Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Sleep wasn’t happening. Not properly.
Kieran had tried herbal tea, a breathing app with a voice like warm syrup, even a podcast about the history of toilets. Nothing worked. His brain refused to power down. It kept replaying Jacob’s laugh, Heather’s gentle teasing … and Beth’s face every time he closed his eyes.
Prom had eventually given up on him and stalked off to the spare room, tail flicking in feline disgust.
‘Traitor,’ Kieran muttered, staring at the ceiling.
He lay there another minute, restless, his mind stubbornly orbiting Beth – her laugh, her steadiness, the quiet strength she wore so lightly. The faint scent of good food and her distinctive perfume seemed permanently embedded in his memory.
He grabbed his phone. The screen lit the dark.
6:15 a.m.
That’s when he remembered.
His laptop charger. Still plugged in behind the bar at the Jekyll and Hyde after the app meet-up.
He did have a spare.
But still.
A slow smile tugged at his mouth. The perfect excuse. Not that he needed one.
He shoved on a hoodie, grabbed his keys, and stepped out into the thinning dark.
The village was hushed, wrapped in mist. A fox slipped across the road ahead of him, fluid and silent. Somewhere, an owl called once. The world felt paused, like it was waiting for something.
As he approached the pub, he noticed a faint glow through the downstairs windows. Not the full blaze of bar lights, but a soft amber pulse.
Someone was awake.
Hopefully Beth.
His heart gave a small, traitorous leap.
He hesitated outside, debating whether to knock or turn around and pretend he’d changed his mind. Then he heard her voice.
And another.
A man’s?
No, lighter than that. Musical. Oddly familiar.
Kieran frowned. Who is she talking to at this hour?
There was a flicker of laughter, then silence.
He pushed the door gently. It wasn’t locked.
‘Beth?’ he called quietly.
She spun around, eyes wide. ‘Kieran! You scared the life out of me.’
‘Sorry.’ He lifted a hand. ‘Didn’t mean to barge in. I left my charger behind the bar after the app night. Thought I’d grab it before I run out of juice.’
Her shoulders eased, though a faint flush lingered in her cheeks. ‘Right. Of course. It’s over there.’ She gestured behind the counter.
He retrieved the cable but made no move to leave.
The air between them hummed – charged in a way that had nothing to do with electronics.
‘Couldn’t sleep either?’ he asked.
She shook her head and tapped her temple. ‘Too much noise in here.’
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Same.’
Their eyes held. The quiet wasn’t awkward – it was full. As if something hovered between them, waiting to be acknowledged.
He nodded toward the pinball machine. ‘Is The Wish Master keeping you company?’
She glanced at it. ‘Something like that.’
‘Looks asleep.’
‘You’d be surprised,’ she murmured.
He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but before he could ask, the moment shifted. He felt it – that tipping point where you either speak or spend weeks regretting not doing so.
‘Beth,’ he said, heart thudding, ‘can I say something without it sounding weird?’
‘That depends how weird.’
He let out a breath. ‘I keep thinking about you. All the time. I don’t want to complicate things. I know you’ve had a lot to deal with. But pretending I don’t care isn’t working.’
She blinked, clearly not expecting that.
He forced himself not to look away. ‘I just needed you to know.’
She stepped closer. Not dramatically, just enough that he felt the warmth of her.
‘You don’t have to apologise for caring,’ she said quietly. Then she hesitated. ‘But there’s something you need to know before this goes any further.’
‘OK.’
She held his gaze. No flinching.
‘I can’t have children.’
The words landed softly but heavily.
He hadn’t expected that. Not specifically. But the steadiness in her voice told him how much it had cost her to say it.
He took a second. Not because he was shocked, but because he wanted to answer properly.
‘Thank you for telling me.’
Her brow furrowed. ‘That’s it?’
‘What were you expecting?’
‘I don’t know. Shock. Disappointment.’
