Page 42 of The Happy Hour
‘A kissing scene,’ Jess said, her heart lodged in her throat. ‘We’ve had sparkling balls and superhero fights and Muppets and zombies, but Greenwich is romantic, too. Why aren’t there any kissing scenes on your tour?’
‘I don’t know,’ Ash said. ‘Maybe I didn’t visit the right websites. Maybe—’
‘We could create one of our own?’ Jess finished.
A smile lifted Ash’s lips. ‘That would be a better grand finale. And I’ve been thinking about last week, on the heath. I know it was just a peck, but—’
‘Me too,’ she cut in, elation and relief shortening her breath. ‘I’ve been thinking about it a lot, too.’
‘You can live off happy memories all week,’ he murmured.
Jess huffed out a laugh. ‘Ash Faulkner, are you inventing more quotes for me? I’m going to have to start paying you commission.’
‘One kiss is worth a thousand words,’ he whispered.
‘Sometimes the anticipation is better than the reality,’ she said, feeling a flicker of uncertainty, now that she’d set this in motion.
Ash’s soft expression hardened into intent, into something that looked a lot like desire. ‘Let’s see if I can prove you wrong with that one.’
He tipped her cap back, the cool air rushing to her forehead, and with his other hand, adjusted his own hat. Jess thought how ridiculous this was: their silly hats, Ash using children in a buggy to represent a scene from a show he might or might not have watched; but the truth was she’d loved every single, stupid minute, had thought about nothing but Ash and what he was telling her, what was coming next and how much she was laughing, and then he leaned forward, his fingers stroking down her arm, and pressed his mouth against hers.
He tasted of coffee and certainty, and Jess, so overcome by how good he felt, how the sensation of his lips and his hands on her body woke it up in ways she hadn’t thought about for eons, let her mind empty. She wrapped her arms around his neck, closed the gap he had left between them, and felt his palms press into her lower back.
They were cinched tight, the kiss slow and exploring, and Jess thought that if he let go of her now, she wouldn’t be able to stay upright. She felt as if Ash had some kind of power over her, some fundamental element within him that she was unable to resist. Spending time with him had been bad enough, but now she knew what he felt like pressed against her – all those important bits of him; lips and fingers, the jut of his hips – she was worried she wouldn’t be able to let him go.
An hour, she thought frantically, as he pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a dazed, happy incredulity that she knew she was mirroring, was soon going to feel like nowhere near enough.
Chapter Fifteen
Time had got away from them. He was surprised it hadn’t done before now.
Their fourth Sunday together and it felt like Christmas, only Ash hadn’t enjoyed Christmas after the age of twelve, when all the idyllic, rosy fantasies he had lived out, with two parents and a brother he adored, too much food and stockings hanging over the arms of the sofas, wrapping paper everywhere, had disintegrated, replaced by stretches of silence, his mum too heartbroken to make an effort, he and Dylan creating their own fun. He had felt responsible. It was his job to step up and make things OK, to make his mum and his brother smile again, even though he hadn’t known how to at that age. In lots of ways, he still didn’t.
No, being with Jess, kissing Jess, was better than Christmas. It made him feel as if he’d done something right in all of this, had found some impossibly bright spark that still felt too fragile to grab hold of, in case he crushed it in his palm.
He arrived at the gleaming white door out of breath, his heaving chest mirroring the chaos of his thoughts, the bliss replaced by the usual dread and regret, and also resentment that he’d had to leave her. They’d realised the time, had rushed back towards the market, laughing, their fingertips brushing, other people throwing them looks of consternation or curiosity as they literally held onto their hats. Making it back to No Vase Like Home, they’d hovered in the doorway, and he hadn’t known what to do.
Jess had, though. She’d stretched up and kissed his cheek, and he’d relished the feel of her lips against his skin again, brushing his Sunday stubble. She’d said, ‘Same time next week?’ He’d nodded, told herof courseand then legged it, moving faster through the market than he’d done before.
‘Ash Faulkner, you’re cutting it fine,’ Peggy said, when he stepped inside and closed the door.
He glanced at his watch. It was three minutes past one. ‘Hardly,’ he puffed out.
‘Did you forget about today?’ Peggy scrutinised him. ‘Nice hat.’
‘Thanks.’ He put it on the chair beside him. ‘As if I could forget about this. No, Jess and I got... carried away.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘No details, please. This is a family space.’ She gestured around the empty waiting room.
‘I didn’t mean...’ he started, then stopped. Because that kiss had felt like a prelude, and even though they had been in public, it had been a struggle not to pull her even closer, to whisper everything he wanted to do with her in her ear. She had matched his kiss, but maybe telling her how frantic she made him, how much closer he wanted to get, would have sent her jumping over the wall into the river just to get away from him.
‘Coffee?’ Peggy asked. ‘I’ll give you a moment to sort yourself out.’
He glanced down, but his shirt and jeans looked unruffled.
Peggy tapped her temple. ‘In here. I expect it’s a big switch, coming from Jess to here.’
‘That’s all I’ve ever done with Jess,’ he said. ‘Come straight from her to this place.’
