Chapter 25
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
MAISIE
She hadn’t paid much attention to where the minibus delivered them today. The journey had taken almost two hours and they’d crossed the border into England – according to the location tags on the photos she’d taken – and walked through a valley in the first blooms of spring. Now they sat in a quaint, rustic tearoom belonging to the National Trust.
Maisie watched Iain as he ordered at the counter. All through last night she couldn’t stop thinking about the way they’d sat together on the shorefront airing their painful secrets to one another. A line felt like it blurred when he’d held her hand as though the fakeness to their relationship wasn’t fake at all. His palm utterly massive compared to hers, and yet safe.
She wouldn’t have said the things she had if she weren’t so emotional in the first place. But when he’d opened himself up as well, it’d told her that he was there to catch her. He’d done it before in the physical sense, but the security to know that she wouldn’t be judged was more important to her.
And at the end of the night when she’d laid in bed, she processed his words: “ Maybe you don’t know where you fit until you make a home outside of the mould you were cast into.” She’d shamefully underestimated his ability to say something so profound and make sense of her moment of crisis. And it helped, somewhat. At least for her to understand that not having the sense of belonging anymore was okay.
She’d broken from her mould. Free to decide whatever came next.
It all explained why her brain had been so hazy on the drive.
Turning from the counter with a loaded tray in his hands, Iain awkwardly manoeuvred through the busy tearoom. Maisie found it far too amusing how his frame struggled to wiggle between the backs of chairs and corners of tables, when it was normally her who had that problem. Still, her eyes tracked him all the way to their long table.
“I got you a blueberry muffin,” he said as he slid a plate in front of her.
Opposite to them, Vera ogled the muffin like she wanted one for herself. “ Ooo , they’re your favourite, sweet pea.”
“They are,” Maisie said as Iain pulled out the chair beside her and folded himself down. “But I’ve never told you that.”
He shrugged as if the fact he’d picked out her favourite from all of the ones on display meant nothing. “You always have blueberry muffins on your kitchen counter.”
Maisie’s heartbeat stuttered. He’d only been to her flat a handful of times – had he really noticed that?
“Thank you.”
Iain nodded, which she guessed was man-code for ‘you’re welcome’, before lifting the sausage roll he’d bought for himself to his mouth.
He’d slept on the bus whilst she’d attempted to concentrate enough to read her book for more than a minute, which was the first time Maisie had seen him so relaxed. He had a fresh scratch beneath his eye which he must’ve gotten from his rugby practice last night after they’d spoken and could probably explain why he was so tired. Not a worry had marred his face so far today. In fact, he hadn’t frowned all morning.
He must be sick, caught some happiness bug that’d altered his brain chemistry.
“You’re really smiley today,” she japed and nudged his knee with hers, though the way Iain turned to her wasn’t with a smile – it wasn’t with a scowl either.
He leant a little closer, elbows on the table. “I sat with a pretty woman on the seafront last night, telling her my darkest secrets.”
Maisie’s blush was instant. “And now you feel better that someone else knows.” She brushed aside the pretty woman comment to analyse later where she could freak out in private, toying with the paper case of her muffin to channel some of that giddy energy.
It’s all for show. He wasn’t saying pretty things for her benefit.
As Iain’s gaze wandered down the short space between them, his eyes turned glazed. “She might’ve been right about talking to people.”
Ha! Maisie’s cheeks ached with her happiness to hear it. Not because she’d been right – though that was always nice – but that listening to her advice had helped him to feel less heavy.
Smug, she propped her chin on her hand and leaned into his space, mirroring him as he slanted into hers. “She sounds like a genius.”
Iain’s focus inched up, moving around her face like tracing a map, before settling on her eyes, his voice pleasantly smooth when he crooned, “She’s something special, alright.”
Maisie’s cocky smile dipped.
Mutters stretched the length of the table.
How they interacted when all the elders were around was supposed to be for show, but more often than not now Maisie couldn’t distinguish the things he said between what was real and what was not. Sitting here, holding his gaze as the group shifted and silenced, she went with her gut. And instinct told her that the butterflies which danced in her stomach were entirely true.
