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Then Billie was pushing her away. “The doorbell,” she gasped.
“Shit,” Jules said, pushing her hair back and catching her breath.
“Ms. Brooke, Ms. Brooke,” Agatha shouted through the letterbox. “I’m here and I can’t wait can you let me in Ms. Brooke please Ms. Brooke.”
Jules smirked at Billie. “Seems I’m not the only one desperate for your attention. I’ll pick you up at seven.”
With that, she opened the door so that little Ag could bounce in, smiled her hellos at Mila, who was pushing Dash in his buggy, and sauntered off down the garden path feeling better than she’d felt for as long as she could remember.
Chapter Twenty Two
Billie stood in front of the mirror in the hallway and twisted her hair back into a knot, turned her head from side to side, then released her hair again. With a deep sigh she touched lipstick to her lips and then grabbed a tissue and wiped it away.
She felt like she was sixteen and getting ready for her first date. Which was stupid because this was only Jules Hawthorne. Only Jules.
Jules who, it seemed, was interested in her. Just as interested as Billie unfathomably was. She leaned her forehead against the mirror. How had it come to this? For a while there she’d honestly thought that she was broken, and then, like a tidal wave, this.
Jules was irritating and annoying and confident and amazing and beautiful and sexy and a million other things that Billie didn’t have a hope of even explaining, let alone living up to. But she was also interested.
The doorbell rang.
“I thought you might be in pajamas,” Jules said, leaning against the doorframe when Billie opened the door.
“Pajamas?”
“You know, with an excuse all ready about why you couldn’t come out tonight.” Jules smiled a little, one eyebrow lifting devilishly. “It’s good to see that I’m tempting enough that you’ll leave the house for me.”
“I leave the house all the time,” Billie said, grabbing her jacket and thinking that she’d much rather take Jules into the house right about now.
“Yeah, for work, I don’t think that counts.” Jules started to walk and Billie followed her. “I think you need to get used to the idea that this is your life now, that you need to live it.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means that you’ve come all the way back here and here isn’t a bad place. Some of us, me for example, like this place. Whitebridge isn’t terrible if you’ll give it a chance.”
“That’s not the problem,” Billie said.
“Is it not?” asked Jules, slowing a step and looping her arm through Billie’s. “Because to me it looks like you really need the people here to give you a second chance, but that’s not going to happen unless you give them a second chance too.”
“I don’t know why I’m doing this,” Billie said, fully aware of exactly why she was doing this as Jules’s arm pressed against her own.
“You’re doing it for me,” said Jules, pressing tighter. “And that’s good. This is my life too and I won’t be involved with anyone who isn’t integrated into it. I’m not about to run off to London chasing you or whatever else you might have in mind. Just so you know.”
“I’ve got about enough money to get as far as the nearest service station.”
“Well, another couple of weeks and you’ll have a thousand pounds. That was the deal,” Jules said cheerfully. “But I hope you won’t go running off then either.”
Billie felt her heart beating all over her skin, felt the joy of having someone close to her. “We’ll see,” she said, carefully steering clear of what could be a terrible conversation. There was so much unsaid. The song, the woman, the real reason she knew Jules at all. It was better not to mention those things right now, better not to shatter the image.
After all, this might all be a disaster, she thought to herself. Except when Jules stopped by the pub door she sort of thought that it probably wasn’t going to be. Not when Jules lifted a hand to stroke her face, not when her breath caught in her throat and her lips parted and her head bent just a touch.
“It’s going to be fine,” Jules breathed into her mouth. “These people are my friends. They’re nice. And believe it or not, you’re nice too, Billie Brooke.”
Billie laughed a laugh that turned into a moan as Jules captured her lips gently and kissed her. “I’m not sure the word nice applies to me.”
“It very much does,” said Jules. “Or I wouldn’t be here. You just keep the nice buried, that’s all.”
The sound of someone butchering Highway to Hell leaked through the pub door. “I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” Billie said.
