I raised my eyebrows. ‘I’ve had more romantic kisses from my nan. And I used to eat lunch with her every other Saturday when I was young.’
‘Now that sounds like a challenge…’
A challenge, and a fib. Gideon’s kisses were so romantic, it was all I could do not to swoon.
‘Okay.’ I held up one hand before he moved any closer. ‘This is, to all intents and purposes, a date. Despite it now breaking my strict professional rules about clients and their families.’ I took a deep breath. ‘But that’s still all this is. I don’t want to keep going on about it…’
‘Then don’t?’ he asked, a twinge of pain in his eyes.
‘I don’t want to mess you about. To end up hurting anyone. We need to keep…this… casual.’
‘It doesn’t matter how casual we pretend it is,’ he said, a hint of steel in his tone as he snapped a cluster of grapes off the large bunch I’d brought. ‘If you decide to go, it will hurt.’
‘Gideon, I’ve known you for two weeks.’
He looked at me from under his brow. ‘I know that.’
‘I’ve already got emails lined up from clients wanting help once I’m finished here. Clients in Dundee, St Ives, central London.’
‘I didn’t realise there were so many people out there needing the services of a historical author.’
I froze for a millisecond.
‘You’d be surprised how many people need to share the story of their family history with someone.’
‘And, what, then you write it into a book? Can’t you do that from anywhere with an Internet connection?’
‘It’s not that simple. And I can hardly finish up with Hattie and then decide to keep living on her driveway. This is how my business works. Please don’t patronise me by assuming you can come along with a better idea of how to run it.’
I was getting defensive because, inside, my very bones were screaming at me to say yes. Yes to more kissing, more getting to know this man. Yes to Riverbend. Yes to finally coming home.
Yes to not being hurt. Because I knew he was right; I’d let myself fall far enough that I was going to miss him, and I had too many missing people in my heart to add another.
‘Can I make a proposal?’ he asked, after a silence that would have been awkward if it was with anyone except him.
‘If you promise to accept my first answer to whatever that might be.’ I took a nervous sip of the home-made cider he’d brought.
‘This is easy. It’s lovely.’ He watched me carefully. ‘You haven’t contradicted what I’ve said about it being something special, what’s growing between us. So I’m working on that assumption.’
I gave a tentative nod.
‘Like I said, either way, when –if– you leave, and decide not to invest in a relationship that’s long-distance, then we’re going to be sad. So, we might as well make the most of this while you’re here. Stop faffing about, backing off, avoiding facing how we really feel. Why not spend the next however long it is just enjoying it?’
‘You don’t think that’ll make it harder?’
He shrugged. ‘Potentially. I’m willing to bet it’ll be worth it.’
I took a couple of shaky breaths. How could I begin to explain that the reason I’d structured my life this way was precisely to avoid this type of situation?
‘I don’t know if I can do that. I don’t knowhowto form a proper connection with someone without being on guard, ready to run if things start to get too intimate. To be honest, even thinking about it scares me.’ I steeled myself and did the bravest thing I’d done since adopting Muffin: reaching out and wrapping my trembling hand around his. ‘But if you can be patient with me, no pushing for promises, no commitment beyond the day I drive away from here, I would really like to enjoy spending more time with you, without pretending we don’t care about each other, and seeing how that goes.’
‘I can do that.’ He nodded, eyes crinkling. ‘I would love to do that.’
We sealed the deal with a kiss, until Flapjack wedged his head between us and stole the last piece of cheese.
The rest of the day was bliss. We found the Major Oak, where Robin Hood supposedly hid from the evil Sheriff of Nottingham, walked to the visitor centre, where we shared a giant piece of cake in the dog-friendly café. My pulse skittered every time Gideon took hold of my hand or smiled at me. When he wrapped his arms gently around me from behind while we read the information signs or admired the view, it felt like heaven.
Part of me wanted to jump in my motorhome and speed the heck out of there. The part that didn’t want this to ever stop fought that scaredy-cat part and won.
