Chapter Ten #2
Our conversation over lunch revolves around home and Lucy in particular.
I miss her and the gang so much and his interest in my social life has me on the verge of tears.
To keep my composure intact, I try to change the subject.
“That’s enough about me. I want to find the root of your city phobia.
” His chewing jaw slows and I should have realised then not to continue with this subject.
“It’s just it would be great if you came to meet me for lunch one day. ”
“It is what it is.” He looks at his food, avoiding my gaze.
“I don’t understand, Daniel. All I’m asking is that we—”
He cuts me off mid-sentence. “I can’t go into it, Hannah, okay?
“Oh,” I say without thinking, “Does Sydney remind you too much of your wife?”
The atmosphere suddenly sends an icy shiver through me. “What’s Louise got to do with it?”
Now I feel stupid. “Nothing. I was only trying to get to know you better.”
“Me or Louise?”
“You, but she was part of your life, so I suppose I’m asking about both of you.” There’s silence before I say, “Look, I shouldn’t have asked, I’m sorry.”
“I can’t, Hannah. I can’t do this right now.” Daniel’s fork rattles loudly against his plate when he pushes up from the table. I have no idea what to do. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I was—”
“It doesn’t matter. ”
“Yes, it does. It was wrong of me to put pressure on you,” I say while focusing on my plate.
Daniel sighs, “It’s getting late. We should get back.”
Oh shit. Our time is cut short because my mouth has spoken before my brain has fully engaged.
Is it so wrong of me to ask him questions?
I thought we were trying to build something here.
Perhaps it was just bad timing, but I honestly thought he would want to tell me about his wife; that he would be glad I didn’t ignore her existence.
Oh God, what if I’ve ruined things? What if I’ve pushed him too far? I feel sick to my stomach as I stand from the table and follow him back in the car's direction.
Daniel is behind me as we walk through the woodland.
It’s a good job as I fight back my impending tears.
The imaginary dark cloud looming over him could burst at any moment and cause my internal emotions to break.
Just when I think things are going well, I put my foot in it.
I wish I could go home, and I don’t mean my flat.
I mean, England. It may be dramatic and over the top, but I think it all the same.
When we finally reach the car, Daniel opens the passenger door, holding out his hand for me to enter.
His refusal to look me in the eye only adds to the unease between us.
I know I’ve said the wrong thing and feel awful I’ve uncovered old wounds.
Our drive home is nothing short of uncomfortable.
The heavy silence in the air contributes to an awkward ride home.
I glance over several times, but his focus is fixed on the road ahead.
If he could just open up to me a little, he might find it feels good to release some weight from his shoulders.
After a brief drive, we stop to take in miles and miles of vast mountain range.
In the distance, a stream runs through the middle of the landscape.
A bright blue sky, with sweeping white clouds, caps the scenery in front of us.
It’s beautiful. All thoughts of our difficult conversation have disappeared from my head as I rush to the car and collect my phone.
We have to have a musical moment. Daniel smiles and leans against the bonnet.
He knows what I’m doing and signals to my ear buds. “Can I have one of those?”
It’s a peace offering I’ll accept. “Do you trust my choice?”
His cheeks dimple, “Always.”
I visibly relax, handing him the bud and slowly exhaling a silent breath.
A familiar intro hums through me. U2, Beautiful Day fills our senses with energy and euphoria.
A damn fine choice for this view. I watch Daniel absorb the sound.
His smile releases the last of his tension.
The gloomy atmosphere melts away, and our sorrowful eyes lock.
The music ends, but our smiles remain. Simultaneously, we remove our earbuds and take in the view across the valley.
“I’m sorry.” I hear the regret in his words.
“Me too.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. That was all me.”
“No. It’s none of my business—”
“Shh, Hannah. You have every right to know.” He searches for my hand, then locks his fingers with mine. “Let’s get a blanket from the car. We’re wasting an incredible view.”
We sit opposite one another on the rug. Daniel attempts to be as attentive as possible which is probably out of guilt, but part of me wants to hold him and tell him everything will be okay.
