Twenty-one #2
A mobile pinged and Trish reached into her bag. ‘Give him time,’ she said, pulling out her phone. ‘Hmmm, the delivery guy’s five minutes away. I’ll nip back and let him in.’
Ivy rose. ‘Let me go.’
‘Nah, I’ll be back in ten minutes.’
No sooner had Trish hopped off, than Fred appeared at the table.
Ivy felt the static pass between them and was transported to dancing together at last night’s party, but she told herself to ignore it.
Her feelings for Fred could wait, she must concentrate on her Omar problem.
‘You look like you could use a break,’ he said.
‘We could use a fresh pair of eyes. One that understands accounts.’
‘You know my views. I think the three of you are being reckless.’
Ivy tutted, Fred might as well be talking to one of his students, warning them off making an impulsive decision about their GCSE subject choice. ‘Why not take a breather,’ he suggested. ‘Let me buy you a drink.’
She followed him to the bar, to the free space by the beer pumps. Too late, Ivy remembered why that section was empty. She was already stepping under the mistletoe when Fred turned to face her.
Time seemed to slow. The pub sounds faded – the music, the clink of glasses, the evening chatter – until all she could hear was her own heartbeat.
Fred’s eyes met hers, seeking permission.
She felt the warmth of him, smelled his familiar scent.
Slightly musky from working outside, tonight with a trace of linseed oil.
His lips touched hers with exquisite gentleness, as if she might shatter.
The kiss tasted sweet, of mince pies and twenty years of friendship.
His hand barely touched her waist. Ivy’s eyes fluttered shut.
For a moment, the world narrowed to the soft press of his lips, the scratch of his stubbled cheek, the way her heart seemed to stumble and restart.
When they parted, the pub noise roared back. Ivy opened her eyes to find Fred looking at her with wonder and terror, like a bird who had just jumped off a cliff and wasn’t sure yet whether it could fly. His eyes were soft, searching for clues from her.
Ivy’s heart was racing, her thoughts caught up in a tangle of emotion.
She barely registered the wink the landlady, Rose, shot her, nor the jokey comment: ‘My, my. I’ll have to keep my eye on you two.
’ This was something Ivy wanted, but it was too big.
She felt ambushed. And a little frightened.
Ivy clutched at the cross round her neck and blurted out the first words that came into her head. ‘I need to pray for guidance.’
His face crumpled. She could see he was interpreting her words as a rejection and she wished he knew she wasn’t saying no, just that she was just too frightened to say yes.
His face creased into a forced smile, but it was the sort she’d seen him paste on for those rare occasions someone had beaten him into second place for his prize dahlias at the Brambleton Flower Show. ‘I’ll get us each a drink. Red wine for you?’
He sounded so normal. She suddenly questioned the whole thing.
Perhaps it was an accident? Caught under the mistletoe, maybe Fred thought Ivy might be offended if he didn’t kiss her, and he had just been Fred, generous with his affection?
No one but Rose would have noticed. But when Fred handed Ivy a glass of red wine, she couldn’t ignore the way his fingers brushed against hers, nor the way his other hand lifted to touch her elbow gently, just as he had on that icy walk through the village after the Christmas market. Or had that, too, been an accident?
Fred steered Ivy to the table, where she set her glass down with deliberate care, her hand trembling slightly as a flush spread across her skin.
It was the shock of realizing, after that kiss, how much she wanted him.
But he wasn’t saying anything, so neither could she.
How was she supposed to get through the rest of the evening?
Pretend nothing had happened? Act normal?
How? She stared at the door, willing Trish to come hobbling back in.
Ivy’s phone rang, shattering the strained atmosphere. Relief surged through her as she fished the phone from her handbag, her heart hammering. Please be something urgent .
With one hand cupped over an ear, and her eyes on her shoes she answered. ‘Hello.’
‘Ivy, it’s Trish. I could really use another pair of hands up here. The delivery guy didn’t wait. He just dumped everything outside and I can’t carry it in on these stupid crutches.’ Trish huffed. ‘I need help before the foxes get wind of it.’
‘Oh yes! Of course!’ Ivy blurted, spinning round so fast she nearly knocked over her untouched wine. She grabbed her coat. ‘Sorry, Fred, I have to go. Trish needs me.’
He helped her on with her coat. ‘Will I see you at the Nativity play rehearsal tomorrow ?’ he asked.
Her throat tightened as she nodded, then fled quickly before he could suggest they walk to the rehearsal together. A reprieve, even if for less than twenty-four hours.