
Her eyebrows shot upwards, and her jaw dropped open. The mug she was holding slipped to the side and a tiny amount of red wine sloshed out and onto the folded back bed covers. A pink splotch spread out its tiny spiky tentacles.
Mid-December. Saturday night. Stereo systems and ghetto blasters competed all around them, with the thump of base through one wall, house through another and Euro pop adding its God-almighty awful contribution to the cacophony.
And yet here in Nell’s room, silence reigned.
Chapter eight
April2016
The photo of Tadgh’s nephew—dark-haired, sharp-cheek boned,solike Danny—blurred in and out of focus. Nell blinked hard, her breath catching as she tried to steady herself, the effects of too much Prosecco on an empty stomach roaring back with a vengeance.
Three pairs of concerned eyes locked onto her.
