In that moment, I make up my mind: as Ezra told me, Neil’s far kinder and more considerate than people give him credit.
“I know. It will happen. Or perhaps I should try harder to make it happen. But I’ve kind of got used to being on my own.”
His eyes flick down my body in a brief scan before innocently returning to my face, like he’s already imagined the rest. It’s a masterclass in how to deliver an appreciative, seductive glance without making the subject feel uncomfortable. “They should be queuing up.”
“Idiot,” I scoff. Yes, far kinder than he gets credit. As if a man like him would ever give a man like me a second glance. “If you think that, then your RP is worsening by the minute.”
After dinner, Neil helps me clear away. He even expresses interest in my decking and garden project, and we stand out there for a few minutes with a couple of torches as I outline my planting. I don’t know how much he can see, and whether he’ssimply being polite because I’ve fed him, but he says the right things. He’s closing up the bar later tonight as Ezra is elsewhere, which means the time for him to leave comes too soon, catching me by surprise. The evening has flown by.
He even says as much as I walk him to the front door. “See you soon, yeah?”
Neil still smells great. My hallway feels tinier than ever. “Yeah.”
He loiters in the open doorway, hesitating. His striking, shimmery eyes shift to my hair. “Can I ask you something?”
For the first time this evening, I tense. “It’s about why I always keep my hood up, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I was just wondering what colour and style things were under here.” Reaching out a finger, he very carefully touches it to my forehead. “Whether you dye the front part this cool bronze shade and the rest is bright pink. Or if your scalp is covered in a massive gang tattoo.”
His fingers find the visible edge of my hairline, tracing the border from my forehead down to my temple.
I barely breathe. Even Alaric and Isaac have never broached my hairpulling. They know about it obviously, they used to see me doing it at work, before I had it mostly under control. But, even with them, it’s always felt far too personal a shame to ever talk about. With Neil, though…
“For years, I pulled out my hair when my…uh…anxiety and depression flared. I did it so much I damaged the follicles, so now it no longer grows back. Big clumps are missing. People stare or ask me if I’m having chemo. I prefer it if they don’t.”
“Have you ever shaved it all off?"
“Yes, but it looks even worse, like I’ve done a really bad job. And…” I’ve never admitted this to anyone. I barely admitit to myself. “If I shave it then I have nothing to pull out, and sometimes I...”
“You still do it.” A statement, not a question, his eyes steady on mine.
I hate that he makes me want to be honest. It’s ruining the impression of total sanity I’ve carefully cultivated all evening. “Hardly ever. But sometimes, yes.”
Neil neither flinches nor looks as if he’s scanning for an appropriate response. Instead, he pokes a few strands of my hair back off my forehead. “Can I hug you goodnight? Is that something you do?”
With very few people, but I’ll do it with Neil.
His arms slide around me until his chest is tight against mine, until I feel the warmth of his skin under his shirt. I inhale his outdoorsy aftershave mixed with the smoky leather of his jacket. His chin comes to rest on my shoulder, his breath a quiet rhythm near my ear. There’s no performative squeezing, no pat-pat tenderness, just a full blown, unrushed, solid hug. When my hood slips a bit, he feels me stiffen.
“It’s okay, I’d never do that to you.” He tucks it back in place, holding it securely with his hand on the back of my head. “You’ll show me some day, if you want to.” I don’t notice his other hand sliding down to my arse until he gives it a gentle tweak. “Mmm. Nice. Buns of steel, doc.”
I snuffle a laugh into his jacket. “I swim. A lot. Like, nearly every day.”
“Very tasty.” He tweaks it again, giving a low whistle. “Love me a swimmer’s body.”
“It’s not that great. It’s attached to me, for a start.”
My bum cheek gets a more thorough massage. “I’ll be the judge of that.”
He can probably feel me chubbing up against him, but the embrace is so unbelievably nice I can’t be bothered to be embarrassed.
“I told you already, Luke, you’re a low-key superhero. You treat sick people at work, you look after yourself, and you’re looking after me. That’s a hell of a lot of looking after, all on its own. You’re pretty special, rash whisperer. Don’t you forget it.”
Pretty special.No, I’m not. I’m ordinary and have several major mental health issues, my hair pulling merely the most visible. But Neil’s response to me confessing them? A solid hug – when did I last enjoy one of those?– reassurance, and some gentle flirting. Anyone who can pull off all those three and leave me standing here smiling is pretty special themselves.
If I was bolder, I’d tell him as much.
CHAPTER 11
