Page 63 of Hiraeth

“I’ll bring it over,” I offered as I readied the tray.

“I can carry it. You can find what you want to watch.”

I didn’t know him well, but I knew enough to know this was his stubborn face. I had seen it earlier in the store and earlier when he spoke on the phone. “Fine,” I conceded with my hands up in defeat.

Settling on one of the sofas, I flicked channels. Thank God for streaming services.

“So, teen flick, rom-com, action, or mystery?” I asked him as he placed the tray on the small coffee table in front of the couch I was sitting on, and he sat beside me. I hadn’t expected him to sit beside me; there were three couches and two armchairs in the room. Sitting beside me short-wired my brain.

“I’ll watch anything,” he told me amiably as he turned to face me. “What are you in the mood for?”

You.

“Um, I like mysteries or action.”

Mark shrugged and we ended up watching a remake of an old classic Agatha Christie book. Pouring the coffee, he settled back, and he focused on the movie.

The inquisitiveness of earlier was gone, and he seemed perfectly at ease beside me as he sipped his coffee and relaxed.

The movie was good, but by the end, Mark was fast asleep beside me. Knowing he had driven for probably seven hours this morning and then walked for three to get here, I was surprised he made it through dinner when I thought about it.

Clearing the tray, I hovered over him, uncertain. I could leave him here. I had slept on this couch many a night, and it was comfy. But it wasn’t screaming good host if I let a guest crash on the couch when they had a bed upstairs.

Mind made up, I leaned down and tapped his shoulder.

“Mark. Mark, wake up,” I whispered gently.

His head moved slightly, but he remained steadfastly asleep. With a gentle tap on his cheek, my fingers brushed against his facial hair. Not scratchy. Nice. My eyes fixed on his hair, and my fingers itched to touch it.

This was insanity.

“Mark,” I whispered. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

He would never know.

My fingers ran through his hair. So thick and silky soft. What the heck was he using for shampoo? I needed it.

I almost leapt back when his head tilted into the palm of my hand, and he murmured. Brought back to reality, I realised I was practically groping my guest.

“Mark,” I tried again, bending lower. “C’mon, buddy, wake up.”

My hand was still in his hair. How did I explain this if he woke up? I reluctantly withdrew my hand and, placing both hands on his shoulders, I shook him gently.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” he mumbled as he moved lower in his seat.

“You’re full of shit, city boy,” I admonished him as I shook him again. “Wake up.”

“I hear ya, damn woman.” Bleary-eyed, he looked at me. “I hear you.”

“Okay, time for bed,” I said with a smile, hoping to make up for waking him.

“Bed, you say?” He smiled slowly as his eyes fluttered closed. “Why wait?” His hand caught me at the back of my neck, and with a sharp tug of my head downwards, my lips met his.

Wide eyed, I froze as he kissed me. Then my brain registered that he was a really good kisser, and I was kissing him back. Mark dropped his hand from my neck, and both hands circled my waist as he pulled me over him.

I was straddling him, and I was losing my mind as he kissed me into oblivion.

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