Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
MAISIE
“It’s too quiet,” she said. “I know I said I liked the silence, but maybe I’ve been away from it for too long.” They’d been out in the middle of nowhere on hikes before, but out here they truly were alone. Them and Ted, of course.
Iain shovelled his last forkful of lasagna he’d driven and bought for them both into his mouth, looking completely at home in his earthy tones, lazing on the wooden deck chair. “I told you,” he said around his food, “this lifestyle suits you.”
Maisie played with her fork on her plate and tossed him a playful side-eye. “Because you’ve been looking at my body?”
Iain barely met her glance for one indulgent second. “I meant what I said.”
“I know that now.” She leaned her elbow on the table and angled her body towards him. “And for the record, I’ve sort of looked at you too.”
“I didn’t think it was a spider you ran away from this morning.”
“I didn’t mean to see you.” Though the view wasn’t regrettable. “I apologise for invading your privacy.”
“I should’ve shut the door. We’ve lived on our own for so long I just forgot.”
Maisie liked that Iain included Ted in that comment. “Sorry, again.”
He was the one to glance that time, smirking devilishly beneath his moustache. “I’m not.”
Of course he wouldn’t be. If Maisie had a body like his, she’d show it off too … just not in such an inappropriate circumstance.
The breeze that wandered through the trees crossed her cheek. Despite the rain in the morning, the afternoon was pleasant. Neither warm nor cold, though not enough to dry out the forest around them. The guide who’d led the walk they were supposed to have been on had come to check that they were okay, only to find them eating shop-bought lasagna on their doorstep and watching squirrels scurry between the trees.
It wasn’t what Maisie had pictured for their weekend, but she didn’t have any complaints. Well, perhaps just the one about falling on her arse and ruining an expensive pair of leggings with mud, but that was okay in the long run. Really, she should thank the rain pouring and Ted for running off for being the ultimate reasons why she’d ended up in Iain’s arms with her lips on his. If she hadn’t needed his help to change her clothes, then the revelation of their feelings they’d both been blind to would never have come to a head.
“What do you want to do for the evening?” Iain pushed his plate away and asked her.
Painkillers had helped ease the soreness in the knee she’d twisted, but Maisie didn’t think she was ready yet to go with him to walk Ted – at least not for as far as Ted needed. It was a shame to miss out on exploring the campsite, but then again, she might’ve done enough of that already.
“I expected that we’d be doing something with the others,” she answered, “but since they’re not here, I only have a book.”
Iain cocked a brow filled with inappropriate thoughts. “One of those filthy books Vera told me about?”
Did he just call her smut books – ahem, romantic literature – the f-word? “They’re not filth .”
“I’m not judging what you read, Daff, I just find it entertaining.”
“I don’t believe that you’ve ever read a romance to understand.”
Their chairs were already side by side around the circular table, but Iain dragged his and himself closer, putting his mouth right by her ear as he said, “If there’s anything specific you think I should read, then I’m open to recommendations.”
He had absolutely no idea what he would be getting himself into if he opened those pages of the book hiding in her backpack. He did, however, know – judging by his hooded eyes – what he did to her when he touched the centre of her back and brushed his palm up and down her spine.
“The so-called ‘filthy’ moments?” Maisie supplied with a hopeful batting of her eyelashes.
“If you want.”
Maisie grinned. Flirting openly with actual cause was still only a few hours old revelation, and she was fascinated by the way the only thing that changed about Iain was how he didn’t hold back. He didn’t stop himself short of answering her or reaching out to her when he wanted to. Not having to hide her smiles when he looked at her was nice, and the way he didn’t draw back from touching her so casually was lovely, too.
Inhibitions had been released, though Maisie took her exploration of this new territory slowly. Only this morning they’d still been just friends with a side of complicated, and now Iain knew she took pleasure in shallow sex and liked the look of his fingers. It was a lot of change to readjust her brain to in only a few hours.
“What are you going to do to not get bored?” She turned Iain’s question on him.
The dark look in his eyes that made her stomach flutter said ‘you’ , but his mouth said nothing at all.
