Chapter 11
11
Oliver lay in bed a week later listening to the howl of the wind outside, the grey light of morning filtered by the sun-blocking blind. Casper, sound asleep, lay draped across his feet having claimed that position about three days after he’d arrived. Oliver had tried to dissuade the animal but Casper had looked at him with those pathetic stray dog eyes and he hadn’t the heart to kick him out.
He’d woken on the coat-tails of another erotic dream about Paige with another raging hard-on. Day times were difficult enough without the nights. Co-existing with her in an atmosphere so cordial, they could have been on the set of Downton freaking Abbey . Pretending he hadn’t had her under him, hadn’t kissed her and stroked her, hadn’t swallowed down her moans and those tiny, desperate whimpery noises she’d made at the back of her throat, that guaranteed him a crippling fucking erection the second they snuck into his brain.
They’d reverted to their own corners, intersecting when necessary but keeping their distance behind polite smiles and inane conversation. At least she was less full on than when she’d first arrived. Sure, the T-shirts were still amusing and there were always crumbs in her wake and cold, squeezed-out tea bags in the sink – which made his eye twitch – but she’d given up all pretence of veganism.
Halle-fucking-lujah.
That combined with zero Hamster Facts texts this week and things had definitely improved on the home front.
And, she was still working with him on the book. Maybe not side by side but she’d been transcribing his daily ramblings diligently and dumping them into the master document, moving them around, piecing them together into something cohesive for when it came to wrangling the manuscript into some kind of coherent state. And she’d been steadily sorting through the jumble of paper from Saturday night, cataloguing and slotting it into the timeline of the master document, too.
Saturday night . He stifled a groan as his dick tightened even further. He hadn’t been prepared for what had happened that night.
He’d gone to London to talk to a publisher and retrieve the boxes then meet up with some old friends the next day for the usual pub crawl starting at lunch and pushing well into the evening. But, as he’d read the messages flying around their WhatsApp group about getting hammered and picking up, nothing had appealed less.
Oliver hadn’t wanted to sit around noisy bars drinking to excess with a bunch of low-rent celebrities possibly getting hassled by paps. He’d missed Cornwall. He’d missed Paige. Despite the chaos – the tea bags, the mug rings, the menagerie – it had been good having her in his life. She’d bullied and pushed and inspired him to stop feeling so fucking sorry for himself and do something .
Not dabble, not pretend. Stop doing what wasn’t working. Change track.
He’d have never started this book without her. Not in the head space he’d been in anyway but her insistence that he try had poked a hole in his mindset, letting in the light and the memories – the good as well as the bad. And it was proving to be an entirely cathartic experience. Better than any therapy he’d ever had.
He had a renewed sense of purpose now and that was entirely down to Paige. Hell, just the exercise alone, walking on the beach with Casper every day had helped declutter his head. Helped him see clearer. And that in itself had been a revelation.
But that wasn’t all. In a little over a month, Paige had worked herself under his skin. She was the first thing he thought of when he woke up and the last thing he thought about as he went to sleep. Not himself, not the fucked-up mess he’d created, not the aimless drift his life had become.
Paige. And that was as inconvenient as his hard-ons.
He was starting to think there was something way more serious going on than just intense physical attraction although, God help him, he was so fucking hot for her. She was nothing like his usual type and yet all her soft curves, her bountiful cleavage, her goddamn freckles were fast becoming an obsession.
But it was more than that.
Something he felt way north of his dick. Something more… cerebral. Something he felt down to the core of his being. He liked her. He just really fucking liked her – anarchy and all. Something he’d never felt about another woman. Not to this degree.
The closest he’d come had been Bella, who he’d liked enormously. Hell, he’d loved her in that way love grew from familiarity, admiration and respect. But this was different. His feelings for Paige had been much more visceral from the moment she’d landed on his doorstep, in all her frazzled ginger glory.
There’d been nothing bland about any of the things he’d felt since that day. They’d been acute and jumbled and intense, flickering from exasperation to outright laughter to frustration, buzzing around him like fireflies, irresistible to look at but damn hard to pin down.
And then there’d been Saturday night.
His dick twitched again at the memory of her soft and breathy under him, her hands in his hair, her tiny moans filling his head. Not their first kiss. But nothing like the one on the stairs, either. That had been more a first kiss kind of kiss. Tentative, cautious, exploratory. Good – so good – but not Saturday night’s explosive fiesta of passion.
The very last thing he’d expected as he’d stepped into his own house. From the violin attack to the kiss to the cops, it had all been slightly bewildering. Although, he should have known to expect the unexpected with Paige. But it wasn’t the other stuff that fed his dreams or the blood flow to his cock.
