Page 49 of Knots About You
Isla grabbed the mic back as if I hadn’t just ruined the song.
‘From the top!’
Owen gave me a little push as I rejoined the women, singing through my embarrassment until it no longer buzzed through the pub. More drinks were consumed, and the conversation moved on.
We smashed the chorus, and the room sang along. By the last note, I was breathless and giddy and glad I’d stuck around.
We exited the tiny stage, and Owen was there immediately, hand out. He looked at me like I hadn’t just made a royal arse of myself. If anything, he looked proud.
‘You were brilliant.’ He spoke into my ear, his words wrapping me in happiness.
‘I was loud,’ I said.
‘Come here.’
Before I knew what was happening, he kissed me…
Not a quick peck. Not a polite brush. A real,public, panty-melting kiss. His hand cupped my jaw as his other arm slid around my waist, pulling me close. The pub did that collective hoot people do when they are drunk and see a smooch.
Owen claimed me in front of everyone, and while I felt all eyes on us, I didn’t care. No. I adored it. Marty had barely risked a side-hug unless we were alone. Owen kissed me like he wanted the whole village to see that he wanted me.
When he eased back, I bit my lip.
‘Show-off,’ I whispered.
‘You need to be shown off. Look at you.’ He kissed my temple to the sound of Isla wolf-whistling and Morag shoutingGet a room.
Later, when we tumbled into the square altogether, tipsy and sung-out, the salty air pinched my cheeks with its icy fingers. The bunting danced in the wind, outlined by the streetlights, while fallen leaves circled in the breeze. Owen shrugged out of his coat and settled it over my shoulders. I inhaled the way it smelt of him, woody and manly, and smiled up at him.
We passed the noticeboard. A new cream card had appeared:
SPOTTED: paint-splattered siren nearly takes out the pumpkin display. I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘God, they got on that quick. Who do you think writes them?’ I threaded my fingers through Owen’s.
‘I’ve always assumed Morag. She’s the epicentre of village gossip.’
We walked toward Rose cottage, hand-in-hand, and I felt peace wash over me. A perfect evening, even in its imperfection.
‘Thank you for convincing me to go out,’ I said.
‘Now to convince you to stay,’ Owen muttered, pulling me against his side.
A pang of nerves settled in my stomach. The idea of staying was a no-brainer, but I couldn’t just uproot my entire life.
Right?
eighteen
OWEN
The tours didn’t stopall week. We’d never been so busy on the tourism front, and Isla and I were wiped. With the way things were going, we’d need to hire some more staff, which was a good problem to have, but an exhausting one nonetheless.
Tourists queued in oversized coats, faces pinked by the wind. I did my spiel on repeat until the words became nonsense, the more I said them. I could probably give them by rote while asleep. Hell, maybe I did.
Isla ran the gift shop and the marketing like a bleary-eyed general, mid-whisky-war with no white flag in sight. We sold out of the twenty-year-old merchandise before noon, then the Otterleigh Bay emblazoned glasses, and even the new Meowrse merchandise that Isla had ordered. I’d had my backside pinched by more than a dozen sweet-faced old ladies, and couldn’t wait for the day to be over.
It was a far cry from the sporadic tours and quiet calm we usually had.
