Page 26 of Knots About You
Dots that never turned into words.
I pocketed the phone after a few minutes and headed home, already counting down the hours like an idiot.
eleven
CLAIRE
The beach looked idyllic,soft golden sand stretching as far as the eye could see. But autumn’s chill numbed my fingers until they turned pink.
I loved it.
I’d never been to a beach on a cold day. Previously, beach days were a rare escape from work when the city heat became unbearable. A vanishingly rare adventure.
The tide pulled itself flat against the shore, the waves almost non-existent. The morning sky unfolded in the palest shade of blue, cottony clouds gathering on the horizon. Scruff, Morag’s dog and my borrowed companion, trotted beside me part of the way, dashing off at regular intervals whenever he spotted treasure. That treasure being increasingly ridiculous-sized sticks.
‘That one is a small log,’ I told him, balancing a stuffed croissant in one hand and a growing collection of sticks betweenthe other. Scruff would bark at me until I picked up his treasures and took them with us.
‘We need to discuss hoarding, Scruffleupagus.’
He dropped another stick at my feet. It was smooth from years at sea and nearing golf club proportions. Then he looked up at me with eyes that said,What are you waiting for?
‘We need to renegotiate our positions here, my four-legged friend. I’m not here to be your stick caddy.’ I bit into my croissant and stifled a moan. Cream oozed out of one end, and I caught it with my thumb, unwilling to let a single morsel escape its inevitable doom in my stomach.
Scruff wagged up at me, sitting and tapping at the stick with a demanding paw.
‘Give me a minute, Scruff. If I eat my snack, I’ll have double the carrying hands.’
A light breeze kicked up, ruffling my hair as I soaked up the picturesque moment. No meetings. No calendars with more coloured squares than I could balance. No clients who didn’t know what they wanted until you gave it to them, and then wanted something else. No going home to Marty and the never-ending balancing of his moods.
Just clean air, and some sticks.
Inhale, exhale.
Salty air. Sugary pastry. Soggy dog.
‘Claire!’ The wind carried my name over the sand, and I turned to find Owen jogging down the steps from the footpath, dressed for painting. His old jeans were speckled with paint, and an ancient navy jumper hugged his rugged chest. The breeze made his hair dance in wild disobedience. He looked like he’d walked right out of a calendar for horny housewives.
The cream dripped from my croissant as if mimicking the situation in my nether region.
I lifted my croissant in a wave before nearly dropping all of the sticks.Smooth. Scruff abandoned his current treasure and barrelled toward Owen with a series of excited barks. How Owen avoided tripping over the animated furball, I’d never know.
‘Morning, Scruff,’ Owen said, bending to rub the dog behind the ears. I wasn’t jealous. Honest. He straightened and looked at me, with those no-nonsense blue eyes, and I swore I fell just a little bit more in lust with him.
’Fancy seeing you here.’ I attempted to sound chill, but there was no hiding the breathiness to my words. ‘I’m not running late am I?’
Taming my timekeeping had been an integral part of my transformation into a city girl. I’d gone from chasing my tail to being five steps ahead. In Otterleigh, time seemed like more of a concept than a definitive.
‘No, I’m early,’ Owen stopped next to me, looking out over the sea. I spied his rolled-up sleeves and had to focus really hard not to throw myself at him again. He’d come over to paint, but I really hoped we’d get utterly distracted with one another instead. Operation drive him wild commenced.
The breeze caught my hair and tossed it in my face. I wrestled it back while juggling my croissant and sticks. ‘We’ll be there in a minute. Scruff is very busy cleaning up the beach.’
On cue, Scruff presented me with another stick.
‘What am I supposed to do with these bloody sticks, Scruff?’ I asked.
In a flap of terror, Trevor arrived like a flying plastic bag, stopping a few feet away on the sand. With all the air in his chest, he screamed at me.
‘Do not even think about it,’ I warned him.