It had been the kiss.
Their second kiss. Nothing like the first. Hot and heady and charged from the second her mouth has mashed against his and run out of control. Knocking every thought from his brain, the world narrowing down to just the space between the two of them and God knew, there’d been precious little of that.
But, more importantly – she had kissed him.
Sure, she had blamed the booze. And the fact she’d been drinking before his arrival had been sobering in the aftermath. Had probably been the thing that had stopped him from pushing her more on the topic that night when she’d wanted to leave it alone. A kiss given under the influence was something entirely different to one given when fully in charge of one’s faculties. He knew that from his own cognac-infused faux pas.
Would she have lunged at him like that had she not consumed a bottle of wine? Would he have kissed her on the stairs had he not been affected by alcohol?
Oliver had kissed women under the influence before. Hell, there’d been a few times he’d slept with women he barely knew when they’d both been three sheets to the wind and barely remembered it the next morning. But those times had been in the setting of dates where both parties had known where it was leading.
The impulse to kiss Paige had come out of nowhere. Just like the feelings he was both struggling to define and scrambling to deny.
Because Bella . His ex. Paige’s friend. Seriously, how much more muck could he land himself in. He’d already hurt Bella once. Kissing her friend, feeling whatever the hell this was… he couldn’t go there. He knew Paige felt bad about it and he pretty much felt as low as a slug too and yet, he couldn’t stop thinking about her…
Idly he wondered if it was too early to start drinking? It was Saturday after all and there’d been a lot of days since he’d walked away from his wedding that beer for breakfast had been his go-to. But then he remembered he’d made a commitment to Paige not to drink.
Great. Just his luck to agree to being teetotal when the woman sleeping down the end of the corridor was driving him to drink with her lush curves and her soft cleavage and those damn freckles.
His morning wood, which had mostly deflated thanks to his convoluted thoughts and reminders of how badly he’d treated Bella, re-upped. Literally . Oliver sighed. Time to get out of bed because the other option was to masturbate and he was damned if he was doing that in front of an innocent dog.
As if Casper knew he was on Oliver’s mind his tail thumped twice and Oliver levered himself up onto his elbows.
‘You hungry?’ he asked.
Casper’s leap off the bed was answer enough.
* * *
Five minutes later they were both entering the kitchen. Paige was standing at the large sink window, her back to him, looking at her phone and he paused for a moment, a hand curling around his gut. Her hair was up in some kind of twisty knot thing exposing her nape, curly tendrils springing out haphazardly from her attempt to contain them. She was wearing yoga pants like she had been that night and an oversized white T-shirt, that completely covered her ass from his view. The neckline was wide, barely clinging to her shoulders and looked all stretched like it was well-worn.
As if to prove his observation, the left side slid down, revealing creamy flesh speckled with a fascinating constellation of ginger freckles and he wondered what it would be like to be the man who was allowed to snuggle up behind her, wrap his arms around her waist and put his lips to the part where her neck sloped to her shoulder. What it would be like to have her turn and smile then lean in and lay her head down and sigh into one of those long, unhurried Saturday morning cuddles.
Oliver blinked. Jesus, dude – what the what? What in the hell was the matter with him? He’d be making fucking daisy chains next.
Giving himself a severe mental ass-kicking, he said, ‘Good morning,’ with all the posh Brit boy politeness he could muster.
But that all fell apart as she turned, her freckles popping dramatically in her ashen face. Oliver’s heart kicked hard at her stricken expression. ‘What’s wrong?’
Forgetting all his lectures about keeping his distance, he crossed to her, his hands sliding onto her upper arms as if he’d been doing it for a decade instead of for the first time ever.
She looked at him, her hazel eyes huge in her face. ‘Casper’s owner just contacted me.’
* * *
The knock on the door Oliver had been expecting was delivered promptly at 3p.m. as arranged. ‘That’ll be her,’ he said, glancing at Paige who was petting an unsuspecting Casper from her usual position at the dining table.
The phone call had been a shock this morning; Oliver didn’t think he’d properly processed it yet. The damn dog had been in his life for a month – just one month – and yet, he’d become Oliver’s shadow. Sleeping on his bed, claiming the spot on the couch next to him, wagging his tail vigorously the second Oliver pulled on his beanie.
A month ago he would have been just fine for the owner to turn up and relieve him of the responsibility and the endless fucking dog hair but now? Hell, the damn mutt had wormed his way into Oliver’s heart and his skin itched at the thought of Casper not being there whenever he turned around.
