44. Present Day – January
44
PRESENT DAY – JANUARY
SCOTT
I n the bar, the furniture has already been moved to one side, and I’ve taken down the few paintings I had on the wall. Before Josie arrived, I’d thrown dust sheets over anything that seemed important.
Josie takes in the space. ‘You got a lot done without me.’
‘Enzo and Jamie helped shift the furniture yesterday. Still need to clean and prep the walls, though.’
I set about mixing up the sugar soap, while Josie re-ties her hair in the scarf, and starts to rummage in her bag.
I’m distracted as she pulls out that fucking apron from the auction, looping the neck strap over her head. She holds my gaze as she passes the straps around her waist and ties them at the front. It barely covers her cut off dungarees, and I don’t realise I’ve licked my lips until she smirks.
‘Are you trying to crucify me?’
‘I have no idea what you’re talking about,’ she says innocently, then grabs a cloth and starts wiping the walls.
Taking a deep breath, I manage to calm the beast in my chest that wants to rip the apron back off her and take her in the middle of my goddamn place of work. We can’t get side-tracked again just yet.
After a couple of hours, the whole place is entirely prepped. Josie is taking a turn at the top of a stepladder, tongue poking between her teeth as she rolls paint onto the ceiling.
A thump sounds out on the door and she wobbles, crying out, ‘Woah!’
‘I’ve got you.’ I tighten my grip on her thighs, where I’ve been spotting her. Can’t say I mind decorating at all.
‘Might as well stop here. We’ve finished this bit, and I’m out of paint.’ She waggles the roller at me and I help her down.
A fine mist of white paint freckles has peppered her face, and she grins a thank you. Temporarily distracted by how fucking lucky I am, it takes me a moment to remember I need to go and see who’s knocking.
Swinging the thick wooden door back, I start to say, ‘Sorry, we’re not open,’ before I realise it’s Enzo and his wife Lucia, both carrying large bags in each hand. ‘Oh, hey, come on in.’
‘How’s it going?’ Enzo asks, stepping into the pub.
‘Getting there.’ It still feels like there’s a mountain to climb, but we’re making inroads.
‘Thought you’d like lunch.’ Lucia holds up her bag. A waft of herbs and spices hits me, and my stomach rumbles.
‘Yes, please,’ chirps Josie. ‘Totally lost track of time.’ I determinedly don’t catch her eye when she adds, ‘Decorating is hungry work.’
Decorating isn't the only thing we’ve done to work up an appetite today.
‘This should keep you going,’ says Enzo as he and Lucia start to unload their bags on a clear area of the bar.
Josie looks at me, intrigued, and I raise my eyebrows with a smile. I’ve no idea what they’re up to, either.
‘I’ll get plates.’ I head up to the apartment and grab some clean tableware and cutlery. When I come back down, I hear Lucia talking Josie through the dishes.
‘And that’s my Vovó’s special recipe for empadas. My grandmother was a wonderful cook.’
Josie’s eyes widen, mid-bite. ‘Oh my God, it’s so good,’ she moans with her mouth full.
‘I think I forgot to feed my helper.’ I pretend to wince at Lucia. ‘Thank you for saving us from certain starvation.’
I walk over to the spread and scoot in next to Josie, noticing she’s taken off her apron to eat and thrown on a jumper. Can’t say I’m not relieved; it’s increasingly hard to keep my hands off her in front of my friends.
‘Lucia’s brought us some traditional Portuguese petiscos.’
‘Kind of like tapas,’ Lucia explains.
Josie fans out her arm to display all the little dishes. ‘She made all of it herself.’
‘Hey, I helped with the folhados,’ laughs Enzo and then pops a pastry puff into his mouth.
I pass around the plates and then dig into some tiny delicious croquettes.
As uncouth as Josie, I moan my appreciation through my mouthful. Lucia giggles with pride.
‘It is so good,’ I say when I manage to swallow.
‘Are you a chef for a living, or something?’ asks Josie. ‘This is incredible.’
‘Yes, she is,’ Enzo says, proudly grasping her shoulders.
Lucia bats at him. ‘Not really. I’m a cook at a care home, so I don’t make things like this. I wish I did, but I don’t think it’d go down well.’
‘I love trying new things. This is so fun.’ Josie bounces as she moves to try another dish.
‘Mmm.’ I dive into another bite. ‘Maybe you should try and sneak a new dish in every now and then. You never know.’
‘Well, they like my tempura battered fish on a Friday.’ She shrugs, as if she’s resigned to a repetitive menu. ‘The secret is sparkling water. I would love to find my own place and open up a little eatery. Oldton needs a petisqueira.’
While we eat, Enzo passionately tells Lucia about our plans for The Bull’s new look. He’s as invested as I am.
‘So, whereabouts in Portugal are you from?’ Josie asks Lucia.
‘Porto. And Enzo is from Tavira. Have you been?’
‘No.’ Josie shakes her head. ‘I’ve never been out of the country, unless you count a school trip to France. I’d love to travel, though.’
‘You should. We did a bit before we settled down here.’
‘So fun. Brazil was my favourite,’ Enzo adds.
‘My friend Abi’s in Mexico right now.’ Josie gets a distant gleam in her eye, then, after a beat, pops another empada in her mouth and smiles.
The bell above the door rings as it opens, and we all turn to stare. Two middle-aged men dressed in full lycra clomp into the bar.
‘Oh, good, are you still serving lunch?’ one says, unbuckling his bicycle helmet. ‘We’re starving.’
‘Wasn’t sure if you were open,’ adds the other.
‘We’re not.’ I scowl. ‘We’re closed for renovations.’
