There’s a vulnerability in her face. His urge to pacify her is overwhelming.
‘Nothing big. Stuff like where you’re from, a bit about your background as an artist, what inspired you to paint the subjects you chose.’
‘I can’t see people thinking it’s acceptable that I paint in defiance of my dad’s taxidermy hobby,’ she says with her eyebrow raised. He laughs. The deep belly laugh that she always seems to extract.
‘No. Perhaps we can dial that down a little,’ he says.
Heather moves her fingers in a rotating motion. ‘What, dial down the crazy?’ she asks with a twinkle in her eye.
‘Maybe just a tad.’
They construct her biography over dessert.
Thank you for checking out my website. I’m a single mum and getting back into painting now my daughter, Georgia, is at university. I’m based in Edinburgh, and my work is inspired by local wildlife and the representation of animals in their natural environment. I specialise in water colour, but enjoy using oils for more vibrant plumages. (Check out my oils of parakeets and parrots if you are interested!). I have a fine art degree from the University of Edinburgh and am a former art teacher in our local high School. Specialisms include memorabilia for deceased pets and mementos of family pets for university students living away from home. I work from photographs to ensure a sensitive and meaningful portrayal of your cherished animal. Click on the link below for examples and feel free to get in touch using the contact page. I'd love to hear from you! Heather x
‘Not too cheesy?’ she asks when they’re back upstairs and the snippet is typed out onto the test page.
‘Nah, I think it’s good.’ Scott focuses on the wording. The font size, the text configuration. Anything to distract him from the adorable tilt of her head and tinge of pink on her cheeks. Another entire bottle of wine down, and his earlier resolve is drifting away. He diverts his eyes back to the text. ‘Ah. Look. A typo. School doesn’t need a capital S.’
They reach for the mouse at the same time, and his hand ends up dwarfing hers below it. He jerks his arm back as if scalded. His throat contracts, and he coughs to release the tension. He hears Heather swallow.
‘Erm. Hmm. Yes. Got it. Well spotted,’ she says.
The air in the room sits heavy with the heat between them.
Keep it together, Scott.
‘So. Payment portal next?’ he says.
For the next two hours, Scott works, consumed by an awareness of Heather’s proximity. The gentle contact of their knees when she re-positions her swivel chair, the overlap of their fingers when they simultaneously point to an error, the light touch from a lock of her hair against his arm when she moves closer to the screen to check the resolution of her work. By the time the website is done, her new e-mail address is installed on her phone and laptop, and Facebook advertising is set up, Scott is super-charged. Even the gentle exhalation of her breath on his cheek sets him on fire.
They stand up after two hours at the desk. Heather stretches her back out like a cat, her hands positioned on the small of her back, her breasts tantalisingly on full display. By the time she rights herself, he’s hard, and she’s beaming.
‘I can’t believe how much we’ve achieved in one session,’ she says. ‘I’m so grateful, Scott.’
It’s the wine speaking. Probably. She lifts her hands up and comes in for a hug of gratitude. He resists. Initially. Because he’s pretty sure he no longer has the willpower to resist. And the feel of her body, albeit in a sweeping embrace, might be more than he can stand. But it would be churlish to refuse a hug, right? Her face, previously filled with gratitude, now falls. He can’t leave her hanging with her arms outstretched. That would be mean. He takes a step closer, and they’re hugging before he knows it. Moments later, his hands slip into her hairline.
‘Scott.’
He can’t resist. His palms fall onto her cheeks. He so desperately wants to kiss her.
‘Do you mind if…?’
But it’s too much, he can’t finish the sentence. He promised himself he would be a gentleman. That he would respect the boundaries they both agreed. No matter how much they both want it.
He practically pushes her away.
‘Scott?’ Her voice is confused now. Or pleading? But he can’t allow himself the luxury of interrogating every nuance, every inflexion. This is about self-preservation. He leaves the room.
HEATHER
Heather watches the door close behind him and her heart contracts. There’s something about the feelings he evokes in her that defies all logic, all her lived experience. There’s a dampness between her legs that confirms this. When she’s with him, the promise of more never feels far away. But he’s made his thoughts clear tonight. No matter how much she might want them to re-assess their agreement about keeping things cordial and neveragain allowing their guard to fall. She needs to focus on the purpose of her visit. That’s clearly what he has in mind. It’s obviously why he left her, literally hanging, in the middle of the room.
She turns to look at the floor covering Scott thoughtfully fixed in place to show her art in its best light. The taping he used to fix the white silk sheet to the floor has unfurled. If they’re going to take more photographs tomorrow, it will need straightening out. She kneels on the corner nearest the door and leans over towards the opposite corner, trying to smooth the fabric. Her bottom is high in the air, her legs slightly splayed, her back arched as she stretches herself across the expanse of sheet, trying to straighten it. She hears the door open and close behind her. Then nothing. Just a ragged throat clearing. He’s surely not going to stand there and watch as she struggles?
‘Scott, can you?’ Still on all fours, she drops her right shoulder and twists so she can see him. ‘Are you able to –'
But Scott is not thinking of the sheet. He’s transfixed. By her.
