Page 57 of Secret Paths

“No,” she says. “But you wanted to.”

I could deny it.

I do not.

Instead, I reach for her hand, draw it from my shoulder and hold it between both of mine. Her fingers are cool. I rub my thumb once across her knuckles.

“You have a very inconvenient habit of being right,” I say.

“I know.”

“And making it difficult for me to sulk.”

“That is a medical service.”

“Is it?”

“Preventative care.”

I look up at her. “Well, if the doctor says so.”

Before she can answer, I tug gently.

She comes towards me with a surprised little sound, and I pull her down onto my lap, one arm around her waist to steady her. She lands sideways across my thighs, one hand gripping my shoulder, her knees pressing against the outside of mine.

“Peter.”

“Yes?”

“That was not clinical.”

“I am seeking further treatment.”

Her mouth twitches. “You are ridiculous.”

“Your diagnosis has been noted.”

I expect her to make another joke. To tell me I am heavy-handed, or impossible, or about to be charged a consultation fee.

She does not.

Her fingers move into my hair instead, sliding through the mess she made earlier. I tip my face up, and she looks at me for a second longer than usual.

Then she kisses me.

It is not a frenzy kiss.

This is slower.

Her mouth moves over mine with a softness that makes me tighten my arm around her waist without meaning to. I kiss her back carefully, because the conversation is still there between us, tucked into every pause. The cottage. Monday. Her saying she does not think less of me.

Her hand cups my jaw.

I turn into it and kiss the inside of her wrist.

Mandy goes very still.

Not tense. Not pulling away.