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‘Well, I enjoyed it.’
Then our eyes meet again, bright beacons in the half light, and I want to fall into his arms, partly because I’m finding it hard to stand up straight, and partly because I just want to feel what it would be like to have a strong pair of arms close around me, to lean myself against the inviting warmth of his broad chest.
‘Whydoyouhavethisbeard?’ I ask, the words merging into each other. I reach out to touch it, and the hair is surprisingly soft. ‘I think you’d look so much better without it.’
Ted reaches up to remove my hand from his beard, but he keeps hold of it, and a tingle of electricity pulses up my arm.
‘You think so?’ he says, in an amused, gruff tone.
I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a desire to press my whole face right against his beard, to feel what it would be like to nestle into this warm, comforting nest, like a baby bird coming home.
‘I mean you’re actually pretty alright, Ted, underneath your disguise of scruffy clothes and that horrible old cap you wear. I see you in there – Beardy McHottington.’
I swipe my other hand at his chest, and he catches it, before I stumble, so he’s now holding onto both my hands. His eyes are drilling into me in a way that makes my brain feel suddenly sober, and my feet even less steady on the sand. Then I lean forward to kiss him, all logic washed away by this wave of need. I see in Ted’s eyes that he’s not going to stop me.
Ring, ring.
My head darts left and right, looking for the source of the strange chirruping. It’s my phone. I pull my hands away from his, searching my handbag with fumbling fingers. Shit, how did I get this drunk? Bloody Sandy and her ‘special recipe sangria’!
‘Laura, ignore it, just once,’ Ted says, his voice imploring.
I can’t not get it, it might be about work, or my suitcase. Was I really just about to kiss Ted? I finally clasp the phone and accept the call before it stops ringing. Glancing back at Ted, I see the heat in his eyes dampen.
‘Hello, Laura speaking,’ I say, biting my lip to make myself sound less drunk.
‘Hi Laura, this is Jasper Le Maistre – I believe we may have each other’s suitcases.’
