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Will pulled out a chair and sat down as if he belonged there. ‘I wanted to check we were good,’ he said. ‘After last night.’ He pulled on the end of his ponytail.
Cleo wished he’d do something with his hair. It was the one thing about him she still had trouble accepting. ‘We’re good,’ she said, then turned back to check the milk wasn’t boiling over.
‘Good. I wouldn’t like to think I’d spoiled anything by acting too precipitously. And, today at Owen’s, I wasn’t sure…’
‘It was okay.’ Better than okay, but how to convey that to Will? Cleo had forgotten how to handle this sort of conversation – if she had ever known. Things had been much simpler when she was in her teens and early twenties. There had been no need back then to discuss inner feelings. But her brief reply appeared to have put Will at ease. She stirred the chocolate into the hot milk and filled two mugs before joining him at the table.
Will took a gulp of the hot liquid then thrust a hand through his hair. ‘I’m out of practice with this sort of thing,’ he said. ‘It’s been a while.’
‘For me, too.’
They smiled at each other, then Will reached across to place his hand over Cleo’s. ‘It’s a long time since I felt like this about a woman,’ he said, his voice thick with emotion. ‘I’m scared of getting it all wrong.’
‘Maybe we can take it slowly and relearn together.’
‘Agreed.’
They raised their mugs and clinked them together, beaming at each other.
Twenty-three
The Thursday after the barbecue Will hurried home from the beach, regretting he’d elected to hold their meeting here. The day had been fraught. First, the groups from the school had been difficult to control, a strong breeze seeming to inflame even the keenest surfers in the group to play up. Then, after only a short break for lunch, Joy Taylor had arrived with her new surfboard and the best part of the afternoon had been taken up with deflecting her flirtatious advances while helping her manage the board without physically touching her. He shuddered at the memory.
Now, all he wanted to do was kick back with a beer. Instead, he had to tidy up his messy house ready for guests. If it was only Coop, he wouldn’t need to bother. But Cleo and Ailsa would be sure to find fault with his lack of housekeeping skills.
After a quick whip around, Will was satisfied. As long as no one tried to open the cupboard in the hallway where he’d stowed a bundle of papers and other articles that seemed to have collected on the floor and surfaces of the living area, he’d be fine. He made himself a toasted sandwich, gulped down a glass of water and headed for the shower.
As he stood with the water streaming down on him, Will thought about his conversation with Cleo on Saturday evening after the barbecue. He’d been unsure about following her home, but it had worked out okay, and he was now confident there might be a future for them together – or at least a potential future. Who could predict the future – apart from Ruby Sullivan? He grinned at the memory of the elderly woman who had stopped him only the day before as he was climbing up from the beach, his surfboard under his arm.
She’d been standing at the top of the steps with her bicycle, as if she’d been waiting for him, though how could she have known he’d be there? He remembered, when he was growing up, they used to call her a witch. She couldn’t have been much older than he was now, but he and his mates had dared each other to knock on her door and run away. He now regretted the angst they must have caused her. But she was a strange one.
Yesterday, she’d peered at him from under a wide-brimmed straw hat which had seen better days, her bright eyes at odds with her lined face. ‘Better times ahead for you,’ she said, ‘but you need to take care. There is also a dark cloud closing in, one which will threaten to take away all you hold dear.’
Her words had sent a shiver up his spine. But he’d dismissed it, putting it down to the ramblings of an old woman who had nothing better to do than lie in wait for unsuspecting surfers like himself. She should stick to baking cakes. She was good at that, the best. But he did like her prediction of better times ahead. Maybe he could hold onto that and forget the dark cloud part.
Embarrassed by his appearance on Saturday, Will determined to make a better impression on Cleo this evening. By the time he heard the doorbell, he was dressed in a pair of his smartest jeans – no need to go overboard – and a blue denim shirt which Owen used to jokingly tell him matched his eyes. He had tamed his hair back into a tight bun and had rid himself of what Owen called designer stubble, but which only meant Will had forgotten to shave for a few days. He suspected the unshaven look didn’t appeal to Cleo. He’d also patted on a few drops of an aftershave Owen had bought him one Christmas, which had sat unopened in the bathroom ever since.
Will was wondering if he’d gone too far, but it was too late to worry about it now. He headed for the door, relieved to see Martin and Ailsa were first to arrive.
‘Trying to impress someone?’ Martin grinned, sniffing as he walked past Will in the hallway.
‘Martin!’ Ailsa nudged her partner. ‘Are we first?’
‘You are. I thought we could sit in the sunroom. It’s nice in there this time of night. Beer? Wine?’
Will ushered them into the room at the back of the house which caught the sun by day and provided an excellent view of the sky in the evening. It was a room which held bittersweet memories for Will, being the one in which Dee had spent most of her last days. But he and Owen had refused to allow their memories to spoil their pleasure in the room which Dee had loved.
He was in the kitchen fetching beer for him and Martin and wine for Ailsa, when the doorbell sounded again. Taking a deep breath, Will answered it.
Cleo was standing on the doorstep looking as lovely as usual. Tonight, she wore a pair of black pants with a patterned top of some sort which clung to her figure, forcing him to take another deep breath.
‘Hello, Will,’ she said, shyly, stepping inside and giving him a brief peck on the cheek. Ailsa had done the same when she and Martin arrived, but Cleo’s lips felt different. They were soft and cool and made him yearn for more.
‘Welcome. The others have just arrived.’Why couldn’t he think of something more intelligent to say?He tried again. ‘We’re in the sunroom. I’m fixing drinks. Would you like a glass of wine?’
‘Lovely, thanks. White if you have it. Do you need any help? I brought a few nibbles we had left over today in the café.’
Will suddenly noticed the container Cleo was carrying. ‘Thanks. You shouldn’t have.’Why hadn’t he thought of it? He was so unaccustomed to having anyone here.
