Chapter 14 #2
‘That might be the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me. I could pretend to love you without monetary compensation. What every person dreams of hearing.’
‘Well, I’ll be forty in January and I’m currently being paid to be someone’s fake wife, so what does that say about either of us?’
‘That we somehow managed to be in the right place at the right time this December?’
It feels like he’s deliberately repeated those words to hint at an unknown something, although I get the feeling that he doesn’t know what it is either, but I do know that the butterflies I feel around Ollie are nothing to do with monetary compensation.
We lie in comfortable silence for a while, listening to the dying crackle of the fire and the Christmas music still playing, especially when ‘Mull of Kintyre’ comes on and we both sing along, even though I know it’s a song that Ollie usually turns off.
‘I could fall asleep right here, despite the Scottie dog.’ He sounds like he already is half-asleep, and he squirms languidly, like the player piece really is still digging into his hip.
We’re both a bit giggly and I’m filled with a warm flush and a sense of peace that comes solely from being with him.
My fingers are still threaded through his hair, unintentionally covering the scar that runs into his hairline, and my hand is still clasped in his, although it’s resting on his chest now, held tight above his heart.
He nestles closer and exhales, his breathing slowing and his body relaxing like he really is falling asleep, but after a few minutes, he jolts awake and untangles his hand from mine to rub his face.
‘That’s my cue to get up because I’ve got work tomorrow and I am way too old to be sleeping on the floor. ’
He gets to his feet and holds his hand out to pull me up, and we just…
don’t let go. We take our glasses out to the kitchen while still holding hands, and we walk back through the castle turning off lights as we go while still holding hands, and then we walk up the stairs with our joined hands swinging between us, and when we reach the bedroom doors, it’s harder to let go than I imagined it would be.
Every synapse in my body is screaming at me to throw my arms around him, but the kids are asleep in the rooms next door and Nancy is staying in a guest room so she can take them to school in the morning, and I’m not entirely sure it would end at hugging.
His fingers are tangled with mine, squeezing often enough that I don’t think he wants to let go either. We hold eye contact, and it feels like we’re on the precipice of something, but neither of us are brave enough to take the step over the edge.
It would cross a line that neither of us are willing to cross.
We can’t stand here on the landing all night with our hands clutching onto each other’s, so I summon up every ounce of willpower and force myself to take a step back so his fingers fall out of mine, and Ollie looks as disappointed as I feel.
He goes to say something but stops himself, and I whisper a goodnight that comes out sounding strangled, and he bows his head and opens his bedroom door.
I shuffle into my room and sink down on the bed with a sigh. I don’t know what happened tonight, but I do know that I’ve never been in a relationship where it’s that difficult to say goodnight, and this isn’t even a real relationship.
Seconds later, there’s a knock on my bedroom door, so quiet that I think it must surely be one of the kids struggling to sleep, and my heart soars when I open it to see Ollie standing outside.
Without a word, he pulls me into his arms, tighter than I’ve ever been in someone’s arms before, and I let out a whimper of relief at the realisation that he was as desperate to do that as I was.
My arms slide around his shoulders and stroke the short hair at the back of his neck, and he curls around me, wrapping me entirely in his tall body, so tightly that he’s probably cutting off the circulation to my limbs, but none of it matters except being in his arms.
‘Sorry, I needed that,’ he whispers through deep breaths into the crook of my neck, and I can honestly say that I’ve never needed something in my life as much as I needed that hug.
Without losing a millimetre of body contact, he bends his knees until he can lift me up off the floor, hoisting me in his arms and my legs automatically wrap around him and try to claw him impossibly closer.
I lift my head until I can see his face. He doesn’t open his eyes, but I let my fingers trace across the scar on his cheek, and then contort myself until I can press my lips to the scar that runs downwards from his temple, and I feel every inch of the shiver that goes through his body.
He pushes my back against the wall like he’s struggling to stay upright. ‘Now would be a really bad time for my knees to buckle.’
I hold on tightly and revel in his warmth and his strength and how special this makes me feel, and how special it makes me realise he is.
The floorboards are creaking under his feet and his socks are jingling. If Nancy or the kids wake up, we’re going to be caught red-handed, and I should probably drag him inside my room and shut the door, but I’m not sure how it would end, other than in a way it definitely shouldn’t.
When we’ve hugged for longer than two people can feasibly hug, he bends to lower my feet back to the floor and I don’t mean to make a noise of such reluctance but it escapes my mouth involuntarily.
He doesn’t let go. Instead, he stays bending so I can hug him comfortably from my height, and I feel like he’s lingering for as long as possible too.
My fingers curl into his cream and brown boucle fleece jumper, making sure he knows I don’t want him to pull away yet, and his arms loosen enough to let his hands run up and down my back, and we hold on for as long as possible, but eventually I can tell his lower back is protesting the position.
Pulling back is like waking up from a really good dream. My limbs are stiff from being wrapped so tightly around him, and the grin on his face is one of dazed bliss.
‘Goodnight.’ He leans down and kisses my cheek, a brush of his lips and the slow burn of his weekend stubble against my skin, and I can hardly persuade my fingers to unfurl from his soft jumper to let him move away because I feel like my legs might buckle if I try to support my own weight.
He lurches back to his own bedroom door with a smile so blindingly wide that it makes sunshine flare inside me.
‘Goodnight,’ I whisper to the empty hallway after he closes his door, and I float back into my bedroom.
If I live to be a hundred years old, I will never have a hug better than that, and I’m beyond tempted to go through our joined bathroom and steal another one without the worry of getting caught, but I don’t let myself.
We’ve crossed God-only-knows how many lines tonight, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I push myself to remember that he’s still my boss in this situation.
There might be something special about that man, but where can this go?
I sit on the edge of the bed and twist his mum’s ring around on my wedding finger.
If he doesn’t get the promotion, we’ll be living at opposite ends of the country, and if he does, he’ll be leaving here, and I can’t imagine anyone leaving this place and ever being happy again, especially not Ollie.
And a promotion generally means more working hours, so he’ll be even more miserable at work than he is at the moment…
There was nothing pretend about that hug, and I’m not sure how that can ever be a good thing.