Page 90 of Barging In
Clem walked over to the window, slipping on hershoes and picking up her book. She paused, looking out over the garden.
“It’s such a beautiful view from here,” she said quietly. “You’ve designed something extraordinary. Again. You always seem to curate the most beautiful things. I hope you find it within you to be as brave for yourself as you are for your work. I believe in you; you should, too.” Clem turned, her expression pained. “Night, Victoria. I’ll see myself out.”
Then she was gone.
Victoria ran her tongue over her lips, searching for any lingering trace of Clem, a scent or a taste to connect her back to that kiss. She crossed her arms and grabbed her biceps, holding herself tightly. It had been too long since someone had held her like that, embraced her so fully, like she mattered. No, actually. No one had ever done that.
Now she knew what it felt like to kiss Clem, and she wanted more — so much more. She wanted everything with her, a life she once dreamed of and thought she had. Holding hands on long walks, lazy mornings in bed, sharing meals and discussing the day over a glass of wine. The thought of it all made her insides flutter with excitement.
Then the truth hit her like a slap.
It wasn’t possible.
Or was it? Did she want it enough to tear her life apart?
With a sigh, she poured the last of the wine into her glass and slumped into her favourite chair by the window. Clem’s scent still clung to the fabric, filling her nose and stirring everything back up again. If she wanted Clem,reallywanted her, she’d have to risk it all. She’d have to divorce Drew.
Her eyes welled again. She reached for a tissue from the side table, dabbing it against her cheeks. Howtragically on-brand it was to be crying into her wine. At least it was something she was well practised at.
Movement caught her eye in the neighbouring garden. Clem was heading down to the jetty, her figure framed against the dying light. Victoria took a large swig of wine, hoping it would douse the feelings inside that were warm, insistent, and terrifying as hell.
CHAPTER 20
Clem kicked off her Vans and slumped onto the bed with a guttural huff. Her feet ached almost as much as her heart. It had been almost a week since dinner at Victoria’s house and she hadn’t seen her since. Unless she counted lunchtime today, when she’d caught a glimpse of her in her office. She was sure Victoria had caught her staring and spun her chair back around before Clem could look away.
They hadn’t exactly left things on a bad note — well, unless you calledthatkiss bad, which Clem didn’t. Victoria might, butshehad kissed her. Not that Clem hadn’t been dying to do it since the moment Victoria opened the front door that night. She had looked so elegant in a sleeveless, knee-length, black dress that Clem’s insides had fluttered.
Victoria’s lips against her own had surprised and excited her so much that she kissed her back like it were their last moment on earth. It felt like it lasted forever: wrapped in each other’s arms, tongues searching, fingers tingling as they explored. Victoria’s guard had slipped justenough to let Clem into a world she kept to herself, and she longed to return to it.
She wasn’t even sure if Victoria was ignoring her or if she was the one doing the ignoring. She wanted to give the other woman some space, a few days to process what had happened, and once she had, she hoped Victoria might reach out. But she hadn’t. No visit; not even a text. Now she wondered if she should have gone to see her already, but it felt like it had been too long for it not to feel awkward.
At least she knew for certain Victoria had feelings for her, but what was she supposed to do? Step back? Step forward? She didn’t want to pressure her. She already felt a twinge of guilt for the harmless flirtations she’d indulged in, knowing full well Victoria wasn’t free. But she hadn’t forced Victoria to do anything, and it wasn’t Clem’s fault if Victoria was struggling with feelings she hadn’t expected. The way Victoria had hit her chest with her fist and admitted it was more than just a kiss still sent tingles through Clem’s body.
She wondered whether the job offer still stood. Had that encounter ruined any chance of friendship, let alone working together beyond her supplying cakes? If so, she regretted it. Not because it wasn’t wonderful — it was, possibly the most memorable kiss of her life — but because as much as she longed for her, she wanted Victoria in her life more.
“What do you think I should do, Florence? Any ideas?” She paused as though waiting to hear from the narrowboat. “No? Of course not; you’re an inanimate object with no feelings or opinions, and yet here I am shaping my entire life around you.”
Then there was the money she’d invested, sinking almost everything she had into her new venture. Whatwas she thinking? Victoria hadn’t offered her a full-time job, so Florence and the café weren’t going anywhere. Unless she set up a marketing consultancy and touted herself for more work — that was an idea. But she’d still be living and working out of a narrowboat parked at the bottom of her parents’ garden. Maybe one day she could move to the marina where Max was.
She groaned and pulled a pillow over her face. There was so much to think about, and her brain was mushy, scrambled by her feelings for Victoria, which prevented any clarity or rational thought.
That night came to mind again. Victoria’s house was so warm, cosy, and inviting that she’d felt strangely at home, curled up in that armchair, gazing out over the manicured garden and the canal beyond. If she were lucky, she’d inherit Gram’s old house from her parents sometime in the future; not that she wanted to think about that time. She had to think about the now. Right now, she was forty, with little to her name but a narrowboat she couldn’t even sell — unless she wanted to crush her mum’s spirits.
Clem leaned back against her headboard and sighed. She picked up her notepad and scanned the list of ideas she’d been jotting down for the wharf. She missed marketing — the spark of excitement when a concept landed, the buzz of a strategy falling into place, and the satisfaction of nailing the message. Logging coffees and cake sales on a spreadsheet wasn’t quite comparable to measuring the results of a national campaign.
As she turned the page, the stark reality of her schedule confronted her. She’d mapped out every hour of the day, searching for pockets of time. Her mornings began at six, with baking continuing for herself and the wharf until she opened at ten. Then she sold until three, packed down, and returned to the jetty by four, when she wouldbe able to squeeze in a couple of hours’ work for Victoria before making dinner at six. Realistically, she’d have to work while eating, which wasn’t a problem, but with the next bake needing to finish before bed at ten, she estimated she could give Victoria ten hours a week, if she worked five days.
It would be slow progress at that rate, but progress. Victoria had said she would take whatever Clem could offer — assuming the offer still stood. She wouldn’t be petty enough to sideline the wharf’s progress simply to avoid her… would she?
Clem knew that once she began working on her ideas for the wharf each day, it would be difficult to stop. She baked automatically, so she didn’t need her brain for that. There were also lulls during opening hours and those rainy days giving her quiet spells. Would she start to resent her own business — if she wasn't already? Should she simply move on? There must be other towpaths to trade from. She could forget all about the wharf and Victoria and let her slip back into her perfectly miserable life. That felt like the easy option, to untie the rope and drift away, but it was the last thing she wanted.
She understood Victoria’s position, why she had stagnated for years in a marriage like that to keep her world intact. Clem couldn’t blame her for patching over the cracks to hold everything together. Still, it didn’t stop her hoping Victoria would boot her shitty husband in the balls and tell him to do one. Not because Clem wanted Victoria to take a risk for her, but because she wanted Victoria to take one for herself.
Clem had always thought of herself as decisive. Recent events had shown her that some decisions weren’t so easy to make, let alone act on. Once you had, you had to wait for your choice to either implode or work out the way youhoped. When she’d quit her job and bought Florence, it was resentment that had pushed her, years of frustration at work and the lure of finally owning something, even if it was a boat. But the grass wasn’t always greener on the other side, and dreams didn’t always turn into the reality you imagined. She knew that now.
The small bedroom suddenly felt devoid of air. Casting the notepad aside, Clem got up and opened the bow doors, filling her lungs with cool, fresh air as she stepped out.
She spotted Max passing on the towpath.
