32. Rosy
THIRTY-TWO
ROSY
“Ouch.”
Daisy’s sharp claws dig into my shoulders, pulling my attention back to her.
“That wasn’t nice. I wasn’t ignoring you. I was…well, my mind was wandering. Okay? I’m distracted. You know it; I know it. So you don’t need to savage me to make it obvious,” I mumble at her, feeling flushed as I try to concentrate on unravelling the hose, my thoughts still stuck on last night.
With Nate.
Shit, my face is on fire. It was so… He was just…
I don’t even know how to think about it.
“These feelings are feeling feelings. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do or say, Daisy,” I admit, and it’s good to get some of my thoughts out loud. Even if no one can respond to them.
Her body’s a comforting weight across my shoulders, and I glance at the furry face positioned next to mine. Her feline eyes stare back at me, more aware and understanding than they should be, or perhaps that’s just what I want to see.
“There are going to be a whole load of pieces to pick up if it goes wrong. I don’t know if I can do it all.
One moment the risk feels worth it, when I’m with them, it’s worth it,” I croak out, my throat swollen with the mounting emotions.
“But when I’m alone with my thoughts, the anxiety and doubts creep in.
Plus, if there’s more than just me and Nate, if there’s also Bry and Noah…
the risk is so much higher. There’s potential for a lot more heartache. ”
If something goes wrong, they’ll all still have each other. And I’ll have to go back to the lonely life I had before, but it’ll be worse because I’ll know what it was like to have them in my life.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea; maybe it would be better to just be friends.
Can I even say no to any more nights like last night?
If Nate asks for a repeat, I don’t think I could physically say no. The way he looks at me, the way he touches me…
Plus, when he rubbed himself into me afterwards.
Totally regretting the shower I took this morning.
I’m warm and achy just thinking about him. I’ve no idea how, though, because even on my own, I’ve never achieved two…I can just about manage one. But my body heats just thinking about it, getting ready for him to give me another…
I cover my face and berate myself.
It’s just a word.
Why am I so awkward about it? I can say it. It’s just a stupid word. People have them.
I can say it.
Then do it.
No. Yes. No. Yes.
“Orgasm!” Shitballs! That came out louder than I thought it would.
“Rosy?”
I screech and spin around. Daisy’s claws sink into my shoulders to cling on, and my shriek goes an octave higher.
“Noah! Sorry, you scared me. What are you doing here?” I scramble to rein in the flustered panic, my voice coming out way too high. Is it obvious that I was recalling all the dirty words Nate uttered to me last night? That he sucked on my clit until I came all over his face?
Well, if he didn’t suspect something before, he must now, because my entire body is flushed and on fire.
“I thought I’d come visit, see if there’s anything I can help with. But I see you’re already having an important conversation with your companion…” He trails off, eyes twinkling with mirth as a smile stretches across his face.
“No, you're mistaken.” I brush away some dirt from my sleeve, refusing to look at his beautiful, knowing face any longer. “We were just working in silence, not saying anything at all. But it can be windy here. Sometimes you think you can hear something, but it’s just the wind.”
It’s such a terrible lie. Neither of us believe it, but he apparently decides to take pity on me.
“I’m not sure how much help I can be, but if you need an extra pair of hands, then I’m at your disposal,” he advises, stepping in closer and offering a hand for Daisy to sniff, before he gently scratches under her chin.
Her purr vibrates through me, and I struggle not to scowl at her as a touch of jealousy worms its way through me.
If I thrust my chin up too, will he brush his fingers against my skin?
“I’m about to start cleaning the water troughs and buckets, so I’m not sure if you want to help with that?
” I ask, unable to imagine the normally smartly dressed teacher, elbow-deep in a trough, scrubbing it within an inch of his life.
At the thought, my eyes drop to his current attire.
It’s…unexpected. Instead of pressed trousers or chinos, he’s donned a pair of well-worn jeans with trainers, and he’s swapped his fitted shirt for a sweatshirt.
