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I shake my head. “What?”
“Did you just say I want to kiss you? Or did you say hi, Scarlet. I want to kiss you?”
I grin, looking down at her. “No, I didn’t say hi first.”
She rolls her eyes. “Mum hates bad manners. No wonder she was sweating.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She nods, stepping back and twirling her dress from one side to the other. “You want to kiss her?”
I shrug, my blood roaring under my skin. “Maybe.”
“I could speak to her—”
“No,” I cut her off. “Don’t say anything, you.” I chuckle and scrub at my face. “Can we go get ice cream or something now?”
She nods, smiling. I stand and make my way into the kitchen.
Waverley gets the bowls while I fetch the ice cream from the freezer.
We’re two bowls deep when Scarlet walks into the kitchen, two brown paper bags in her arms.
She must have gone down to the village.
Her eyes immediately meet mine and hold, paralysed in a shared memory of water droplets on feverish skin… stolen whimpers I now own—fuck, the sounds she made.
I see her cheeks flare, her attention flicking to Waverley. She walks to the counter and places down the bags, taking out two jars of jam. “Ice cream before dinner and in that dress, Ave? You know better.”
“Sorry, Mummy.”
I roll my lips, unsure if she regrets last night or is just as fucked up over it as I am and can’t look at me.
Because me… I’m already halfway to hard in my shorts at the mere thought of it.
Waverley’s foot connects with my brace, and I hiss, the air leaving my lungs like a sucker punch to the gut. I whip my head down to ask her what the hell, but her eyes are wide, a spoonful of ice cream hovering near her mouth. She flicks her head toward her mum at the counter pointedly.
I look between them, the pulse in my leg steadily easing.
Hooking a finger over the edge of Waverley’s bowl, I drag it away from her and dump her ice cream into my own, giving her a look that saysIfyou weren’t my kid, I’d throttle you.
My gaze falls away from her, drifting to Scarlet again.
Feeling like a scolded child, I scratch my forehead and say, “Hi, Scarlet.”
She freezes at the counter, the back that my hands roamed and clung on to only hours ago going rigid.
She eventually turns, barely able to look at me before eyeing Waverley, the lights, the door, the counter. Anything but me. “Hi,” she says, as if we’re strangers.
“Do you need a hand with dinner?” I ask when she goes back to putting the shopping away. “Waverley said we’re having—”
“I’ve got it covered. You should rest your leg.”
I’ve been resting my leg all day. “My leg feels great.”
“Will you walk Bear with me, Dad? I said to Nana Frey and Papa Glen that I’d bring him down to see them soon.”
Scarlet doesn’t seem to acknowledge the fact I’ve spoken, slipping off into the pantry with the jars in her hands. I look down at Waverley, her big green eyes peering up at me. “Of course I’ll come. Go get dressed, and I’ll meet you outside.”
