Page 67 of The Loneliest Number
“What’s the rush?” I ask, my tone steady in the hope it helps to calm him.
“I just need some space to breathe.”
“Are you okay?” I ask. He’s come to a stop by the kitchen island, and I move to stand in front of him.
“I just…” He draws his palm over his face. “I didn’t want anything to come out to taint Gran’s memory. I’d hoped to do all this research and then I would tell them, but carefully so there wasn’t any more heartbreak.” Devastation marks his face.
My brows knit. “Is it because William wasn’t your grandfather?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “The date of that letter is after my grandparents got married.”
“Oh,” is all I can say in response. What else is there to say?
“Yeah. So, let’s see what Ruth says tomorrow. I’m guessing it may end up being a family meeting now rather than just us two popping over for morning tea.”
“I can stay here. I don’t need to come.” I feel like an intruder. One that’s opened up a whole can of worms, and I don’t know that I want to watch them crawl around all over this nice house and lovely family.
“I won’t judge you if you don’t want to come, but I’ll appreciate the company if you do.” His lips pull into a sad smile. “I feel so daft for not speaking to you about the letter and the date. I meant to on the drive here...”
“But then I fell asleep.”
“Well, there is that.” He lets out a chuckle. “But I had all day to tell you. I just forgot.” He shrugs.
It seems like quite an important detail to forget to mention though. My frown must give me away because he follows up with, “You’re a distraction, Abby. I spent most of the day trying to work out how to convince you we should make a go of this.” His hand gestures between the two of us, pairing us up. He closes his eyes, drawing in a breath.
I curse myself for falling asleep.He’s taken care of me all day; on the plane, the drive here, and just now when I blurted out about the secret letter. As scary as it seems to think about how we move forward, I need to know how he sees it working.
His tone is gruff when he adds, “Now’s not the time. How about we drop the whisky off with my parents and leave? I get the feeling they need some time to process this. And we can head over to the guest house?”
“Okay.” My tone is uncertain which fucks me off no end because I pride myself in being sure of my decisions. I straighten my spine and give him a nod. “Let’s do that.”
Twenty minutes later, we run through a rainstorm to the guest house, which is a tiny little cottage set up like a bedsit. It’s a similar size to my place but adorably quaint with an old Victorian style metal framed bed. The bed is so tall, I’ll probably need Cam to give me a leg up.
Cam drops our bags on a chair and then locks the door we just entered, shutting out the downpour and shaking off the rain. There’s still a steady thrum of the raindrops hitting the roof and I’m glad to be inside.
“Drink?” he asks, strolling over to the kitchenette.
“Please.”I need it after the last hour, and I’m not convinced we are done with deep and meaningful conversations yet.
He pulls open a cupboard and draws out a whisky bottle not dissimilar to the one he handed to his parents a short while ago. He grabs two glasses and ice from the freezer box, pouring us a couple of fingers in each glass, over the ice.
“Come on, let’s sit.” He leads me over to a navy, velvet chaise lounge in the corner of the room, squeezing himself into a jade green armchair while I have the luxurious long chair to myself.I sip on the wood-scented whisky, grateful for the warm feeling that spreads through my chest as I swallow.
“We don’t have to do this now.” I offer him the out, wondering if I’m being cowardly and trying to grant myself the same escape.
“What don’t we need to do?” He’s looking down at his glass, swirling the liquid around with the ice. His voice is pitched low, making me want to lean close to hear him better.
“We don’t have to talk about us. You’ve got enough going on with The Juniper and this family stuff.”
His chin comes up then, and his gaze pierces mine. I’m hyper-aware of everything all at once: my chest moving with each breath, with the quietness in this place, the cool, smooth glass in my hand, and his gaze heating me from the inside. “I think I need to talk about it.”
I nod. “Okay.” There’s an intensity to him that seems to sit under the surface most of the time. But it’s leaking out into the open the more I get to know him. Or maybe I’m just more aware of it the more important he becomes to me.
“I want you, Abby. I want you in my life even though I know you don’t do monogamy, and you haven’t had any serious relationships. The monogamy doesn’t matter to me; I want your heart. I want your soul. I want to be your safe space.” His eyes drill into mine, and I gulp down air, trying to remember how to breathe properly, but everything is all muddled up.
“Why me?” I ask, because I can’t understand what makes him want more.
“You make me happy. You turned up that night in Glasgow and took my breath away. I was so desperate to see you again after. I’d been sad about my Gran and confused about what I was doing with my life. And then you appeared out of nowhere and blew me away. When you left without me knowing anything about you, I assumed you were a mirage, but I think you werejust what I needed to help draw me back to myself and move forward.”