She sucked in a breath of reality and forced her focus away to the muffin she hadn’t yet touched, counting the fresh blueberries on the buttercream to bring her pulse – and her blush – back to an acceptable rate.
Iain cleared his throat and sat upright to chomp another bite out of his sausage roll.
“It’s been a while since we’ve seen you two together,” Vera said slyly, which of course earned the attention of absolutely everybody.
Thirteen pairs of eyes settled on Maisie’s already agitated skin. “We’ve been seeing each other. Just not with you lot around.” Some more fodder to the idea that she and Iain were actually dating.
“How was your trip to Manchester?” Ronnie asked from the next seat over.
Aha , something Maisie could talk about with ease.
“Really good.” She beamed. “My friend’s bakery opening went amazingly.”
“And you stayed up there overnight?” Mable pondered from the other end of the table, causing Maisie’s head to whip. The question got every ear listening.
Her eyes passed over Iain, hesitant to confess. “Yes …” Definitely not in the way that the series of sparkling eyes which lit up would think, though.
“Hmm, they’re sitting too far apart to have spent that night together together,” Mable decided, and suddenly the topic of if they’d had sex was passed around the group. “What do you think, Irene?”
“Yes, I agree. Catrin?” One of the other women in Vera’s clique.
“Definitely.”
Vera waved the women off. “Well we all know that you used to plaster yourself to whatever young thing gave you her attention, Catrin. Maisie and Iain are taking things slow, aren’t you Moo Moo?”
Regretting the can of worms she’d just unleashed, Maisie’s knee bounced under the table. Iain’s pinkie finger brushed hers beside her plate, which didn’t help at all. Not in the slightest. He was trying to calm her, but he only made a shudder curl through her body to the very apex between her thighs.
“Yes,” she cut in before anyone else could speculate on whether they’d been together together or not. “We had separate rooms. Not that it’s much of your business, Nain .”
Her snarky comment earned a few amused ooo s. Vera smirked, and thankfully – for the sake of Maisie’s sanity – struck up a different conversation along the table.
Iain took her hand and twisted their fingers together. “Breathe,” he whispered.
“I’m trying,” she whispered harshly in return. “You touching me doesn’t help.”
He held her hand tighter.
Maisie used the fork that came on her plate to stab off a big chunk of muffin and stuck it into her mouth, reminded again of why they’d committed to the fake date plan in the first place – to take conversations like that off of the table. She expected there to be some interest in what she and Iain did together, but talking about their intimacy – or lack thereof – was a massive, red, NO .
She’d zoned out of the conversation, glancing around at the exposed wood beams and old fireplaces for five minutes, when her nain piped up again.
“We have a proposal,” Vera said to the table.
“Oh dear,” Maisie muttered, playing with the purple-tinted crumbs on her plate.
Vera’s hands splayed like she were in a musical. “Glamping.”
Maisie’s brows rose an inch … and then another. “Glamping?”
“For the weekend. Next weekend specifically,” Vera clarified, and Maisie crumbled a little into Iain’s side.
Glamping. As in tents and mud and all sorts of wildlife creeping in at night? Bloody hell.
She held still, not blinking once as she asked, “Why?”
“Because it will be fun!” A chorus of hums and nods agreed with Vera. “We found somewhere on the internet about ninety minutes north. It’s a campsite of pods within a forest.”
“They run organised walks around the area,” Ronnie chimed in.
Vera twisted to Iain who did well to not resist the death grip that Maisie’s hand had on his. “And dogs are welcome, which is perfect for you, Iain.” His thumb pressed down over her knuckle in response. “We know it’s last minute, but it would be a great idea if we all went. Wouldn’t it be fun?”
Enthusiastic commentary struck up for half a minute about how excited the others were, while Maisie stared between them without really seeing them at all. A weekend holiday was one method she hadn’t pre-planned to be blindsided by, and it didn’t feel right that they were the last to know about this.
“You’ll come, won’t you Moo Moo?” Vera’s pink lips smiled at her.
Her fingers tightened on Iain’s, her body rigid in her chair. She didn’t know how to say no. “Of course. It sounds … fun.”
Walking in the wilds was one thing, but sleeping out there? Shitting hell.
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad as her brain imagined? ‘ Glamping’ gave some illusion of glamour , did it not?
