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“Give me a moment,” she gulped out.
He stood facing her on the porch, arms crossed. The silence yawned between them. “What do you want to say, Polly?”
She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t know where to start. Her hand came up and tugged at the wonky neckline of her dress. “Could you make this a little easier for me?”
He uncrossed his arms. “Is that better?”
“That’s your idea of making it easier?”
“Open body language shows I’m listening. You should know that.”
She glanced at his face and though his expression was deadpan, she thought she saw a softening in those silver eyes, and it made a little butterfly of hope beat its wings behind her ribs. Surely he could see that her coming here at first light must mean something really, really important?
Because it did. It meant she loved this guy with all her sad, mussed-up heart.
Get it out, woman.
“I, um, the other day, when you came around and you told me… about you and that, er, Emma.” Her thumb and forefinger fiddled at the neck of her dress. She dropped her hand, tried again. “Was that the truth?”
“The truth about what?”
“The bit about you and me…”
“Which, of the many bits?”
He was going to make her grovel. Rub her nose right in the pile of poop of her own making. “The bit, um—the bit where you said…” She gulped, another collar yank. This time she realised she’d exposed a great swathe of breast. She saw his eyes drop, his jaw tighten, and the butterflies flurried into her throat. “That you were crazy about me.”
“Oh, yeah, that bit.”
His arms folded once more over his chest, bunching his pecs. Polly winced. “No, don’t, don’t cross your arms again, please. This is hard enough…”
Solo uncrossed his arms and put them behind his back, which thrust his crotch forward. Polly nearly whimpered.
God damn him.
She blurted, “So, was it true?”
The silence stretched like electric wire between them.
Finally, “Yes. Unfortunately.”
“Oh.” Her mouth snapped shut. Opened again and kind of hovered that way, speechless.
He squinted at her through narrowed eyes. “Is that why you’re here? To humiliate me again about confessing how I feel about you…” He paused, then added softly, “Or is there another reason?”
Polly gulped in more cool morning air. She was seriously at risk of fucking this up. She shuffled on the step, nearly lost her footing and a hand flailed. “I lied. I didn’t mean any of that stuff, about not wanting to feel anything, or be with anyone. I was… I was hurt and I was—am—shit scared… and…”
A hand appeared from behind his back, reached out and closed gently around the fingers that were still flapping around in mid-air. He stepped closer. His bare toes nudged her shoe. “I’m still listening.”
His touch was scrambling her brain. She couldn’t speak. Could barely even stand.
“Go on,” Solo said, weaving his fingers through hers.
“Okay so— the trouble is, I’m in deeper than I realised. Like seriously deep. With you, I mean. And—I—I don’t actually know what do about that, so—” She laughed and the sound jangled through the still morning air. Somewhere, a kookaburra laughed. “I did what I always do, I hit out first.”
“You sure did.” It seemed he was hitting the mark now too, his thumb-pad gently circling the soft skin of her wrist. Spasms of delight shot through her. “So, I guess I’m here to say, to ask whether… whether… you would be prepared for us to try again.”
“Ahhhhaa.” He was so close now his breath was stirring the curls at her ear and her mind was going to sink into her vagina and be subsumed. She’d better talk fast.