Outwardly, he’s strong and confident, but inside there’s so much hurt and his defences are weak.
We talk about everything and nothing. We avoid all major subjects, and for now, I think that’s best. He’s trying to let me in, little by little, but it’s hard for him.
I understand it will take some time to let another person into his heart.
Back in the cottage, we’re sprawled across the enormous grey sofa, lazing around for the rest of the afternoon watching one of my favourite films, Dirty Dancing.
As a teen, my mum and I would watch it when dad was out.
It was our little ritual, and it also satisfied mum’s huge crush on Patrick Swayze.
I could say that she made me watch it, but I’d be lying.
I loved to watch her old movies from the eighties.
Daniel’s strong male persona gives off an air of, ‘ I couldn’t give a rat’s arse.’ I don’t miss his secret grin, but I’m sure he enjoyed it. As the credits roll, he jumps from the sofa, his eyes all screwed up like peep holes.
“I can’t believe I sat through that.”
I smile up at him. “All men secretly want to be Patrick Swayze.”
“Of course we do. Didn’t you spot my seductive dance moves last weekend? We danced underneath the stars if you remember.”
“How could I forget,” I giggle as I think back to that night.
“And what’s so funny?”
“Nothing at all. Just remembering your moves and how… lovely they were.”
“Lovely? They were my best Swayze inspired moments and all I get is ‘lovely!’”
I’m still in mid-giggle when he tackles me backwards and finds my most sensitive areas. Little by little, he eases himself above me.
“Don’t you dare, Daniel Grant! Patrick would never rugby tackle a woman!
” I playfully slap him and try to push him off, but my laughter has zapped all my energy.
We both stop. I stare into his mesmerising hazel eyes, and he says, “This isn’t rugby, this is Australian rules.
My rules.” Cupping his features with my palms, his lips meet mine as his fingers fan into my hair.
Every moment intensifies our bond, and there’s a familiar tingle through my body.
I want him, I really want him, and I can’t help thinking if he takes this further, I won’t stop it from happening.
I want him inside me so badly, but my lustful wishes meet an abrupt end.
He steps back. “We better stop or we might do something you regret.”
“I don’t care about our stupid agreement anymore.” I’m breathless and flustered and I need him so much. “I wouldn’t regret it one bit.”
He chokes out a laugh and shakes his head. “Oh no. No way! You set the rules. If you don’t like them, tough!” My body slumps back into the sofa with a thump; arms crossed and mouth firmly pouting. It’s clear I’m not happy. Daniel’s smirk, however, tells me a different story.
“Maybe you’ll consider the consequences before you set any more boundaries.”
I realise he won’t budge an inch. I have to admire his staying power, but my pout remains anyway.
“Well, if you won’t break the rules, I’m off for a shower. I could do with cooling down.”
I flick my long hair in his direction. Hot, bothered and slightly embarrassed, I sense he’s about to pounce as he stands from his seat.
I make a run for it and just make it to the bathroom before he reaches out.
Excited panic fills me as I slam and lock the door with breathless giggles.
He calls, “I’ll get you next time, Baby.
” It’s his best Swayze impersonation and a term of endearment I want him to repeat.
Our informal dinner is at eight o’clock and although it’s family only, it’s important I make the right impression.
My favourite outfit will do the trick. I’m wearing a cream A-line summer dress with black edging.
As I own only one pair of decent shoes, my black Jimmy’s will make another appearance.
As I enter the room, his delicious aftershave hits my senses and draws a smile on my lips.
The click of my heels alerts him to my presence, so he stands to greet me while folding his newspaper and throwing it on top of the coffee table.
My internal butterflies circle in a familiar figure of eight.
What a sight for sore eyes he is in his dark blue jeans and navy dress shirt, which is open at the collar.
I’m too busy running my eyes over his body to notice if he’s doing the same to me, but it appears he is.
“Wow. You look beautiful.”
I stop in my tracks. I feel like the luckiest girl in the world.