‘It’s tough, right?’ He closes his eyes briefly. ‘My head is in a real scramble. My God. How’s the pain?’ He gestures to my ankle cast.
‘Not too bad. I’m, uh, I’m actually on track to finish the book tomorrow,’ I tell him. ‘I was up most of the night writing. If Bridget is right, you’ll be home well in time for the auction.’
He exhales slowly. ‘And you’ll make your deadline. That’s great, Owl. That’s so great.’ The smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, shoulders slumping ever so slightly. ‘Nearly time, I guess!’
I nod slowly. ‘Nearly time!’
We stare at each other for a moment.
I lift up the duvet. ‘Are you getting in or what?’
He nods, climbing in and pulling me right up to him,careful not to knock my ankle cast. I close my eyes as I breathe him in, running my hands up his neck and ruffling them into his slippery damp hair. He drops a kiss on the top of my head, letting his lips linger for a little longer than usual.
And there we lie together, top halves intertwined as the early morning sun soars outside the window, casting a dappled daffodil light over our skin. Occasionally one or the other of us will open our mouth as if to say something, bailing when the right words won’t come. Because there are no right words.
For right now, sharing this soft warm silence, limbs entwined like necklaces in a jewellery box, is conversation enough.
*
I sit on the sofa, leg propped up on the footstool, and spend the whole day writing, trying my hardest not to get completely derailed by what Aled said last night.
And while, through sheer bloody-minded determination, I manage to stay on track with my word count, every so often when I stop to stretch, or use the bathroom or have a crutch-walk around the room for circulation purposes, it pops into my head.A cowboy in love?
It can’t be humanly possible that River is in love with me. I know he likes me and that he fancies me. Thinks I’m kind and smart with nice elbows and a perfect bottom. But love? He’s a man who has never had a girlfriend. A man who keeps his heart under lock and key by his own admission.Not so long ago he declared me to not even be his type. And now? No. It can’t be. I try to forget Aled’s words, but it’s like when someone mentions a yellow car and then all you seem to see on the roads is yellow cars. I start thinking about the past few days and realise that there have been many moments in which Riverhasin fact been acting like a cowboy in love. Or, at the very least, a cowboy in deep like.
There is evidence. For example, yesterday he brought me a cup of tea and it was utterly perfect, not too weak, not too strong, the exact amount of brewing, the right splash of milk. I had gasped in delighted shock.
‘I watched some YouTube videos,’ he’d explained, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. ‘They have tutorials on there.’
He watched YouTube videos? To make me a perfect cup of tea? Evidence.
And then there’s the time that I offhandedly mentioned that Josie and I went through a weirdly intense phase of being super into The Beach Boys and the next night he downloaded a Beach Boys playlist to soundtrack our dinner together.Evidence.
How he acted when I fell off that horse. Like to see me in pain was causing him pain.Evidence.And the sex – the way his eyes feast on me, the way he holds me like I’m precious. The way he smiles at me afterwards. It’s a similar expression to the adoring one Squish gives him when he calls him a good boy.Evidence.
And now on Tuesday evening, when I look longingly out of the window, my ankle sore, my brain exhausted from Cassidy’s non-stop chatter and totally fed up of beingcooped up in the flat, River – like it’s no big deal at all – lifts me onto his back and donkey rides me around the neighbourhood, stopping at all my favourite shops and delis so I can look in the windows. Together we bicker and laugh and act as if we’re not two people who, very soon, will never ever see each other again. And instead of pushing the thought of that away, like I’ve been trying hard to do these last few days, I let it settle.
The notion takes my breath away with sadness. All this fun, this sense of newness, this feeling of strength that comes simply from seeing myself through the eyes of this unusual, grumpy, silly, charismatic, certain, unexpected man? That will be gone. No more feeling fucking delighted to just be a person in the world at the same time as him. No more of that.No more River Oakley.Not in my books and not in my life. Not a text, or a call. Not being able to share the story of my life with him. Never knowing how his story turns out.
I’m almost at the end of the book now. The words are pouring out. And with the general consensus in Bedlam being that River is alive and has skipped town of his own free will (with plenty of nefarious rumours flying about as to why), Cassidy is more determined than ever to be a permanent part of Oakley Ranch. She’s working day and night to sign a big new client and it’s looking like she’s going to pull it off. She’s finally feeling fulfilled on her own. Strong and sure and much more capable of weathering the storms of life than she used to be.
Against all odds it looks like I will finish the book in the morning.
I feel suddenly nauseous and for the rest of the walk back, I bury my head in River’s shoulder and try to remember the exact warm, intoxicating scent of his skin, store it up to torture myself with when he’s no longer here.
After our jaunt around the neighbourhood River carries me back up to the rooftop so that we can watch the sunset over the skyline. He sets me down onto the bench ever so carefully, this big brawny man touching me with such tenderness.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ I blurt out before I can stop myself. I clamp my hand over my mouth. Such a stupid thing to say, an impossible admission. But still, despite knowing that, I wait keenly for River to respond, heart pounding with a hope Iknowis futile. His eyebrows shoot up, face breaking into a brief joyful smile. Then, reality drags his expression back into sorrow.
He frowns, green eyes latching intently on to mine as he turns to face me on the bench. He presses his lips together, as if wrestling with what he’s about to say.
‘I tried not to feel like this. I tried so fucking hard,’ he says, eyes shining. He takes a deep breath. ‘But it turns out the most impossible thing about this whole visit wasn’t trying to find a way back to my own universe. It was trying to stop myself—’ He cuts himself off, huffing with frustration. ‘Do you know how many times I wanted to kiss you before I kissed you?’ he asks then. ‘I wasn’t just trying to protect you, Gertie. I was …’ He trails off as if he’s embarrassed before shaking his head. ‘I was trying to protect myself. I suspected I was on shaky ground during our cardrive to Little Crumpet when you told me that rule about snacks on a car ride. I didn’t think it was anything, you know,real– more likely just a strange reaction to the crazy situation I found myself in. But since the night of the campfire.’ His cheeks flush. ‘The way you looked at me when we were dancing. How you laughed at me with your whole body? That’s when I knew I was in trouble. Then when you asked me to kiss youjust that once? I didn’t have it in me to hold back. Consequences be damned. That wall I spent my whole life building? You went and disassembled it brick by brick. And I knew then that just once would never be enough for me. No amount of time with you would ever be enough, Gertie.’
I press my hand to his cheek, run my thumb over the corner of his lip. ‘Fuck.’
‘Yep.’ He covers my hand with his. ‘Fuck.’
‘You really have to go?’ I ask, my voice suddenly small.
