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I wasn’t, it would keep me up all night. ‘Sure.’
He boiled the tin kettle on the stove and shovelled a generous spoonful of granules into a mug. What with barking dogs, shrieking kids and an infusion of caffeine, I was doomed.
‘You’re smiling again,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder.
‘Am I?’
He sat opposite me this time. Face to face, I saw lines under his eyes that weren’t related to age. He had caught the sun on his forehead and flecks of his hair were bleached. I touched my cheeks, wondering if they too were golden or tinged with sunburn.
‘You get lost in thought. I noticed it at the castle.’ He wore that uncomfortable pensive expression again.
‘I have an overactive imagination.’ The truth. I itched to say more, but he was leaning forward, approaching me for another reason.
‘I envy you. I copy things, that’s all.’ He continued to shuffle closer. The angle of his chin rose, and he tilted his head to one side.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said quietly. ‘I think you’re really talented. I wish I could have those paintings.’
A slight blush spread to the high bones of his cheeks. ‘You have your photographs.’
‘I have lots of photos. I don’t have paintings.’
He shrugged. ‘Whoever gets them will probably sell them.’
‘They’re a gift, I thought.’ I licked my lips. He hadn’t retreated; our noses were inches apart.
‘I think we both know that we’re working for somebody who plays games. So who knows?’ He swiftly cupped my face with his delicate fingers and stopped me looking away. ‘And who cares, eh? Just enjoy the… process.’
‘Meaning?’ There was a warmth to his hands that spread into my cheeks. I held my breath, praying that I didn’t bottle.
‘Us. The process of getting to know each other.’
There had been many kisses in my life. From the friendly peck on the cheek, where contact is barely established, to the embarrassing indulgence of the grandmother with wrinkly dry lips. Craig had typically smothered me with his mouth. Because of his shameless tonguing technique, I had thought he was fantastic kisser and assumed long snogs were therapeutic.
I had been so wrong.
Following the eternity of hovering, not knowing whether to touch or not, Joseph kissed me without applying awkward pressure. Rather he caressed with his lips, nudging my mouth open and embracing it with his own, and it generated a lovely warm feeling. The excitement caught me in the throat, a constriction of nervous pleasure.
It was delicious. The aroma of strong coffee drifted out of his mouth. I closed my eyes and was about to offer a soft moan of delight when he broke off. Staring at him, I couldn’t fathom the need for quizzical eyebrows. Something had gone wrong. Embarrassed, I leaned away. Nothing between us seemed to happen right, as if we were icicles waiting to melt in the midst of a frozen tundra.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We’re going too quick.’
For him or me? More frustrating vagueness and the mellow moment was ruined. I had done nothing to imply I was hasty. He had initiated the kiss.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps I’m just tired.’ He looked anything but tired with his bright eyes.
I brushed aside my roaming fringe with a jittery hand. ‘I should go. I’m sure they’ll expect me back before it gets dark.’
He rose. ‘Tomorrow? Eleven o’clock at Pickering Castle?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I slipped on my jacket. Everything had gone suddenly cold. We needed a breakthrough opportunity, so I threw one in his direction. ‘After that, I’m going to take a breather, and spend some time relaxing. Since nobody seems to care where I am, I’m going to drag my heels.’
His slow nod was of the sympathetic kind and not in agreement. ‘I’ve got to keep to my schedule. I’ve lessons to plan… Evening classes start up, too.’ He wrung his hands into a knot and stopped there.
Go on Joseph, make it happen.I stared right into his eyes, forcing him to blink. ‘Whitby? It wasyoursuggestion.’
A nod of a different kind. ‘Yes, you’re right. What the hell. It’s still early August. We’ll go to Whitby.’
