Page 27 of Flowers Go Flying in Crumbleton
A little shard of guilt hit Milly in the chest. Not only had she invited herself over to his place on some kind of weird fool’s errand, but she’d managed to cause maximum carnage while she was at it.
Blowing out a sigh, Milly quickly stripped out of her muddy clothes and dropped them into a heap on the floor. She’d deal with that particular problem after a wash!
Reaching into the shower, she turned the taps and tentatively held one hand under the stream. For some reason, she’d half expected the water to be stone cold – but it was perfect. Stepping under the torrent, Milly closed her eyes and did her best not to think about Murray standing naked exactly where she was just a few minutes ago.
What was wrong with her?!
Shaking her head, Milly opened her eyes. As much as she was tempted to stand under this delicious waterfall and soak for hours, she needed to keep her head on straight.
Wash. Dry. Get out!
She didn’t dare outstay her welcome – not when poor Murray needed another shower thanks to her!
Quickly nicking a bit of his shower gel, Milly started to scrub at the muddy tide lines on her legs and the splatters on her arms and face.
Five minutes later, she climbed out of the shower - pink in the face and feeling so much better. She grabbed the towel and, after quickly rubbing herself dry and squeezing as much water out of her hair as possible, she wrapped it around herself like a toga.
‘Okay… clothes.’ She gingerly picked her jeans up with her fingertips and then screwed her nose up in disgust. There was no way she was going to put those back on - they stank!
Milly glanced at her jumper. It was big and baggy, she might just about be able to get away with it as a sweater dress… a very very short sweater dress. It was speckled with mud too, but it wasn’t anywhere near as bad as her jeans.
A light tap on the other side of the door made Milly jump.
‘Nearly done!’ she squeaked.
‘Cool,’ said Murray, his voice slightly muffled. ‘No rush. I’ve got some spare clothes out here for you if you want them – just a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. I’ll leave them on the floor by the door. Coffee’s ready when you are.’
‘Oh,’ said Milly, ‘thanks!’
There was no reply. Did that mean he’d gone back through to the kitchen? Milly pressed her ear against the wood, listening hard. It certainly sounded like the coast was clear. Turning the lock, she opened the door a crack – just wide enough to grab the neatly folded pile of clothes before closing it again.
Milly dressed quickly and then, running her fingers through her damp hair, she wiped the steam from the mirror and checked her face.
‘Nice!’ she laughed, swiping her fingers across the mascara smudges beneath her eyes until she looked a tiny bit less like a panda.
There… that would have to do.
Milly hung her towel on the back of the door and then padded back through Murray’s bedroom. She found Murray sitting at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in front of him. It took her a moment to get over the disappointment of finding him actually wearing a tee shirt.
Right… it was time to explain why she was there, ruining his Monday afternoon. She opened her mouth, but her words disappeared as Murray turned to her and grinned.
‘Coffee?’
‘Please!’ she squeaked.
CHAPTER 12
MURRAY
Murray took a bit longer than was strictly necessary at the coffee machine. He faffed around loading the puck and tamping it down carefully. Anything to buy himself a bit of time before he had to turn around and face her again.
He was feeling… flustered. It wasn’t a word he’d ever used to describe himself before, but right now, it seemed pretty fitting.
Milly looked far too adorable in his shorts and tee shirt. No one should look that beautiful wearing borrowed gear and sporting tangled, towel-dried hair. The sight of her was making him weak at the knees. Or at least – he thought it was Milly making him feel like that. It might be the head injury, of course!
Frankly, finding the woman of his dreams stuck in the mud right outside his home had been the medicine he didn’t know he needed. Murray had barely given his aches and pains a second thought since he’d ushered her inside the trawler… other than to register the nervous, swooping sensations in his stomach.
‘Frothy milk?’ he said over his shoulder, not turning to actually meet her eye in case he lost control of himself completely and did something idiotic – like pledging his undying love.
