Chapter 10 #4
‘Oh, no, my ex did that when he lobbed it from a second-floor window with nothing but a plastic bag to protect it. I was going to throw it in your skip, if you don’t mind.
’ I recount the tale of the mascot teapot as I root through the box and find the tin of my grandma’s handwritten recipe cards.
It’s starting to rust around the edges now, but it was the most-used item in her kitchen when I was growing up, and I’m flooded with happy memories every time I see it.
I put the tin down on the table next to Reece’s leg and rifle through the stack of cards, some stained with flour or smears of chocolate that couldn’t be removed without rubbing away the recipe itself, until I find the one for lemon meringue pie with my grandma’s scrawled ‘extra sugar!’ in big letters.
‘I approve of any recipe that advises extra sugar.’ He reads the card I hold out to him. ‘You really want to try that in here?’
Okay, the space is tiny, but I have everything I need, albeit on a smaller scale than I’m used to.
I’ll have to nip into the village to get some ingredients, but baking is one thing I’ve always loved, one thing that makes me feel like me, and I could do with feeling more like myself at the moment.
Jared was kind enough to fit the campervan out with everything needed for cooking, so I may as well make the most of it.
‘Yeah, why not? It might make me feel at home.’
He looks up and meets my eyes and every trace of jest is gone from his face. ‘Good.’
‘Good,’ I repeat, but my voice is hoarse and the gravity of one simple word has made my mouth go dry. We hold eye contact for longer than necessary as the smile spreads slowly back across his face, making lines crinkle at the edges of his mouth again.
I’m standing and he’s still sitting, and looking at him from this angle is doing something to me.
His light-brown hair has dried wavy after the shower, and my fingers twitch with a desire to run them through it, and I give myself a stern talking-to.
My relationship has ended this week. It’s far too soon to be even thinking about running my fingers through someone else’s hair, and whatever I’m feeling now is temporary madness brought on by…
fumes of the campervan or something. I don’t know exactly what fumes a campervan can give off, but it must be responsible in some way, right?
‘I suppose I should go, shouldn’t I?’ He puts the recipe tin back on the table, and my mind goes blank as I try to come up with an excuse for him not to leave yet, and he must take my silence as an agreement, because he gets to his feet and then involuntarily gasps in pain when the movement jolts his leg.
That wave of guilt hits me again. ‘I’m so sor—’
‘Don’t.’ Before I realise what’s happening, he’s wrapped his arms around me, and I think we might be… hugging?
His arms slide around my shoulders and he holds me tight against his chest. The material of his long-sleeved top is soft and clingy in all the right places, and he’s got the muscles of someone who spends their days swinging pickaxes and shifting bricks around or whatever it is he’s doing up there, and I can feel my defences crumbling away.
He smells like some sort of tropical shower gel, and his long arms are deceptively strong and steady and they make me feel like everything’s going to be okay.
I slip my arms around his waist and squeeze him back.
I let myself relax against his chest, and feel his chin rest gently on top of my head.
He lets out a sigh that makes me think I wasn’t the only one who needed a hug, and although I know I should pull away, that tiny under-breath noise makes me never want to pull away.
‘Is this okay?’ he murmurs.
No, probably not, because I can’t remember the last time I had a hug that felt so good, but that noise of agony when he stood up made a protective side of me burst forth and I suddenly want to hold him in my arms until his leg heals, and take away the other pain he’s hiding underneath his sunny smile.
Instead, I nod against his chest and his arms tighten even further, and his chin moves against my hair like his smile has grown even bigger.
We stay like that for longer than is probably appropriate, but neither of us seems inclined to move, and I let myself stop analysing it and just enjoy feeling safe, and like I matter to someone.
When he eventually extricates his arms and takes a step back, I know the daft grin on my face matches the one on his. ‘Sorry if that was improper. You looked like you could use a hug, and I definitely needed one.’
If nothing else, I appreciate his openness in admitting that. The world would be a better place if more people were as direct as Reece is, and also if all hugs were as good as that one.
‘It wasn’t. It was…’ I stutter for a neutral description, and then decide to try his brand of directness instead. ‘…the best hug I’ve had in years.’
‘Me too.’ His impossible-to-stop smile gets unfathomably wider, even though I think he’s being modest there. He is gorgeous, the kind of gorgeous that’s amplified by his sparkling personality, and I can’t imagine that there aren’t women queuing up to hug him, and definitely more.
We’re grinning at each other in the small space again, and eventually, he has to shift the weight off his leg and his eyes fall onto the broken teapot again.
He leans past me to pick up the bowl and lifts the pieces to examine them, handling them gently with long fingers that are surprisingly elegant for someone who spends his days doing manual labour.
‘I’ll take it. Throw it in the skip on my way up. ’
‘Thanks.’ That stupid teapot has become weirdly symbolic now. A metaphor for everything that came after it. Throwing it away feels like a big step, one that I’m not sure I’m ready for, and yet, space is limited in the van and sentimental shards of broken china don’t earn their keep.
‘Goodnight.’ He pulls the door open and steps down into the car park, the broken teapot jangling with every movement.
He turns back to me and leans against the open door, and there’s something in his expression that makes my heart skip, and it takes all my willpower not to reach out and pull him back in.
‘Thank you for the…’ He’s at a loss for words about what exactly just happened, and I can’t come up with anything better than a charged pause either.
‘Ditto.’ It encompasses everything. Thank you for the hug, the reminder of my gran’s recipes that I was scared I’d never get to make again, for making me feel steady in an ever-spinning world, and for being the nicest human I’ve ever had the pleasure of running over.
His answering smile suggests he understands that I understand the complete loss for words and he salutes me with the bowl of broken teapot pieces. ‘Goodnight then.’
‘Goodnight.’ My jaw is hurting at the edges from how widely I’m smiling and I find myself leaning around the van door and watching him as he limps away into the night, and when I can no longer see him, I close the door and let out a high-pitched squeal.
If I had the space, I’d throw my arms out and spin around in a giddy circle, overjoyed by what turned out to be an unexpectedly wonderful night, and a welcome reminder that maybe all is not lost.