He bent his head to mine, eyes burning through the darkness, the scent of him enough to send my head spinning. ‘You think that’s all this is? Another brief pit stop to avoid whatever it is you’re running away from?’
‘Yes. I was clear. No dating. No commitments. Even if you weren’t Hattie’s cousin, I couldn’t… I don’t… I’m not running away.’
He looked at me, waiting.
‘I can’t fall for you, Gideon,’ I breathed, even as my heart called out the lie. ‘Please don’t try to make this into something it’s not, and never will be.’
His wide lips curled into a smile, those kind eyes crinkling as if I’d said exactly what he’d wanted to hear.
‘Oh, I can promise you I won’t try to make this anything it isn’t already,’ he murmured, moving closer so slowly that he had plenty of time to judge whether or not I wanted him to stop. The inch my traitorous body swayed forwards was enough permission for him to softly press his lips against mine.
Oh, my goodness.
Thepromisein that kiss.
It was a second, no more. Long enough for a dozen scenarios to flash through my head, like lightning bolts.
Our non-date. The second. The first I love yous. A proposal on the riverbank. Wedding on the Riverbend lawn, JoJo and Aaliyah bridesmaids as Ezra walks me down the aisle. Summers in the forest. Winters by the fire. Babies. Grandbabies. Rocking chairs.
Everything I had never dared to dream of yet, since the moment we’d met, suddenly didn’t know how I could live without.
I stumbled backwards, practically gasping for air.
Gideon’s eyes remained closed for a moment longer. When he opened them, they contained a lifetime of certainty. He gave a firm nod as he began to smile. ‘I won’t make this anything that it hasn’t been since I pulled you out of that puddle.’ He started to back away. ‘Like I said, I’m a patient man. I can wait for you to admit you know exactly what this is.’
His smile became a full-blown grin. ‘I’ll see you on Friday. Unless you want to come over sooner.’
17
Thank goodness the Gals came over on Thursday evening to stop me obsessing over what was, in reality, barely more than a peck, accompanied by some cryptic statements that, in the cold light of Thursday morning’s rainy walk, meant nothing.
I’d spent the afternoon on my laptop, looking for local museums and stately homes who might be interested in displaying any of the attic items in upcoming exhibitions. I also completed some more research into Riverbend and Langford/Hood history, which I could pretend was to assist me in the project but was more because I was curious and also questioning whether Leonard was indirectly guilty of murdering his wife.
I spoke to Ezra about potential culpability but, given the NDA, I was asking questions in such a roundabout way, it was impossible for him to give me a concrete answer.
All in all, I was relieved more than nervous when, after a quick evening meal, it was time to head to the studio. My brain felt as if it might burst if I didn’t art some of the tougher stuff out.
Hattie was already there, finishing up what had been the Changelings’ final session, and getting ready for our next one. I’d barely seen her all day. She’d slept in after staying late at the studio the night before, and Lizzie had told me at lunch that, having found Hattie asleep at her desk, she’d sent her back to bed. She must have slipped out to the studio while I was changing into my art scruffs.
The rest of the Gals arrived a few minutes later.
‘Got your waterproof mascara on, Gals?’ Kalani asked, draping her leather jacket on the coat-stand.
‘Like I had time to put make-up on, in between driving Archie to his street-dancing class and Flora – or should I say Arolf? – to hang about with hormonal boys at that dangerously ill-supervised youth club,’ Laurie said, propping her crocodile umbrella against the wall. ‘Before feeding those bloomin’ pigeons, feeding Dad and figuring out what I’m going to feed everyone with tomorrow. Ooh, hang on, though.’ She stopped and looked at Deirdre. ‘You look different. I didn’t spot that in the car.’
‘Different, how?’ Deirdre asked, tugging on a long, auburn curl. ‘Good different or bad different?’
‘Different as in you’ve had your hair and eyebrows done, put on a full face of make-up and are a whole lot orangier than you were last week,’ Kalani said. ‘I’m pretty sure you aren’t so sloth-like that someone did all that while you were sleeping.’
‘You missed my nails,’ Deirdre said, holding out her fingers to show glittery acrylics. ‘I’ve bought some new clothes, too, but I didn’t want to risk getting them messy.’
‘You have been busy,’ Hattie said, sticking both hands in her jeans pockets.
‘Good busy, or bad busy?’ Deirdre asked.
‘Bad different! Bad busy!’ Kalani said, crossing her arms. She was wearing zebra-print velvet trousers with a white blouse that made her look ready for a power-meeting in a New York skyscraper.
‘What?’ Deirdre’s face crumpled.
