Chapter Fifty-Nine
Bess and Charlie greeted us, yawning and stretching.
‘Shall we now have that brandy?’ suggested Dylan.
‘Good idea,’ I agreed. ‘You do the necessary. In the lounge – door straight ahead – there’s a bottle in the cabinet. You’ll find some glasses in there too. I’ll let the dogs out. And then we’ll, er…’ I trailed off.
‘Take our brandies upstairs?’ Dylan raised an eyebrow.
‘Yes,’ I nodded.
Brandy was most definitely required. Not just as a pick-me-up after the earlier hoo-ha, but also for courage – because suddenly I felt horribly nervous.
My hands fluttered over the key to the back door. As I levered down the handle, I was all fingers and thumbs.
The dogs bounced out. A beam of moonlight revealed next door’s cat perched on the fence. Bess gave a territorial woof.
This is my space, not yours.
Charlie scampered over to the fence, all set to give chase. The cat gave him a condescending look. Then, with a flick of its tail – a sort of feline one-fingered salute – it dropped into the adjacent garden.
There then followed a bit of foot tapping on my part, while Bess decided where to have a wee – the usual spot possibly unacceptable now that the grass had died a death. Charlie, possibly by dint of being able to cock a leg rather than curtsy, watered several rosebushes and Greg’s prized hydrangeas.
‘Come!’ I said sternly.
Both dogs scooted back and shot through the open door at the same time. Bess gave Charlie a soft growl, as if to say ladies first, thank you very much.
I locked the door after them. As I turned, I was surprised to see Dylan standing there. He was holding a tumbler in each hand.
‘I didn’t like to presume,’ he said, looking a little awkward. ‘You know… to go upstairs without you.’
I realised he was feeling as nervous as me. I took one of the glasses from him.
‘Cheers,’ I said softly.
Gently, I clinked my tumbler against his, then tossed the drink down my neck. As it travelled down my gullet, it burnt a fiery path. I tried not to cough.
‘All gone,’ I wheezed gamely.
Dylan looked at me in amazement, then did likewise.
I took the glass from him. Put them both in the sink. Emboldened, I gave him a suggestive look. Quite a feat considering I was a woman with a wrecked hairdo, smudged makeup, and a damp dress.
‘You’re very desirable, Maggie,’ whispered Dylan.
‘So are you,’ I quavered.
Awesome, Maggie, said my inner voice. No need for Dylan to shed his clothes because your dull repartee will bore the pants off him. What next? A cup of Horlicks? Or perhaps a game of Scrabble could be part of your foreplay?
I’m feeling panicky, I retorted silently.
Dylan stepped closer.
‘And I also want to tell you’ – he added softly – ‘that I love you.’
My jaw fell open.
‘Do you?’ I gasped, as my heart leapt with joy.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘I do. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages. But I was scared of frightening you off. And I’m in love with you. Desperately so.’ He put his arms around me. Held me tight. ‘Do you… feel the same way?’
And in that moment, I knew I did. That I had done for ages. I’d simply been too afraid of the implications to properly acknowledge it.
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘I feel the same way too.’ I looked up at him under my eyelashes. ‘Although’ – I murmured bravely – ‘I’d much rather show you.’
Dylan’s eyes lit up.
‘Is that so?’ he whispered, as my arms coiled around his neck.
I leant into him. Tilted my head back. Let his lips meet mine. And at last, kiss, after glorious kiss, enfolded. At first, gently. Then, hungrily. And suddenly our hands were going everywhere. Mine feeling the way down his shirt. Undoing buttons. Slipping one hand under the fabric. Thrilling at the touch of soft chest hair. Him, feeling his way around the back of my dress. Me undoing the belt on his trousers. Him, locating the dress’s zipper and peeling me like a banana. All in my kitchen.
Oh God, Maggie. Not here, implored my inner voice. The days of you straddling the table or laying on a cold floor are over. Think of your arthritis.
I unglued my mouth from Dylan’s.
‘Upstairs,’ I said hoarsely.
Down to our undies, we left our clothes in a heap on the tiles. I then took Dylan by the hand and, giggling like teenagers taking advantage of an empty house, we scampered up the staircase.