Page 66 of Knots About You
‘Get your cute arse to bed, you wee devil,’ I said, forcing myself to take a step back..
As I left her gate, cursing myself every step further from her, I grinned over the mix of her and whisky on my lips. Outside the Tipsy Otter, under the orange glow of a streetlight, Marty stood against the wall, glowering. He lifted two fingers in a salute, a dickish smirk on his face.
With both Marty and Becky circling like vultures, the idyllic village grew more uncomfortable by the day. The closeness of everyone was often a plus, but it also gave me fewer and fewer opportunities to avoid them all.
Before I could let myself get enraged over him, a warm body encircled me from behind. Turning, a tumble of red hair met me.
‘This isn’t bed,’ I jokingly admonished.
Claire held up her bag, a cheeky grin crossing her face. ‘I brought a bag, and you never specifiedwhichbed.’
I took the bag from her and looped an arm around her shoulders. ‘That’s a good point.’
‘Plus…My man Meowrse will be missing me.’
twenty-six
CLAIRE
‘Urgh,’I groaned, rolling over and finding Owen’s side of the bed empty.
Our impromptu sleepover had kept us up far later than planned. Hitting my phone, I spotted eleven forty-five on the screen.
Good god.
I’d slept half of the day away.
Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I sent Owen a flirty text.
OWEN: Behave you. I’ve got another tour, then I’ll come back and make you some lunch.
ME: Can I use your bath?
OWEN: You don’t need to ask. Towels are in the linen closet. There are toiletries on the windowsill, but plenty of others in the cupboard under the sink if you need anything else.
ME: You’re actually amazing. If I didn’t fancy the pants off of you already, I’d be falling for you big time.
Competency was so fucking hot.
I’d stumbled into the right barn that night, for sure.
After thirty minutes soaking in the massive tub, with an obscene amount of bubbles, I towelled myself off and dressed. Owen had offered to make lunch, but I could whip something up and surprise him.
I took the stairs two at a time, practically floating on air. Rounding the corner and nearly colliding with Jim.
Jim stood half-collapsed in the doorway between the hall and the sitting room, one hand fisted against his shirt, and the other tight on the doorframe.
‘Jim?’ I dashed over and looped a hand around his waist. ‘Jim, can you hear me?’
‘Just… winded,’ he lied. An ashen hue clung to his face, and his lips were bluer than they should be.
I manhandled my phone out of my pocket, my thumb hovering over the nine key.
‘Don’t,’ Jim’s voice cracked. Indecision warred in me, Jim heavy against my side. I hit redial instead; Owen’s name flashed up on the screen.
‘Claire?’ he answered on the first ring, breathy with work. The excited bubble of his tour group in the background. ‘You all right?’
‘It’s your dad,’ I said. ‘He’s not well. I think it’s his chest.’