But this had always been a possibility. The dog had an owner , that was the reality.
Gathering himself, Oliver walked down the hallway. Casper whined a little and he wondered whether the animal wasn’t entirely unsuspecting. On their long beach walk this morning he’d stuck close rather than endlessly chasing the ball and barking at the waves and the gulls. And during his bath he hadn’t tried to excitedly leap out or shake water every bloody where.
Even when Paige had pulled out the blow dryer which he usually tolerated with clear distrust, he had just shut his eyes and leaned into Oliver, standing patiently until it was done and he was all fluffed up and presentable for his reunion. It wouldn’t do at all for the owner to think he’d been neglected here this past month.
Reaching for the door as another knock sounded, Oliver pulled it open, plastering a smile on his face. The middle-aged woman was short and stocky and leaning on a walking stick, her hair completely tucked into the beanie on her head. There was nothing fancy about her clothes or her muddy old Jeep in the driveway. The deep crow’s feet around her eyes and ruts in her forehead hinted at a hard life but her eyes sparkled and her smile was warm.
Deep down he’d been hoping for bad vibes from the woman coming to claim Casper. Someone cold or mean or mirthless that would explain why Casper had run away. But everything about her exuded salt of the earth. Like she always had a batch of scones in the oven and a pot of clotted cream in the fridge.
She probably belonged to the bloody WI!
‘Hello there, my lovely,’ she said, in a thick West Country accent. ‘You must be Oliver. I’m Sheila.’
She stuck out her hand and Oliver shook it, her skin dry and rough in his grasp. ‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘Do come in.’
He winced at the formality of his voice but she didn’t seem to notice.
‘I couldn’t believe it when Derek from the butcher shop showed me the social media post,’ she said as she followed him in, a slight limp affecting her gait. ‘We’d given up hope. Fancy Doggo getting as far as St Ives. That’s over sixty miles from home.’
Just then, Casper let out a bark and trotted towards them, his tail wagging vigorously.
‘ Doggo !’ Sheila’s face lit up as Casper greeted her, turning in excited circles, his tail flapping madly. Bending over, she petted his head and accepted his licks. Casper clearly knew Sheila. ‘You look right ’ansum. You’ve been on a fine adventure, haven’t you my bewty?’
Paige joined them and they both watched in silence as the two got reacquainted. ‘He’s been pining right terrible for my da since he passed a couple of months ago,’ Sheila said as she straightened. ‘Worked the sheep with him every day, he did.’
‘He certainly loves to chase a ball,’ Paige commented.
She chuckled. ‘Oh aye, he’s a bundle of energy this one. Hard for him to settle in town with me. Not fond of my cats I’m afraid but I promised Da I’d look after him. It was terrible when he went missing. But I’m right pleased you’ve been taking good care of him.’
‘It was our pleasure.’ Oliver nodded.
Of course, it had been an entirely mutual relationship Oliver realised. Casper had also been taking good care of him, getting him out of the house, out of his rut, out of his head. He stroked a soft floppy ear, a big grin splitting the dog’s face, clearly lapping up all the attention from his people.
‘Would you like a cuppa?’ Paige asked. ‘We also have a packet of Hobnobs?’
Oliver glanced at her sharply, Paige didn’t share her Hobnobs with anyone . He’d learned that in the first few days of cohabitation. But he could tell by the way she was looking at Casper she was just trying to delay the inevitable.
‘Well, I am partial to a Hobnob,’ Sheila admitted with a grin, patting her belly, ‘but I gotta get dreckly back. It’s a long drive and I know those cats will be up to all kinds o’ mischief. Thank you though, that’s terrible nice of you.’
Paige’s smile was wan as she said, ‘Yes, you’ll be wanting to get on the road before the weekend traffic gets too much.’
‘Aye.’ Sheila nodded. ‘Right-o, Doggo.’ Casper thumped his tail at Sheila. ‘Let’s get you home.’
Oliver drew in a steady breath. ‘I’ll walk you to the door.’
‘Lovely,’ she beamed.
He indicated that she should lead the way and Sheila turned, hobbling down the passage stick in hand, Casper trotting along beside her, his toenails clicking on the floor. Paige fell into step beside him and he glanced sideways at her. She looked exactly like he felt, like they were walking to their execution, not returning a stray animal to its rightful owner.
But this was a good thing. A happy day.
At the door, Oliver reached over Sheila’s head and opened it. She stepped out with Casper then turned to face them. ‘Well then, Doggo,’ she said, ‘time to say goodbye to these lovely people. You were so lucky to end up here.’
