Chapter 16 #3
Our eyes meet across the table. For a moment, I glimpse an alternate reality – one where I stayed, where this is our kitchen, our child, our life together.
The thought sits in my chest like a warm stone, heavy but not unpleasant.
‘I like your house,’ I say, desperate to break the moment. ‘It’s lovely.’
‘Dad did most of it,’ Maisie volunteers. ‘The floors and the painting and the fireplace. Mum picked the colours, though. She liked blue.’
I glance at Kit. His expression gives nothing away as he butters his toast.
‘Blue is a good choice,’ I say finally. ‘It’s calming.’
‘That’s what Mum said too.’ Maisie seems pleased by the agreement. ‘Dad wanted everything white but Mum said that was boring.’
‘Your mum was right,’ I tell her, earning a mock-offended look from Kit.
‘White is classic,’ he defends himself. ‘Timeless.’
‘Boring,’ I echo, grinning when he narrows his eyes at me. ‘Is that why your bedroom is white?’
Maisie nibbles on her lip, gaze dropping down to the table for a moment. ‘No, he did that after Mum died. It was pink before.’
My throat is suddenly thick.
‘Maisie,’ Kit interrupts, ‘didn’t you want to get your shell collection ready to show Isla?’
‘Oh yeah!’ She jumps up from her half-eaten dinner. ‘I’ll be right back.’
She thunders up the stairs, leaving a sudden silence in her wake.
I take a sip of tea, hyperaware of Kit across the table, of the weight of his gaze on me.
‘She’s wonderful,’ I tell him honestly. ‘You’ve done an amazing job with her, Kit.’
Something softens in his expression. ‘Jessica did most of the hard work. I’m just trying not to mess it up.’
‘I doubt that’s possible.’ I hesitate, then add, ‘She told me about the gala last night too. At the pub. She’s very excited about it.’
‘It’s a big deal around here. Main fundraiser for the RNLI, and this year they want to focus on the lighthouse.’ He studies me over the rim of his coffee mug. ‘You should come. If you’re still here.’
‘I thought you were counting the days until I leave.’
‘I thought I was too.’ His voice is low, his eyes never leaving mine. ‘But then—’
A loud bang from the upper floor reminds me his daughter is just up there, innocently collecting shells for me to look at.
‘I’ll help clear up, if you’re finished,’ I offer, standing to gather up the plates. My appetite has gone, drained out like the low tide.
‘Leave it,’ Kit says, but I’m already grabbing our plates, my unsteady hands chinking them together and turning to take them to the sink, turning on the water.
‘Least I can do for the chef,’ I tell him, my back to the room as I rinse. ‘The peas really were delicious.’
I sense rather than hear him move, and then he’s behind me, close enough that I can feel the heat of him, smell the clean scent of his soap. My pulse jumps, my hands stilling under the running water.
‘Isla,’ he says, but he’s not just saying my name. He’s breathing it.
I turn, and find myself trapped between the sink and Kit’s body, mere inches separating us. His eyes are dark, intent, searching my face for something I’m not sure I know how to give him, because I don’t know what it is.
‘Kit?’ I whisper.
And then his hand is cupping my cheek, and he’s leaning in, and his mouth is on mine.
The kiss is a shock to my system – electric and familiar.
His lips are warm and sure, not asking but claiming, as if he’s made up his mind about something important.
I freeze for a heartbeat, stunned, and then I’m kissing him back, my wet hands clutching the edge of the sink behind me to keep from reaching for him.
It’s not a gentle kiss. It’s thorough and deliberate, his tongue sweeping against mine with a confidence that makes my knees weak. He tastes like coffee and certainty. My entire body lights up like a struck match, desire pooling hot and insistent in my core.
Just as suddenly as it began, it’s over. Kit pulls back, his thumb brushing once across my lower lip as if memorising its shape. His eyes hold mine for one breathless moment, and I see in them the same dazed hunger I have coursing through my own body.
Then he simply turns and goes back to the stove, picking up a dish towel as if nothing happened. As if he didn’t just kiss me senseless against his kitchen sink. As if my entire world hasn’t just tilted on its axis.
‘Dad!’ Maisie’s voice precedes her arrival. ‘I can’t find the big shell, the one that sounds like the ocean!’
‘Top shelf of your bookcase,’ Kit replies, his voice impressively steady. ‘In the blue box.’
‘Oh! Right!’ She dashes back upstairs.
I stand frozen, heart pounding, lips tingling, fingers raised to my mouth.
Kit glances over his shoulder at me, and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile that sends tingles racing through every cell in my body. ‘Cold fish?’
My heart is snagged on my ribs, aching. ‘No. No cold fish.’ I press my fingers to my mouth again.
‘You okay there, Quinn?’ he asks.
‘You kissed me.’ I touch my lips with my fingertips like I’m trying to capture the ghost of the kiss. ‘Properly.’
‘I did.’
‘What happens now?’
He shrugs. ‘I’m hoping you tell me.’