THIRTY-ONE
Aubrey was on the sofa, dinner mostly prepared, the last part cooking in the oven, when Evie came out of the bathroom. She was wrapped in one of his big towels, face pink from the heat. She flashed him a smile as she crossed the hallway to his bedroom. He watched her bare legs disappear, then got up, went back to the kitchen, and got out the plates.
It was all laid out on the table when she came back dressed in her leggings and one of his hooded zip-up tops. He wore it to the gym in the winter, or sometimes running.
“Do you mind?” she asked. “I only packed one jumper, and I think it’s in the wash. Or needs to be.”
“I don’t mind.”
He was very far from minding. Liked the sight of her slim body swamped in his clothes. A primeval thing, he suspected. Ownership. And their size difference. The primitive part of his brain enjoyed the reminder of both.
“It’s all vegan. Except this, obviously.” He indicated the plate of chargrilled chicken that he was having with the stuffed peppers, salad, and potatoes. Evie had pine nuts scattered over hers. He seriously doubted it was adequate protein, but the internet had tried to convince him otherwise.
“It’s amazing. Thank you.”
She started talking about the garden again while they ate, telling him all her plans. How the older kids from the local primary school would come to help build the raised beds once the site was made safe, and the younger kids would come to help plant seeds. There was an old, retired guy down the road who had been a builder, had a house full of tools.
“Ancient ones,” Evie said. “Old hand planes and chisels and medieval looking screwdrivers with lumps of oak for handles. And his hands all gnarled and crooked, but still so strong, grip like iron! Zig said he cried when he heard the garden was being closed, this big old gnarly builder— Shit… Sorry… I keep forgetting that you…”
He waved his fork. “Go on. I don’t mind.”
But she hesitated, pushing the remains of her pepper around her plate. Aubrey sighed.
“I didn’t know there was a garden there,” he said. “I had nothing to do with Bluedeen or the sites they selected. I wasn’t involved on that level at all. I advised Domnall on a particular strategy that involved property. That was the beginning and end of my involvement in it.”
“I didn’t mean to make you feel bad.”
“I don’t.” He met her doubtful look. “I know you think I should be wracked with guilt, but I’m not. I gave my client a sound strategy, which is what I was paid to do. This is why I refused to apologise, Evie. It was my professional duty. I don’t sit at my office plotting out ways to make people cry. If I did, then, yes, you would be right to be angry with me.”
“But surely you care… Now you’ve seen it… You can imagine what it was like, how it’s going to be…”
“No. I only care that you were sad, and now you’re happy. I’m sorry if that makes me a monster.”
He got up from the table, far angrier than he’d realised. He took his plate to the kitchen, dropped it in the sink with a crash, stood there, gripping the edge of the counter, breathing slowly. Why did he care so much what she thought? Stupid question. He knew why.
She came to stand by him, put a hand on his back. He tensed at the touch.
“I care about people,” he said. “Not many of them. My family. Friends. I care about them the way you care about places and animals. I’d do anything for them. But I can’t pretend to be anything more than that. If that’s not enough for you…”
His voice broke off, and he let out a long breath. Steeling himself, he turned to meet her eye, sure he’d find the answer there—apology, sorrow. It’s not enough… This can’t work…
But he found her smiling slightly, perplexed.
“I think…” she said. “I think I’m in love with you.”
He went completely still—everything except his heart.
She laughed slightly, still seeming confused. “It’s the only thing that explains it. Love isn’t rational. And this isn’t rational. I’m obsessed with a man who probably can’t tell the difference between an apple tree and an oak.”
“I said I don’t care, not that I’m stupid.”
She laughed again. “You know what I mean.”
He searched her face, heartbeat ringing in his ears. “Is it true?”
“I think so?”
“You think so? Jesus Christ, Evie!” He dragged a hand down his face. “Are you trying to kill me?”
She grinned. “Not anymore.”
“You think so,” he muttered. “You bloody think so.”
“Well?” she said.
“Well, what?”
“Aren’t you meant to say it back? I’m feeling out on a limb here.”
“Maybe you just think you’re on a limb.”
She laughed, stepping closer to him, hand coming up to his cheek. “You’re not going to let me forget that one, are you?”
“No, I’m bloody well not.”
“But Aubrey…do you?”
“Of course I fucking love you, Evie.”
Her eyes opened wide, colour flooding her face. “You do?”
“Like a madman.”
He kissed whatever she was about to say right out of her mouth, hands cradling her face, holding her to him as he sank inside the taste of her. It was relief that blistered through him, it was joy, fire hot. It was disbelief. She fucking thought so… He groaned, hands moving down, unzipping his top from her body, pushing it from her shoulders. Jesus Christ, she was wearing nothing underneath…
He lifted her onto the counter, pressed himself between her legs until they wrapped around his hips, but he wanted to get closer—
“You seem a bit impatient,” Evie said, laughing as his mouth moved to her neck.
“Shut up.”
He moved to her breasts, thumb swiping one pebbled nipple, mouth on the other.
“In a bit of a hurry,” she gasped.
“Do you want me to make you shut up?” he said, smiling darkly against her lips, then kissing her until she moaned, moving against him, his hand on her ass helping her grind against him while she reached down to free him from his trousers.
He grunted as she took hold of him.
“Maybe…” she murmured, stroking him slowly, “I’ll let you come by dawn.”
He gave her a dark look, then slid her from the counter and pushed her to her knees.
“That’s more like it,” she said, laughing.
He gripped her jaw. “Open.”
She opened her mouth, eyes on his as he pushed himself between her lips. She moved her tongue, getting him wet, and he hissed a breath, fingers slipping to the back of her head, guiding himself further in.
“Look at me while I fuck your mouth.”
She looked up at him, blue eyes bright, the skin pale on her perfect, pretty face. He rocked into her, feeling the slip and slide of her, the warm pressure streaking pleasure from every sensitive bit of him up his spine. Fuck. Again. And again, her lips gripping him, tongue slavish, working to please him. He looked from her eyes to her mouth, to the thickness of him disappearing inside her stretched lips. He couldn’t be gentle, wanted to go harder… Fuck, he pulled out, dragged her to her feet, got her leggings down to her knees and lifted her back onto the counter. He pulled one foot free, enough so that he could spread her knees, and then he was inside her, listening to her grunt into the skin by his shoulder.
He came before she did, so he held her close, his fingers deep in the mixture of them both, working her, breathing her name, her head held to his chest until she came around his hand, letting him feel every pulse and tremor. He eased her through it until she was boneless, spent, then he picked her up and carried her to the bathroom.