To him, it may be casual, but he still manages to wear it with such easy confidence.
He’s comfortable in his own skin, I realise. That’s what it is. He’s a person who’s completely at ease with himself, and everything about him confirms that. What must it be like?
It’s the steady, unrelenting confidence that draws me to him. Maybe if I can just be around him long enough, to bask in him, then perhaps it will rub off on me too.
“Cleaning buckets. I think I can manage that.” He grins, and I snicker at his enthusiasm, wondering how long it’ll last.
Unsurprisingly, he’s not quit and given up, nor has he complained once. We’re three troughs in, and he’s still by my side helping me.
“But do you really think it could’ve been Clarissa who planted it? I just can’t see how she would’ve got to their house to do it all without being missed,” I grunt as I scrub the inside corners, ignoring the way the dirty water splashes up my arm.
We’ve been talking through the book we’ve been reading and listening to together. There’s not been a single moment of awkward silence or stilted conversation. It’s just an easy rhythm we’ve fallen into, where he follows my actions and works just as hard.
“That’s true, but what if she did it earlier? Or she could’ve paid someone to do it. She’s got the motive and drive to have done it. Although…” He pauses, concentration fixed on a particularly stubborn area.
I freeze, brush held immobile, eager to hear what his thoughts are.
“Although…?” I prompt impatiently, resisting the urge to huff and pout.
He stops, glancing up to stare at me. “What if none of it happened? What if everyone’s right, and it’s all a figment of her imagination?”
My mouth falls open, closing before opening again.
“Firstly, I think we should have her back in this. Everyone, even her husband, is against her. So as readers, we should at least be open-minded for her. Secondly, that would make for a really cruel story. All of this guessing and mind manipulation…for it to all be for nothing?”
His eyes crinkle at the corners, and his mouth lifts into a grin.
Is he mocking me?
Sure, I can get invested in characters' lives…but they can feel so real, so tangible sometimes.
“You’re right, we need to stay open-minded and see what happens. Have you thought about what you want to pick for us next?” he asks, rinsing his brush out in the clean water bucket.
Ducking my head, I hide my smile. “I have, and it’s a surprise. Do you have any content triggers?”
He stops scrubbing again, but I keep my head down, focused on my movements so I don’t catch his expression. “Triggers?”
“Yeah, any triggers I need to know to avoid for our next book?”
At his silence, I look up and can’t stop the laughter that escapes me. An unsure Noah is not something I’d thought I’d see.
“Most books I read have a content warning page for any possible triggers. So you could read it first and then let me know if you want me to choose something different.”
He clears his throat. “I know about content warnings; you just caught me off-guard by asking about them. It piqued my interest for what you’re picking for us, but admittedly, I’m looking forward to the surprise too.
To answer your question: no, I don’t have any triggers.
” He smiles, and my heart clenches, then speeds off, pounding a loud, uncontrollable rhythm.
My heart’s still beating far too quickly, but it’s mixed with a contented feeling as his fingers brush gently back and forth over the skin of my arm.
With the remaining trough now clean, we’re leaning over the fence together, waiting for the last one to finish filling up with fresh water.
His arms are crossed in a way so he can lean but also have access to my arm; his focus is out on the field as we stand quietly.
“Can you tell me a bit about your nan?” he asks, breaking the easy silence between us.
It always hits like a sucker punch when I let my thoughts trail to her. I’m not sure at what point grief is supposed to ease into something less painful…I’m still waiting for it.
Taking a moment, I attempt to add strength to block the ever-present agony as I try to find words to sum up the woman who was the centrepiece for most of my life.
“She was light and carefree, but always steadfast.” I smile, but it feels wobbly.
“She was a little feisty, and she always tried to instil some of it in me too. Always telling me that I needed to go after what I wanted, that I shouldn’t care what people would think or not think.