“And you, Iain?”
Iain’s grip on her hand, their fingers still linked on the table between them, pulsed. Maisie finally looked at his face, and for once she didn’t blame his moody expression.
“Gwna, ? * ” he said grudgingly, all that cheeriness she’d noted earlier dissipating.
Darting her good hand across the table, Vera patted their joined ones. “Excellent! I have the phone number. I’ll give them a call.”
“You two will drive up together, won’t you?” Ronnie’s hopeful eyes bounced between them. “We weren’t thinking of hiring the minibus – too much luggage.”
They weren’t thinking.
It became abundantly clear then – even more than before – that all thirteen of them knew about this plan to go away days before this meeting.
A small but very definite grunt left the man beside her.
“I’ll drive,” Iain said, resigned.
“Perfect,” Maisie mumbled.
At around half past two, Steffan, the man in charge of organising all their transport, received the call from their minibus driver to say he was waiting in the car park, which meant that all of their group began to disperse from the tearoom. Maisie headed to the bathroom first and came back to find everyone halted by the doors.
Vera scoped out the vast room like a meerkat. “Where has Iain gone?”
It wasn’t like Iain to wander off, so Maisie scanned around to search for him. His gargantuan figure was easy enough to spot, rooted by the water dispenser with?—
Her stomach twisted into a knot as her heart attempted to join it.
Three women around her own age who hadn’t been there before she’d gone to the bathroom stood around him. They were gorgeous in the beauty standard sense; every one of them tall and lithe in workout leggings and cute little fleeces, perfect pin-straight ponytails swishing as their heads moved and showed off their grins.
Maisie’s shoulders became heavy under the straps of her backpack.
She didn’t know what she expected in this situation. She hadn’t really anticipated that they’d ever be in it. No men had come up to her at any of their hiking stop-offs, but of course women would approach Iain – look at him. He had the gruff and mysterious outer shell that women adored to crack. Including her, it seemed.
She was definitely not the only one who’d noticed. The low, pitying mutterings of the crowd behind her made her feel front and centre stage to this flirtatious show. Didn’t he realise how that was going to make their relationship look? Maisie didn’t feel like the second option but worse – fourth.
How could he be talking to them? in front of everyone that they knew.
The more Maisie stared, the more pieces of her crumbled. Then, between petite shoulders, Iain caught her eye. He’d barely said a few words since she’d watched him, but all of the attention he’d held for those women disappeared. He didn’t even mutter an apology as he moved between them and came her way – directly for her.
“The need has arisen,” he hushed, his determined strides never slowing.
“For what?” Maisie had to tilt her head back and look up at him, puzzled as her pulse spiked. Because in truth, she knew what need he was talking about. Knew why her tongue mirrored how his traced his lips.
“For this.” His thick fingers cupped the back of her head and slid into the hair at the nape of her neck, lips descending on hers in a kiss that stunned enough to take her breath away.
Her body stuttered, and her lungs didn’t have the chance to catch up to the shock of warm lips, the scratch of bristles against her chin that were so very Iain – rough and exciting at the same time – with his body like a mountain where her hands flung to feel him, that damn waxy brown coat getting in her way.
The pensioners gasped, though they were the last thing that Maisie paid attention to.
A single kiss shouldn’t turn her on, but the soft, middle parts of her came alive like sparklers lit inside her core and bowed into Iain’s embrace, revelling in the hand he gripped on her waist, thumb grazing her breast. All reminding her of how long it’d been since she’d last been touched. How much she craved to be wanted with all of body and soul like this – to fit perfectly within someone’s arms.
Iain’s kiss wasn’t just a mediocre peck but a damn claim for everyone in the room to see, and he dragged his lips away before she was ready for him to, oxygen be damned.
Brows puckered, Maisie whimpered, the sound lost in the inch of space between them. She could only imagine how she looked – so dishevelled like a teenage maiden with cheeks, neck, ears even more aflame than her hair.
When she managed to focus, Iain’s gaze was heavy, his eyes pinched in the corners so slightly that she would miss it if she were further away. But she wasn’t. She was pressed against him, her chest heaving as her mind caught up to the situation, and all that she could think was:
That wasn’t bloody fake.
* ? Yes (I will)