It’s only then the men look up and seem to really notice their surroundings — sheets everywhere, pots of paint. ‘Awfully sorry,’ they say, and move to go.
‘It was my fault,’ calls Lucia. ‘I should have shut the door properly. Here, you want something to keep you going?’ She holds out some empadas, and they gratefully take one each before backing out as quickly as the tight getup allows them.
We can hear their moans of pleasure from the carpark, and pride emanates off Enzo as he beams at Lucia.
‘Please keep the leftovers.’ Lucia tips her head towards the stack of containers still brimming with her cooking. ‘I always make too much.’
‘Do you need help this afternoon?’ Enzo asks as we start packing up the empties.
‘You’ve both done enough. Thanks for the offer, though.’
‘You sure? We don’t mind,’ Lucia chimes.
‘ Really .’ As Josie comes and stands next to me, I hug her close, sliding my hand inside the gap of her dungarees, smoothing it along the soft skin at her lower back. ‘It’s your day off, anyway. Go. Have fun.’
‘Okay, Lulu, you heard the man.’ Enzo nods to us, then scoops up their empty bags. ‘See you soon, boss. Josie.’
They call out a cheery, ‘Até logo!’ as they leave.
‘See you soon,’ I call back with a wave.
‘Okay, what’s next?’ Josie asks, resting her hands on my chest.
‘The walls, I think. Let’s start here, and work around to the bar.’
‘Baggsy cutting in,’ demands Josie.
‘Cutting in is the worst bit.’ I frown, bemused. ‘No one bagsies that.’
‘I like doing all the careful detailed bits; it’s satisfying.’
I tip my head to the side. ‘I like slapping it on so I guess this is why we work well together.’
There’s a twitch to Josie’s smile as if she’s holding back from saying something cheeky.
‘Your magic dick is why we work well together.’
Nope. Not holding back.
I chuckle and pull her towards me, pressing a kiss to her mouth before pulling away and studying her beautiful face. Fuck, I could get lost in it.
‘Magic, huh?’
Lips drawn to her neck, I start to kiss her, but she whispers, ‘ Scott , painting calls.’
I growl as I tear myself away and fix her with a stern look. ‘No more distractions.’ I pretend to scold her.
‘Err, me ?’ she asks and swivels away.
‘Yes, you .’ I tap her ass as she moves to get the paint brushes. ‘You better leave that apron off.’
Josie puts some music on low, and we’re quiet as we settle into the rhythm of her applying the paint to the edges and me following with the roller. It feels good, mindful almost, painting the large expanse of wall. But after a while, my head starts buzzing with a million questions. I still feel like there’s so much I need to know about her.
‘Tell me about your tattoos. You’ll have more birds than the twelve days of Christmas soon.’
‘Fuck off,’ she chuckles. ‘I think birds are beautiful. The colour in their feathers … even something simple, like a crow. The colours you see shining off the black — it’s like petrol on water.’
‘I need to study them some more, then.’ I walk my fingers up her top, snagging it to lift it up, then run my knuckle over her ribs just below where the new tattoo sits.
‘It’s just … I love how they can fly away. Did you know the arctic tern migrates from pole to pole? Like, a 30,000 kilometre round trip. Furthest I’ve ever been is Paris.’
‘I heard you talking to Lucia. You still want to travel?’
‘ Yes .’ Her eyes shine with excitement. ‘I wish I could just spring wings and fly off.’
‘I totally get it.’ I sigh. ‘I don’t think I ever can though. Can’t really leave this place.’
‘My friend Abi just dropped everything and went one day. She’s how I got the gig at Apollo’s party.’
‘What happened?’
‘She went for love. Met a girl. They’re touring around and scouting out tourist art retreats. She’s in Mexico at the moment.’ Josie shrugs. ‘She just made it work . It’s how I got such a good deal on a flat, too. She sublets it to me.’
I pepper her with more questions, and love the way she lights up as she shares her hopes and dreams about her artwork, travelling, travelling to work on her art …
‘It’s a pipe dream, though.’ A dimness tinges her eyes. ‘It’d cost a lot and,’ she shakes her head, ‘lots of reasons. I couldn’t …’
Josie tails off and changes the subject. I follow her lead, wishing I could get her to see how capable she is. How fucking awesome she is.
It’s getting dark outside, and losing the light, we decide to stop for the day. Josie dabs on the last bit, and turns around and stretches, surveying our handiwork. ‘We’ve done an excellent job.’
There’s a smear of paint on her cheek and I brush my thumb over it. ‘Yeah, considering, you’ve got more paint on you than the walls.’
‘What?’ She shrugs. ‘I told you, I like to be at one with the paint. It’s actually amazingly therapeutic. You should try it.’ She bops her wet brush on my nose before I realise what she’s done.
‘Did you just paint me?’
She trails the brush down my chest towards my waist, stopping short of my jeans.
A coy expression on her face, she slowly raises her gaze to mine, which are currently wide with disbelief. ‘It’s called touching up ,’ she drawls.
I tip my head to the side, and take my time to look her up and down.
She wriggles and bites her lip. I can tell she’s on the brink of giggling while trying to look sexy. What she doesn’t seem to realise is, she’s always sexy. I pivot her round so she’s leaning on the bar. She tries to back away, pushing her tits out as she leans further, the bar blocking her retreat.
‘You missed a spot.’ I run my roller down her chest and stomach, the gloopy white paint fading as I get lower.
‘That’s gonna stain,’ she breathes and, without breaking eye contact, she reaches up and unsnaps one of her dungaree clasps.
The fabric falls down, leaving her tiny half-painted top underneath, nipple poking through the material.
‘Unh,’ I take a deep breath, trying not to groan. Josie is going to be the death of me.