Page 87 of A Fresh Start at Bramble Cottage
“Oh, that’s wonderful! Congratulations.”
“Thanks. I haven’t told Amy yet. We’re taking her to the zoo on Sunday, and we’re going to tell her then.”
“She’ll be thrilled,” Vicky assured her.
“I hope so. It’s just been the two of us, and Mum, for a while...”
“She adores Bill.”
“Yes, she does.” She held up her hand, her fingers crossed. “I just hope Alan doesn’t make trouble.”
“Your ex?” Vicky shot her a startled look. “Why would he?”
Debbie bit her lip. “He can sometimes be a bit... awkward.”
Vicky shook her head. “You know what, I’ll bet he takes one look at Bill and decides to back off.”
“Oh, but Bill would never get into a fight,” Debbie protested quickly. “He isn’t the type.”
“I know that and you know that, but I bet Alan wouldn’t want to risk it.”
Debbie laughed. “You’re right. I’ve let him bully me long enough — I’m not going to let him do it anymore.”
“That’s the spirit!”
“Anyway, do you want some of Mum’s coffee cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Debbie went back to the counter, and Vicky fell into gazing out of the window, as she usually did. But her mind wasn’t on the view today. She was replaying every moment of last night, so vividly that she could almost feel the brush of Tom’s mouth over hers, the warmth of his body, the smooth movement of those hard muscles beneath his skin.
She’d woken this morning as he had slipped out of bed and pulled on his clothes.
“I was trying not to wake you.” He’d kissed the tip of her nose. “Go back to sleep.”
Of course — milking. She’d snuggled down under the covers and slept again.
She’d have liked to ask Debbie more about him — his other girlfriends before that Nyree, how many there had been, what they had been like. But she’d feel stupid, probing like that — like some love-struck teenager Bez’s age.
So, what now? Had last night been just a one-night stand, a brief fling? Or might there be a chance of something more?
* * *
The question still lingered in her mind into the evening, distracting her from the chapter she was trying to write. Memories of the night, wrapped up in those strong arms, their naked bodies hot against each other...
Curled up on her new sofa in the sitting room with her notebook, the French windows wide open to let in a soft evening breeze, she closed her eyes, trying to make herself focus on her heroine’s attempts to...
A flurry of excited barking startled her back to the twenty-first century. A small bundle of brown-and-white fur hurtled in through the French windows and scrabbled at her knees.
“Well, hello, you.” She scooped him up onto her lap, laughing as he bounced up to lick her chin. “Have you run away again?”
“No — he just wanted to come over and say thanks for the scrambled eggs.”
Vicky felt her heart thump as Tom came into the room. “Oh, he was more than welcome. He’s looking very well, in spite of his adventure.”
“Dogs usually recover very quickly. I just hope he’s learned his lesson.” Tom strolled over to the sofa and leaned over the back of it to kiss her ear. “What’s this?” he asked, glancing at the notebook.
“Oh . . . um . . . it’s just . . .” She laughed a little unsteadily. “I’m trying to write a book.”