Instead, he stood from his chair and wandered inside the cabin. Maisie craned her neck to follow his steps all the way to the edge of their bed where he bent down and searched underneath it, eventually fishing out the reusable shopping bag she’d forgotten was under there. She’d seen him carry it in but thought it was just some of Ted’s things that weren’t important.
When he sat himself down again and put the bag on the table, he pulled out yarn and a half-made blanket.
“Oh my god – you made Vera that scarf for her birthday!” Maisie exclaimed. If she could without aching, she’d be on her feet.
Iain didn’t look at her. “Crocheting helps clear my mind.”
She was stunned – jealous of his talent, mostly. That scarf that he’d given to her nain – who they still hadn’t heard from to explain herself about this arrangement – had been amazing, and he’d passed it off as someone else’s work.
Maisie’s jaw hung open. Why didn’t he say that it was his creation?
Iain noticed her wide-mouthed staring. “Go ahead. Mock me.”
“Why would I?” A shock of hurt ran through her that he thought she’d be so cruel.
He put the yarn and a hook down with a sigh, fidgeting as he said, “How many men like me do you know that crochet?”
If by ‘men like me’ he meant talented craftsmen, then not as many as she’d like.
“I don’t remember there being gendered rules for hobbies,” Maisie answered primly because she knew she was right. So long as it was harmless, she’d never shit on someone else’s fun, much less what Iain did in his spare time to calm his mind.
The corner of his lip pulled but Iain forced that grace of a smile away.
“How long have you been doing this?” she asked and tried to peer closer at his project.
“Since I moved to Aber,” he said, a thread of downheartedness in his tone.
Maisie wasn’t going to knock on those doors about his old life again; he would open them when he was ready. She watched him bundle the ball of baby-blue yarn and the already crocheted rows into his lap, then set up the hook between his fingers before going quiet. If his averted eyes were out of concentration or the embarrassment that she’d tried to reassure, she didn’t know. She only knew that she didn’t like this type of silence.
“You know, I’ve never done this before.” She’d attempted, fruitlessly, a couple of times. “Could you show me?”
Iain’s gaze cut up to stare at her.
Seconds ticked by, and Maisie’s skin began to feel awkward with how he said nothing at all. His stunned look at mindless things she said kept on happening, and she was certain now more than ever that there were far too many words he’d never had spoken to him in his life: first that she believed he’d be good as a hiking guide, then that he’d never disappointed her, and this time that someone else was interested in his hobby.
“Yeah.” Iain snapped himself into movement. “Here you go.”
Maisie exhaled one puff of an almost-chuckle. “I won’t be any good.”
“I was shit when I started, Daffy. You’ve got this.”
“I don’t really remember how.”
With the yarn, completed rows, and hook bundled in one hand, Iain pushed his chair back and patted his lap. “Sit.”
Blood rushed to Maisie’s cheeks when she looked at his open thighs. “Why?”
“So I can teach you.”
The offer was sweet, and she was excited about that, but her eyes wandered over the wooden chair that didn’t look the sturdiest of contraptions before snagging on him . She swallowed. Iain had already eased her worries that he was capable of holding her weight, but it wasn’t his capability that Maisie doubted – not when there were two of them on that chair.
He must have read her worry because he offered, “Would you rather sit on the bed?”
“Yes. Thank you.” Inwardly, Maisie calmed in relief.
Iain gathered everything into the bag and held out his hand to walk her inside. She took it, still giddy that there wasn’t a pretence to their touches anymore, that there was intention to their closeness they hadn’t acknowledged before.
The friend-zone no longer existed. She couldn’t place Iain into a box and label him as ‘do not touch’ anymore. Not when he’d made it so clear that he wanted her. And she absolutely wanted him .
One knee at a time, Iain got up onto the bed and rearranged the pillows before sitting with his back against the slatted headboard, legs spread apart. The narrowest part of that ‘V’ they created made Maisie’s pulse accelerate. She wouldn’t need any form of cardio today when the sight of Iain offering himself up added another option to the list of things that made her heart race.
He’s teaching you to crochet. Pull yourself together.
