Chapter 31
WHEN GABI SAID there’s competition and then there’s Fogerty competition, she wasn’t saying that just to warn Adam.
She was also simply stating a fact. So when Adam looks bewildered as we race around the village trying to work out which scenes from Clovedale were shot where and then run back to our team leaders and converse in hurried whispers while shooting death glares at our opponents, I have no sympathy for him.
He was told. If he chose to take Gabi’s words lightly, well that’s on him.
And if he is horrified that I pushed him because he got in my way, that’s also on him.
Whatever is happening between us was put on pause the second we were put on opposing teams. Fogertys play to win and even if the prize is a chocolate bar, we want that chocolate bar.
Aunt Carol, clad in a Mary Poppins T-shirt, tasks me with finding the street corner Alexander stood on as he helplessly watched Clementine get snatched up and forced into a carriage by Elliott’s henchmen as retribution for Alexander’s refusal to take part in stealing the duchess’s diamonds.
I’m pretty sure I saw it when I was on my way back from the market square where Clementine and her family first met that same duchess.
Ignoring my aching feet, I dart around a corner and find myself in a narrow cobblestone street.
Stone buildings cast cool shadows. People hurry past, their arms laden with bags as they stroll in and out of the cute little village shops.
The smell of fresh pastries fills the air and my stomach rumbles as a woman walks past eating a cherry danish, the crisp golden flakes falling to the ground like confetti with each bite.
I notice Adam ahead of me, leaning against a shop window as he talks on his phone.
He’s smiling, talking animatedly in a way I’ve never seen before.
He pushes away from the window of the antique shop, and ambles in my direction, his lips moving quickly.
The phone is back in his pocket when he sees me.
He wraps me up in his arms and I feel the racing thuds of his heart.
‘This game is brutal,’ he says. ‘Not only have you shoved me out of the way, but I’m sure Max deliberately sent me in the wrong direction.’ He kisses my forehead, his stubble rough against my skin.
‘Who were you talking to?’ I ask.
‘Hmm?’
I tilt my head back and blink up at him. ‘On the phone,’ I prompt.
‘Oh, that was nothing.’
Biting on my lip I stare at his chest. At the hammering heart. Is it beating for me or for the phone call? A grain of jealousy settles in my stomach.
‘It didn’t look like nothing.’ I wince at the pathetic tinge in my voice.
A frown crosses Adam’s face and I tense, waiting for the argument or an explanation that doesn’t quite line up.
It’ll niggle at me, burrow under my skin, and wind its way through my veins until I get to the point where I’ll never believe a word he says.
I know this story. I’ve lived this story. I don’t want to live it again.
‘It was my agent,’ he says. ‘She loves my new idea. The one you told me to work on.’
‘Oh.’ That’s all I can force out because now I feel bad. I guess a phone call can just be a phone call.
‘I still have to finish the sequel to The Sleeping Bones, which is fine and I will do that. But she loves this new idea and is convinced we can sell it.’ He lifts my chin up, holding my gaze.
His beautiful blue eyes are bright with an excitement that lights up his entire face. ‘I have you to thank for that.’
‘I didn’t do anything,’ I say.
He shakes his head lightly. ‘You did everything.’ His mouth covers mine in a slow kiss.
His hands drop from my face and find my waist, holding me steady against him.
He walks me backwards until my shoulders graze the cold stone wall.
Bracing a palm over the building’s exterior, he tears his lips away with a strangled laugh.
‘I hate public displays of affection, but—’
‘You kissed me,’ I remind him. My insides have turned to molten lava.
He’s doing a lean in—the quintessential leading man move that renders every leading lady speechless.
He’s the leading man I’ve spent a lifetime waiting for.
It just took a whole bunch of frogs, and a little white lie, to get here.
He flashes me a pointed look. ‘But,’ he says again, his teeth nipping my lip, ‘around you I can’t help myself.’
Before I can wholeheartedly agree with him, his lips are back and I’m melting under the brush of his tongue over mine.
I play with the buttons of his shirt and pop open the bottom one, sliding my fingers along the warm skin of his stomach.
He growls into my mouth and presses into me.
I am so close to climbing up him and wrapping my legs around his waist that not even the rough stones pressing into my back and the shoppers’ stares are enough to deter me from trailing my hand to his belt buckle.
‘Oh my!’ A familiar gasp breaks our bubble, the moment of passion deflates as quickly as a burst balloon.
Adam darts away, and the shocked faces of my parents loom large in front of me.
‘I didn’t mean…we were looking…it’s a lovely day, isn’t it?’ Dad stammers out and runs a hand through his wispy hair as he blinks up into the sun.
My breaths are heavy as I step away from the building and straighten my top, pulling it down to cover a strip of bare skin. My face flushes, a mirror image of the crimson splotches spreading over Dad’s cheeks.
‘Gabi sent us down here,’ Mum says. ‘She said she saw someone who looked like Clementine at a little teahouse but couldn’t say for sure.
Did you see her? Gabi said she was wearing a red dress.
’ She glances down the alley, confusion knitting her brows.
‘Unless she said turn left. We turned right. Did you get the directions wrong, Paul?’
Dad stares down at his feet. ‘No love, she said turn right.’
‘Are you sure? I don’t see a statue and she said to go past the statue and we’ll find her.’ Mum rummages in her bag and pulls out a lipstick. ‘Clementine is not on the checklist but it’s so like Bill to try and pull the wool over our eyes.’
Were I not mortified I would point out to her that she doesn’t know Bill well enough to make that statement.
‘I don’t think there’s a statue here,’ Dad mumbles. ‘Or Clementine.’
Mum cranes her neck, swivelling her head like a curious owl.
‘I swear she said statue. What sounds like statue? Go past the…’ She trails off, turning back to Adam and me.
Mum gasps and grabs Dad’s arm. ‘Paul, this is sabotage. Our team is winning and even though Gabi says she doesn’t want a chocolate bar, she still wants to win.
Well, in any case, I’m not letting my team lose.
Come on.’ She tugs on Dad. ‘And Adam, when you’re decent,’ she says in a stage whisper with a knowing look at me, ‘you need to find the place where Clementine lost her hat and chased it down the hill. Come on, Paul.’
‘We’ll leave you to it,’ Dad mutters and then winces like he’s in visible pain, and I can’t decide who is more embarrassed by the situation. It’s looking like three of us are vying for first place, while Mum is more concerned at Gabi’s sabotage tactics.
They take an eternity to disappear around the corner. The moment they do, I move to Adam and place a tentative hand on his ramrod straight back. He practically jumps at the touch and I let my arm flop back to my side, disappointment weaving its way through me.
‘I’m sorry,’ he mutters.
‘For what?’
His head snaps up. ‘For that,’ he says and waves a hand back to where my parents caught us groping one another. ‘I practically mauled you.’
‘Did you hear me complaining?’
Adam’s lips part as he cocks his head and then he shakes it with a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but this isn’t what I do.’
I take his hand. ‘There’s nothing wrong with what just happened.’
He flashes me a dubious look.
‘There isn’t. It was a kiss. It’s not like we were going to tear each other’s clothes off.’
He sighs again. ‘Until yesterday I had everything under control. Now? I’m like a teenager chasing his hormones.’
I try to force down the kernel of panic rising in my stomach at the deepening lines on his forehead. Does he regret our passion?
He shakes his head. ‘And even though we just got caught by your parents, all I can think about is grabbing you and kissing you senseless.’ His mouth crushes against mine. The kiss is swift. Too swift. He’s shaking his head again. ‘Sabrina Fogerty, what have you done to me?’