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“No, it’s not.”
“You’re right. It’s not. It’s far too sexy for me to never step foot in there again.”
“Too sexy?” He stopped and raised his eyebrows. “Are you writing about me fucking you on the window seat again?”
I turned around and stared at him. “For the thousandth time, that wasn’t about you.”
“I can arrange it, you know.”
“Arrange it? What? Are you going to check your schedule and see if you can squeeze me in for twenty minutes?”
“We’ll need a lot longer than twenty minutes.”
“Yeah, okay.”
I was joking.
I knew that, of course.
But I was still going to tease him about it.
“If I were an insecure person, I’d come over there and prove it to you.”
“That would be a lot more appealing if I wasn’t knee-deep in animal excrement,” I replied, shooting him a quick look.
Max laughed and leaned his fork against the wall. “Are you not done yet?”
“No! How are you done? Why did I get the messiest area? Seven thousand goats live in this bit instead of your three!”
He walked over to where I was and looked at the crap I had still to clean up. “You’ve done basically nothing!”
“I amtraumatisedfrom getting goat poop on my dress, I’ll have you know.”
“I think the entire estate heard your shriek when you saw it there.” He rested his hand on the fork. “Go and sit down.”
“On goat poop? I think not.”
“Then take off your dress.”
“And sit here in my underwear? That seems an even worse idea.”
“Then take my t-shirt. It’s going to be a dress on you anyway.”
I scrunched my nose, still holding onto the fork. “I doubt that.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
He gently took my chin in his hand and met my eyes. “You know what.”
“What? Point out that your t-shirt won’t be a dress on me?”
“Yes.”
“What? It’s the truth. It’s not going to swamp me like t-shirts do to cute girls on TV.”
“Ellie, I said it because your dress is covered in poop and my t-shirt isn’t.”