Her inner voice strangely sounded like it could’ve been Ted who stared at her through his brow from his bed, unimpressed. Somewhere inside of that dog was a trapped human that understood everything happening around him.
Maisie took a long, deep, necessary breath, realising how they would be sleeping here together tonight when they’d agreed to take things slow physically, and joined him. Careful of her bruised knee, she shuffled her bum into place.
“There must be other ways to teach,” she pondered.
“This feels the most fun. I can see what you’re doing better.” Hands came around her with yarn and hook and the half-made blue rectangle. “Sit back, Daffy, it’s okay.”
She wasn’t okay. She was going to combust if she felt more of Iain’s jean-clad thighs around her. Simply sitting this way was more intimate than how they’d kissed earlier.
Okay, perhaps not more , but a different kind of intimate. A delicate moment without expectation.
Maisie eased herself back until she met Iain’s broad chest, releasing her held breath and relaxing as he took her weight. For a moment she considered tipping her head to one side and curling into him completely.
Iain swept her curls that were an unruly mess from their unexpected soak in the rain off her shoulder, bringing his face over it next, and the image of his profile in her periphery was so obscure, Maisie quietly laughed.
For a minute or so, he used his hands to guide her fingers and showed her something called a chain stitch that started a new row, then a half treble crochet stitch that continued it.
“What will it be?” she asked as she tried to learn the order and rhythm of the movements Iain slowly walked her through.
“A baby blanket. I’ll donate it to the hospital at home when it’s done.”
Maisie’s heart expanded for yet another reason, because big, grumpy Iain Howell was in fact a total sweetheart. How could it have taken half her life of moving through men who were always just okay to finally get to this incredible one? This man behind her was a rare find, and no one could convince her otherwise.
“You know, you could absolutely sell these,” she said. “The scarf you gave to Vera was so beautiful. There’s a whole world of people on online marketplaces who snatch crocheted things up every day.”
Iain’s chin shook against her shoulder. “I don’t want to sell.”
“Why not?” Maisie was genuinely curious. Her business had started off from a single, small idea – there was no reason that Iain’s couldn’t too. And it was something that he enjoyed doing, which is more than she could say for his current job.
“I do this for myself, Daffy. To try and capitalise on my coping mechanisms doesn’t feel right. And I like giving them away.”
Iain let her hands go and she completed another chain, albeit at half the speed. “I understand. Sometimes passions should just stay as passions.”
Iain’s nose hitched against her jaw, and she squeaked. “You’ll come to see how passionate I am soon enough.” His fingers stroked back and forth on the outer of her thighs, teasing her and taunting her. He was so delicate yet firm, the pressure just right.
The yarn and hook went forgotten in Maisie’s lap. Thighs pressed together, she captured the ache that throbbed between them. What was she supposed to be doing with her hands?
Her voice went breathy as fingertips stroked circles around her hips. “Iain?”
“Mm-hmm?” he hummed, the sound reverberating through her back against his solid chest, his warm lips hovering behind her ear.
“What are we doing?” she rasped, because though her body wasn’t confused, her brain definitely was. “We talked about sex earlier, and now we’re …”
“Enjoying the quiet moment.”
The one-eighty had her brain in a spin. “You haven’t … changed your mind about what you said?”
Iain nudged her limp wrists to continue crocheting. “I’m a straightforward man, Maisie,” he said. “I won’t play games with you like that.”
Their afternoon passed into evening slowly. Not a kind of slowness that dragged on and on, but one where they savoured the worry-free time. She’d only managed to do a couple of rows with Iain’s supervision before Maisie decided that she didn’t want to waste all his yarn, so gave it back. He’d sat behind her for an entire hour, coaxing her through the process when she’d gotten stuck.
Maisie read seven chapters of her book whilst Iain got another billion rows of the baby blanket done. They sat on the steps of the decking up to their cabin and tossed a ball around the small clearing for Ted until the sun went down, which unfortunately resulted in the poor creature having to endure his third wash of the day. After another meal of shop-bought shepherd’s pie baked in the cabin’s microwave, Maisie left Iain to his own devices and finally went for the warm shower she’d been craving.