He searched himself honestly. Yes, maybe he’d imagined a house full of noise, Lego underfoot, school runs and chaos. But right now, standing here with her, that future felt theoretical. Distant. Beth did not.
‘You think that changes how I feel about you?’ he asked gently.
‘It might,’ she said. ‘For a lot of people.’
‘I’m not a lot of people.’
The pinball machine gave a soft ping, as if punctuating the statement.
Beth rolled her eyes, though her lashes looked suspiciously damp. ‘Ignore him. He’s annoying.’
‘Who?’
‘It’s a long story.’
He wanted to ask. He didn’t.
Instead, he reached for her hand. When she didn’t pull away, something inside him steadied. He stepped closer.
‘You don’t need to be perfect, Beth,’ he said. ‘You just need to be you.’
She went very still.
He became acutely aware of the space – or lack of it – between them. The warmth of her. The faint scent of soap and something unmistakably Beth. Her fingers in his.
‘You all right?’ he asked softly.
She nodded. ‘Just … remembering how to breathe.’
He smiled before he could stop himself.
Her gaze flicked briefly to his mouth, then back to his eyes. His pulse kicked up.
‘Beth,’ he began, and then stopped.
Because this mattered.
If he moved now, it would be easy. Too easy. And he didn’t want easy. He wanted right.
She stepped back half an inch, just enough to inhale deeply. ‘We should…’
‘Yes,’ he agreed quickly. ‘We should.’
Neither of them moved.
He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, suddenly aware of how exposed he felt. ‘I’m glad you told me,’ he said. ‘About everything.’
‘Me too.’
The look she gave him then wasn’t fearful. It wasn’t defensive.
It was hopeful.
That did it.
He closed the space carefully, giving her every opportunity to step away.
She didn’t.
The kiss was gentle at first – tentative, like they were tuning into the same frequency. He felt the slight catch of her breath, the softness of her mouth. It deepened slowly, warmth unfurling instead of sparking. The world narrowed to the quiet hum of the pub and the steady beat of his own heart.
When they parted, she rested her forehead against his chest.
‘I should probably say this complicates everything,’ she murmured.
‘Probably,’ he said. ‘But it also feels like the start of something.’
Across the room, the pinball machine flickered once – a soft golden pulse.
‘You’re impossible, Gigi,’ she muttered.
He huffed a quiet laugh. ‘What was that?’
‘Nothing.’
He should go. He knew that. Give her space. Let this be for now.
‘I should probably—’
‘No one else will be awake for a while,’ she said carefully. ‘Would you like to come upstairs?’
His entire body answered yes.
He hesitated anyway.
‘We don’t have to … rush,’ she added quickly. ‘I don’t want to ruin it.’
Relief softened something in him. ‘Good. Because I was trying to work out how to say exactly that without sounding like a complete coward.’
Her lips twitched. ‘You? A coward?’
‘Terrified,’ he admitted. ‘But in a good way.’
Upstairs, they sat on the edge of the bed like teenagers who’d skipped ahead in the rulebook.
Eventually they lay down side by side, a polite gap between them.
It lasted seconds.
Her fingers brushed his. Paused.
Then she laced them through his.
‘Is this OK?’ she whispered.
‘More than OK.’
He turned his head slightly, giving her space to reconsider.
She leaned in instead.
The kiss was softer this time. Less fire, more warmth. A question rather than an answer.
When they broke apart, she rested against him, tentative at first.
‘Cuddling?’ she asked.
‘Absolutely.’
He wrapped his arm around her. She fitted against him with surprising ease, like something aligning. No urgency. No expectation. Just breathing, warmth, the steady rhythm of two people choosing to stay.
‘You’re very comfortable,’ she murmured.
‘I’m an excellent human pillow.’
Her quiet laugh vibrated against his chest.
In the dim early light, Kieran stared at the ceiling and understood something clearly:
Whatever this was – whatever it became – it was worth going slowly.