Casper looked up at Sheila, turning his head from side to side as if he was understanding for the first time what was happening. He looked at Oliver and Paige and gave a forlorn kind of whimper as he trotted to where they stood in the doorway, nudging between them, so they could both pet him at the same time.
And goddamn if the hot needle of tears didn’t prick the backs of Oliver’s eyes as his hand sifted through soft, fluffy fur. Kneeling, he nuzzled the top of Casper’s head and whispered, ‘Thanks for the beach walks. You’re a good dog.’
Oliver stood, glancing at Paige whose eyes looked suspiciously misty before she leaned over and planted a kiss where Oliver had nuzzled.
‘C’mon then, Doggo,’ Sheila said cheerfully. ‘The cats will be a’frettin’.’
If that was supposed to be a selling point, Casper wasn’t buying it. He didn’t move, giving a low whine as he looked up. Oliver cleared his throat. ‘Good boy.’ He nodded encouragingly. ‘Time to go home, now.’
‘I has yer favourite treat waiting for yer,’ Sheila coaxed.
‘It’s okay,’ Paige said to him. ‘We’ll be okay. Off you go.’
Oliver nodded again and repeated Paige’s words. ‘It’s okay.’
‘That’ll do, Doggo.’
Casper’s ears pricked up and he returned to Sheila’s side, sitting at her feet. She chuckled. ‘Classic sheepdog command, that one. My da used it all the time. Works like a treat.’ She smiled at Casper affectionately and petted his head. ‘Well… thanks again.’
She headed for her vehicle, Casper following faithfully beside his owner. When she opened the back door, he leaped in like he’d done it a thousand times, settling himself near the window which slid down as Sheila kicked the engine over.
Casper’s big eyes watched them solemnly as the car reversed and, as Sheila tinkled a wave at them through the windscreen, Casper barked twice as if he was also saying goodbye. Oliver raised his hand to wave as did Paige and neither moved or spoke until the car and Casper’s head which was turned firmly in their direction, disappeared from view.
‘She seems lovely,’ Paige murmured, breaking the silence, turning in the doorway to face him.
‘Uh huh,’ Oliver agreed, also turning. ‘Casper… I mean Doggo, was pleased to see her.’
A noise that sounded very much like disapproval slipped from between her lips. ‘What kind of name is Doggo?’
Oliver almost laughed but that seemed wrong right now. He shrugged. ‘I guess the kind of name someone gives a working dog?’
‘Yeah.’
She sounded utterly miserable, her rapid blinking confirming her emotional state which hit Oliver hard. She was obviously gutted at the development as was he and he knew they were supposed to be keeping their distance from each other but that didn’t seem important at the moment.
‘Hey,’ he murmured, his eyes locking on hers that were two hazel puddles.
She shook her head, blinking some more. ‘I’m alright.’
‘Really?’
Sighing noisily, her head fell back against the door frame. ‘No.’
‘Neither am I,’ he admitted.
And then he opened his arms because it just felt like the right thing to do. And when she walked straight into them, her arms lacing around his waist, her cheek pressing into his chest, he knew it was.
Neither of them spoke, they just held each other, his chin on top of her head. The spring of her hair was a whispery caress against his throat and curiously comforting even if he was suddenly aware of the slow, thick, thud of his pulse flowing like molasses through his veins. As they stood in the doorway not speaking, a duck waddled by the driveway, stopping halfway to look at them and quack.
‘Aww.’ Paige pulled out of his arms. ‘How cute is that?’
Oliver shook his head at her. ‘Don’t even think about it.’
She laughed and after the heaviness of what had just happened it was soothing at a visceral level. ‘Oh come on,’ she teased and that was soothing in places less visceral. ‘Maybe it’s a sign from the universe? Takes away our dog, gives us a duck.’
Our.
Us.
Oliver liked how that sounded a little too much. ‘The only way that bird is coming in this house is if it’s going in the oven and being served with hoisin sauce.’
‘ Shh , Oliver,’ she scolded but a smile flirted with her mouth. ‘It’ll hear you.’
If the way the duck quickly waddled on was any indication, it had heard. He shook his head as he pushed away from the door frame and they moved inside. ‘You’re like bloody Cinderella. I’m surprised bluebirds don’t follow you wherever you go.’
She laughed again and started to sing as she walked down the hallway. ‘When you wish upon a star?—’
‘That’s from Pinocchio ,’ he interrupted.
But instead of being horrified at her terrible lack of film knowledge, he laughed and damn if he didn’t feel a little better.