She didn’t intend to stare in the mirror for so long whilst her phone hummed old jazz tunes in the background, but she did. After years of work, she’d learned to look at herself with love and an objectiveness that saw none of herself as flawed. She was who she was, and she was proud.
Were her breasts bigger than most women’s? Yes. Did they sit low on her ribcage with one more lopsided than the other? Yes to that too. Was her belly bumpy and soft and were her thighs the kind of thickness a man like Iain would need both his hands to grip? Yes. That hope was the reason why she twisted herself at awkward angles when she showered, bumping her bum against the wall every time she tried to bend, and made her legs silky smooth.
If there was any possibility of something happening tonight while they slept in the same bed, then Maisie wanted to give herself the best chance of keeping her self-confidence as high as it was when she was alone.
She tiptoed out of the bathroom dressed in her button-down pyjamas and shorts, only to find Iain stretched out and relaxed on the bed with her book in his lap.
“Are you enjoying that?”
His eyes whipped up out of the pages. “You like the things this man does in here?”
“He does do them rather well.”
“Excessively,” he uttered.
She twisted her hands together in front of herself, unsure of how she would sound saying, “I’m ready to go to bed.” Evidently like she was trying to kick him out, because Iain closed the book and set it down beside him.
“I can sleep on the floor,” he said, moving to get up.
Maisie let out half a nervous laugh. “That’s not necessary.”
Iain gave her a look that said otherwise as he shuffled off the bed. “It is for my own sanity.”
What was that supposed to mean? Maisie’s brow was pinched tight as he took one of the pillows and the blanket from the settee and laid them out down on the floor.
Was he actually going to … Had he changed his mind about her? about how patient he was willing to be? The way he’d been casually touching her all day – it made Maisie want this new footing between them to go somewhere tonight.
She’d been a steadily simmering pot on a low boil waiting for hours to see what the cover of darkness might bring, and now it felt like he’d switched off the gas.
“You can tell me if you don’t want to sleep with me.” She sounded stung, even to her own ears.
Iain was in front of her in half a second, looking down at her with fire in his eyes. “I can assure you that there is absolutely no inch of you that I don’t want to see, touch, kiss, or fuck. Do you understand?” Her breath caught. “Though I won’t do any of that until you’re standing in front of me completely sure that your comfort is my priority.”
She already was sure.
He cupped her cheek and brushed his thumb across her lips. “You’re too damn tempting, and I’m trying to have control.”
For his sanity. Maisie understood that now. It would be easier on their senses to keep a little distance between them tonight. But what if she didn’t want to?
“Earlier, was that just … a moment?” she asked, failing to tame her racing pulse.
“Not for me, Daff.” Iain’s warmth was like a blanket. “This stopped being pretend for me. I don’t know where, or when, but it did.”
She’d asked him already what this new change between them was – friends with benefits? something more? – and he hadn’t given her a straight answer. Maisie supposed that neither of them knew yet what this was. It was easier to be safe than do something they might regret in the morning.
Iain stepped back from her. His eyes gave her a once over, the thumb he’d touched her lips with going to his own as he turned and lowered down to his make-shift bed.
Flicking off the overhead light switch and leaving the bedside lamp on, Maisie got under her own duvet. The space felt so much bigger without him – like there was something missing. Her body craved to have him, and for once she wanted to listen to it.
She picked up the book she’d caught him with. “Which part did you read?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Iain grumbled from the floor.
“Where he’s kissing her?”
“Mais—”
“Where he undresses her?”
His palm scratched across the bristles on his chin.
“Where she sucks on his dick?”
The growling rumble from Iain’s chest was the deepest she’d ever heard as he closed his eyes. How much he respected her by staying away was a big green flag, but Maisie wanted red – she wanted a little less control, a little less sanity. She wanted her body on his and his fingers fisted in her hair. She wanted a little rough and her name on the lips of a man who was a world away from any she’d ever met.
She wanted to wake up satisfied for once in her life.
The book slid out of her hands, replaced in them by the duvet she lifted off herself.