This is coming from a person who would stop a stranger in the street to compliment their smile, who would wear a flower crown to the supermarket because she wanted to, or would give chocolate to a person she’d never met before because she thought they looked sad. ”
I don’t hold back the smile that breaks through as each memory fills me with warmth. It feels like forever since I’ve spoken about her out loud. Mostly, the thoughts remain internalised. But saying them out loud, painting a picture of who she was, makes it lighter.
“She laughed a lot. Sometimes it’s like I can still hear it. She’d find the laughter in everything, and you couldn’t help but join her. You could be so frustrated or annoyed, but it would all disappear as her infectious laugh would pull you along too.”
His soft fingers keep up their rhythm, keeping me grounded through the barrage of memories.
“She sounds captivating. Perhaps that’s why Maxi calls to you? He can be infuriating at times, but he’s infectious too. It’s hard to be annoyed when he’s around.” He nudges me.
“Maybe? It would make sense, I guess. It’s all too easy to get lost in the seriousness of life, to miss out on having fun and enjoying it. She would definitely tell me off for that a lot, but I think it was mainly her worry for me.”
He chuckles. “I think it’s natural to worry for our loved ones. We always want happiness for them.”
“She’d never wait for happiness; she would just go out and make it happen,” I whisper wistfully, feeling the regret that I can’t just be more like her.
“What’s holding you back?” His tone’s gentle, almost coaxing, and it’s reassuringly absent of judgement.
“Fear, I guess. Fear of putting myself out there, fear of doing something wrong, fear of losing everything…the list could go on,” I huff, a choked laugh following my words.
It sounds pathetic out loud. I know everyone has to make the same decisions and choices in life. We all have to decide whether we choose to live, to take a chance, or to shelter ourselves away in what we know is safe.
So why can’t I shake off the fear and take the leap, like so many other people in the world do?
What makes me so different that I end up paralysed, teetering on the edge?
“Fear is a tricky thing, and as humans, I think we’re ingrained with the need to survive.
It can be hard to shake that fear and trust something won’t hurt.
But I also think we can put pressure on ourselves and end up lost in the idea of what we should and shouldn’t be feeling, what we should and shouldn’t be achieving.
When you take that pressure off, sometimes you notice the leap isn’t as big as you first feared. Instead, it’s just a step.”
His fingers find mine, intertwining us together as our arms stay looped over the fence.
The silence stretches as his words swim around my mind.
Is that what I’m doing? Building everything up so much that the leap…the risk…seems so much bigger than it is?
“You know, you might need to be the one who decides to take it, but you also don’t have to take that step alone,” he adds after a while, pulling me back from my thoughts as he turns, tugging me so we face one another.
Optimism doesn’t feel as natural as focusing on everything that could go wrong. It’s easier to forecast the bad and be prepared for that. But maybe I can try to take a step forward, to take something for myself, to create a slice of happiness and enjoy it.
So I do.
I step forward, closer to the beautifully understanding man in front of me. His hand untangles from mine, then trails along the line of my cheekbone.
“Okay,” I murmur into the short space between us.
His smile catches the air in my lungs. With the way the sun’s slowly descending to the side of us, it highlights and frames his features: the angle of his jaw, the smattering of stubble, the green in his eyes.
His hand cups my nape gently, and his mouth drops to mine, lingering wordlessly as we share the same breath. His lips brush back and forth against mine, then he presses in and kisses me with a confidence that seeps into my body, filtering through my every limb and cell.
My arms reach up of their own accord, wrapping around his neck as I rise on my tiptoes and press my body into him.
His tongue, warm and soft, strokes across the seam of my lips; they fall open, my body in tune with his as his tongue slides across mine.
Clutching me to him, he guides the kiss, coaxing and erasing the last note of hesitation I had.
I want this with him. With them.
I know this doesn’t mean I won't have any doubts, any anxious moments of panic and worry. But I need to remember this, remember what it’s like to take that step and the taste of happiness as Noah’s tongue licks against mine.