Chapter 14 #6
“Am I?” His smile disappeared then and for a second he looked so sad that Lucy wanted to put her arms him, just for a hug. Okay and yes, maybe to feel that wonderfully hard chest against her one more time. She was only human, after all.
“Solo parenting has got to be really challenging,” she said, willing her gaze to move upwards from his hard chest to his face. Although looking at his face made her think of other ways she wanted to touch him. Her thumb against his lips. Her palm cradling his cheek.
“It is. And I’m doing a crap job of it, to be honest.” He smiled wryly, but his eyes were still dark and bleak.
“You’re doing the best you can, Alex. That’s all anyone can do.”
“And my best is crap.”
“Keep saying that and you might need to put some money in the naughty jar.”
He raised his eyebrows. “The naughty jar?”
“A jar you put money in every time you say a bad word.”
“Did you have one of those growing up?”
“Yes, but funnily enough it was my idea. My mother had no limits on language, or on anything really. She was all about pushing boundaries, indulging whims.” Her own, at least.
“So making a naughty jar was your way of creating limits,” Alex filled in thoughtfully, and Lucy made a face.
“That’s a neat bit of psychoanalysis.”
“True, though?”
She nodded slowly. “Maybe.” She’d certainly wanted the typical, normal childhood, the dog and the picket fence and definitely the dad.
Fiona had scorned all those things, and believed Lucy should too.
I’m raising you to be a freethinker, Lucy, to be free of the shackles of a patriarchal society that insists you believe the lie that is domestic slavery.
“So did your mother ever put money in the naughty jar?” Alex asked, and Lucy shook her head, her cheeks heating, because a naughty jar suddenly sounded . . . well, naughty. And she was starting to think some definitely naughty thoughts.
The silence lengthened between them, stretching tautly as they stared at each other again.
Another burst of laughter sounded from the television upstairs, and they both jumped, and then laughed nervously. If there had been a moment, and Lucy wasn’t entirely sure there had been, at least outside of her fantasies, it was well and truly broken now.
Alex glanced at his watch and she rose from the sofa, nearly tripping over Charlie, who let out a contented groan.
“It’s getting late, isn’t it?” she said, practically babbling in an effort to sound normal. “Really late. You’ll want to put Poppy to bed. I should leave you to it.”
He rose too, and as he moved, she breathed in the clean scent of soap that lingered on his skin. “Thank you, Lucy,” he said, “for all you did today.”
“It wasn’t really that much.”
“It was. I was clueless about what was going on with Bella, and I needed you to point it out. I’m very grateful.”
“Will you talk to her?”
“About her purchases? I don’t know. I don’t think she’d want me to.”
Lucy thought of how defensive and lonely Bella had seemed this afternoon, when they’d had hot chocolate. “She might not admit it, but I think she would.”
He grimaced. “Maybe, but I’m not much good at that kind of thing.”
“Talking?” Lucy teased, but he took her seriously.
“Pretty much. If it’s not work related, if I can’t put on my head teacher hat, I’m kind of hopeless.” He smiled, but Lucy knew he believed what he’d said.
“A head teacher hat. What does that look like? I wonder.”
“Bulletproof helmet. And invisible, of course, since head teachers are superheroes.”
“You have to be, to manage a whole school. I can barely manage the reception area.”
“You’re doing well out there.”
She arched an eyebrow. “Card stock and disconnected calls aside?”
“I never said there wasn’t room for improvement.”
“Oh!” Teasingly, thoughtlessly, Lucy punched his shoulder, and in an equally unthinking reflex Alex caught her hand.
Lucy stilled, her breath coming out in a rush as she felt his large, dry hand encase her much smaller one. This time she didn’t think she was imagining the pulse of attraction between them.
Then he let go of her hand, even pushed it back a bit as if he were returning something she’d dropped. How much of that scenario had been in her own head? Lucy gave him a weak smile and turned to go.
Outside it was growing dark, the sky a deep indigo, the village mired in night save for a few streetlights.
“Do you need a torch?” Alex asked. “You’re not in Boston anymore.”
“Am I in Oz?” Lucy teased, or tried to. She was still feeling shivery from that moment in the sitting room, and she hoped Alex couldn’t notice in the dim light of his entry hall.
She fumbled for her coat, pushed her arms through the sleeves, and struggled with the zip.
“I’ll be fine. Tarn House is just up there, anyway.
” She pointed up the high street; she could see the train station and the pub in the distance.
“All right, then,” Alex said, and stepped back, well out of touching range, which Lucy took as a signal.
She walked down the garden path and opened the gate, which squeaked loudly in the stillness of the night; for once, there was no wind. She could feel Alex watching her, and she wondered when he would go back inside.