19. Poundshop King Kong
Chapter nineteen
Poundshop King Kong
‘How is she?’ Greta asked from the opposite side of the kitchen island, dressing gown cinched around her waist, hand poised to press the cafetière plunger.
‘She’s okay…a bit better. We started off in A Dylan was the care package.
Greta shocked herself as her thoughts turned to remedying the situation, rather than running from it.
Despite the speed and intensity, what was happening between them felt so right they’d have to work it out.
Greta braced and waited for the familiar urge to bolt, to close herself off, but it didn't come.
Instead, she stayed right where she was, already mentally rearranging her responsibilities to make space for whatever was next.
An inexplicable pride and excitement swelled inside her as she watched Dylan sorting the food.
She smiled as she moved between the fridge and the wrong cupboards for napkins or crockery, before slapping her hands on her thighs and shrugging at Greta, who would point her in the right direction.
Greta sat at the kitchen island, elbows on the surface, head rested in her hands, watching.
‘What?’ Dylan asked suspiciously while peeling the lid off a tray of sushi.
‘Nothing,’ Greta replied innocently.
‘Why are you staring at me?’ Dylan persisted, sucking soy sauce off the pad of her thumb.
Greta balled her fists under her chin. ‘I’m just watching you, Miss St John.’
‘Well yes, Doctor Vincent, I can see that,’ Dylan replied wryly. ‘But tell me pourquoi!’
‘Come here,’ Greta demanded softly.
With a cute smile on her face, Dylan stopped what she was doing and moved to Greta, pressing herself between her thighs. Reaching up, Greta gently tousled a curl, wrapping it around her finger before carefully laying it back down among the others.
‘I enjoyed today,’ Greta said softly.
‘You enjoyed going to a hospital on your day off from the hospital?’ Dylan quirked a brow. ‘You need to get out more, G, if that’s what you’re doing for shits and gigs.’
‘Nooo…’ Greta stretched, her voice trailing off.
‘I enjoyed being with you. I’m…’ Dylan didn’t try to finish the hesitant sentence or fill the silence.
She just waited. Greta tilted her head, ‘I’m starving, and my gyozas are getting cold, so...
’ She spun Dylan around, playfully smacking her arse twice to the words, ‘Chop! Chop!’ Dylan let out a delighted hum, looking back over one shoulder before theatrically tossing a tea towel over it.
‘Hmm,’ Greta hummed as she swallowed a mouthful of beer.
‘I’ve been meaning to ask, what’s your dissertation subject? ’
‘Oh Jesus,’ Dylan sighed. ‘What dissertation subject?’ She perched on a stool at the corner of the island beside Greta, sliding a bowl of gyoza and ponzu dipping sauce between them along with the sushi.
‘That’s hot Japanese horseradish,’ Dylan added, pointing a finger at the neat green ball of wasabi paste.
‘Yes, thank you, Dylan, my hero,’ Greta said sarcastically with a heavy eye roll.
‘Don’t mistake it for an edamame like I did once. As you can imagine, that didn’t end well,’ Dylan chuckled.
‘Stop deflecting, Miss St John.’ Greta cocked a brow. ‘So, you don’t even have a title?’ She broke her chopsticks apart, giving them a sharp, cursory click test to check they were up to the job.
‘No! Do you?’ Dylan grinned mischievously.
‘Dylan, isn’t it due for submission soon?’