Page 85 of Knots About You
‘Good boy! You’re going to get the biggest stick I can find.’
‘What’s going on?’ Owen lifted me to my feet, checking me over with worried eyes.
‘Just dealing with some unwanted guests.’ My breath came out in short bursts. ‘I drowned Marty’s phone and had to come in for Becky’s USB.’
Taking Jeff’s pint, I dropped the USB into it. Grinning at Owen.
The off-duty copper stood up, quite a bit tipsy and gestured around. ‘Someone phone the station and get Crab and Flint up here to put these two in the calls for the night. I’m two sheets to the wind already.’
‘You can’t—’ Becky started.
‘I bloody well can, and I am.’
Marty, clutching his aching balls, glowered at me. He’d underestimated me for the last time.
Owen’s hand found the back of my neck and turned me to him. ‘You seriously okay?’
‘Ask me in the morning. For now, I want another dance, at least three more cocktails and then a soak in your lovely copper bath,’ I said.
‘You’re fucking amazing, Claire. My perfectly wild wee brat. I’ll run you a bath every day for the rest of your life if you’ll let me.’
Standing on tiptoes, I brushed my lips over his. ‘Let’s start with tonight, and see how we go.’
His face crinkled, and I reached up to soothe the grumpy line between his eyes. ‘Because if we end up in London, there’s fat chance you’ll have a bath.’
When I’d downed both my Coke and my water, the musicians kicked back off, and we were swallowed back into the reel. Scruff howled along with the fiddle until Morag scooped him into her lap.
Owen spun me under his arm, and the hall blurred until I grew giddy with it. My cheeks hurt from grinning by the time I’d lost track of the time.
‘Left!’ Owen laughed.
‘Iamlefting!’ I promptly stepped on his boot.
He kissed me anyway.
thirty-three
CLAIRE
We layon the sand like teenagers who didn’t want to go home yet, chip papers crackling between us. Far above, the late autumn sky sparkled like some godly child had kicked over a tub of glitter.
Otterleigh Bay murmured somewhere behind us, pub laughter, a sound of a TV mumbled somewhere.
Trevor.
I’d have expected him to be off roosting at night.
Do seagulls roost?
During my time at Rose Cottage, we’d come to somewhat of a truce. If he behaved himself while I ate outside, I’d allow him the corners of my toast. It was still a work in progress.
The acrid vinegar hit the back of my throat, making my eyes water. Not my favourite way to gag… that’s for sure. Owen ate another mouthful of chips before swallowing and rolling to face me.
‘I kind of like you with sand in your hair’, Owen said, reaching out with cold fingers to brush some off my face.
‘Only kind of?’ I teased, spearing a chunky, soggy chip that tried to escape.
‘Brat. I ache for you, you sand dappled goddess.’ Owen tried to suppress his laughter.
