Chapter 14
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
IAIN
Maisie Moss
I’m sorry in advance for what you’re about to walk in to.
Iain wasn’t surprised in the slightest, when he powered his way up the hill to Ms Vera’s house, to see disco lights in her front window illuminating the room inside with every colour under the sun. He’d left Ted at home after an hour-long walk, which appeared to be a good idea when he spotted the beast of a black cat perched on one of the bedroom windowsills above.
He’d chanced the weather and walked twenty minutes across town, suspecting that the parking situation on Ms Vera’s narrow street would be difficult with the number of elderly guests arriving. He was right. And as he creaked open the garden gate, he saw the living room filled with swaying ceramic hips and replaced knees. Half of them must have forgotten their hearing aids because the music reached him even out here.
At least he could count on Maisie being in there somewhere for some sane company, most likely dancing along to Earth, Wind & Fire. Plus, they had their plan to enact. The one he didn’t know why he’d agreed to so quickly. As soon as the wolves started circling, he would need her with him in there.
There was no point in knocking on the door when he wouldn’t be heard, and it opened right into the heart of the party.
“Iain!” Ronnie threw his arms in the air and shimmied around the crowd towards him in perfect time to the boogie song bouncing off the walls.
“ Su’mai , Ron. Where’s the birthday girl?”
“She’s with our Maisie in the kitchen. Grabbing more drinks, I think.”
“Right …” Iain didn’t expect that he might have to chaperone a room full of people twice his age tonight, half of which he was sure were already two sheets to the wind, inhibitions seemingly having flown out of the window.
Ronnie threw him a smirk. “I hear congratulations are in order.”
“How’s that?” he asked, making sure his boots were dry on the welcome mat.
“You and Maisie.” Ronnie mimed punching his shoulder, and Iain blew out a scrap of a chuckle.
Ah shit. Was that what Maisie’s cryptic text at lunch had been about?
He glanced around the packed-out room to search for her, recognising several of the hiking troupe and their husbands and wives as plus ones instead. “Thanks,” he said for the sake of saying something. “I’m going to go find her.”
“Right on.” Ronnie patted him on the back, leaning in to say, “And heads up, I think you’ll be impressed tonight.” Yet more code for Iain to decipher.
He moved through towards the kitchen, saying hello to everyone who stopped him on the way, before coming to a dead stop in the doorway.
“Fuck me,” he muttered to himself, gaze zeroed in on Maisie arranging drinking glasses on the counter.
“Oh, you’re here!”
Iain swallowed down the lump clamming his vocal cords that reminded him he was a hot-blooded man who’d had little company besides his dog for months on end.
Maisie drifted through the kitchen and threw his system out of whack with a simple kiss on his cheek in greeting. That was new – one of her plays in this fake dating situation, maybe. He’d neatened up his beard specially for tonight, which meant he felt that press of her full lips so much more distinctly.
The voice of Tom Jones, a great Welsh legend, sang from the speakers in the living room, but his attention was only on Maisie. She’s a Lady, indeed. Her yellow dress wrapped around her flawlessly, showing off her legs below the knee and some thick, freckled thigh where the skirt split.
Jesus Christ. He’d been certain that he could do this, play the fake-dating game to get the pensioners off their tails, but one breath of Maisie’s perfume tonight and Iain wasn’t so sure. He was so used to the sweaty, post-hike scent of her that his perception of the world tilted. He didn’t know what scent it was, but he wouldn’t ever forget it.
“Where’s Vera?” his dumb tongue asked instead of greeting her.
Maisie blinked, her big eyes made even bigger by that black stuff women brush onto their lashes, body still for a moment until her mouth lifted into a welcoming smile. “She’s getting another wine bottle from outside. She called the weather tonight ‘nature’s chiller cabinet’.”
“She’s right.”
Iain was sure that if his cheeks weren’t at least a little pink from how so much of Maisie’s chest, painted with thousands of light freckles like stars, was framed perfectly by the amber fabric in a perfect ‘V’, then they would be from the bite in the wind outside. He’d worn a dusty blue shacket over a cream speckled jumper, but the layers hadn’t been enough on his walk.
His blood didn’t need the insulation anymore.
“Who hosts a birthday party on a Wednesday?” Maisie chuckled, her focus wandering to his clothes instead of his flustered reaction, to Iain’s relief.
“Retirees who don’t have to get up to work at seven a.m.?”
The door to the courtyard burst open.
Maisie spun. “Jesus, Nain , how many bottles?”
“It’s a party, Moo Moo,” Vera countered. “We may be old, but we’ve been cutting rugs since before you were even a thought in your father’s wandering bits and pieces.”
This woman. Iain laughed, which drew Vera’s eyes up to him and broke out a grin on her face. He wished that when he was old, he could be just like her in the way she didn’t give two fucks about her age. She offhanded the three bottles of wine she’d cradled with the use of her cast to Maisie, who managed to catch them, and dashed across the kitchen for him instead.
“Iain dear! I’m so glad you’re here with us.”
“ Pen-blwydd hapus, Vera,? * ” he said.
“ Diolch yn fawr iawn, Iain.? * ”
“ Croeso .? * ” Iain offered out the gift bag that hung from his fingertips and caught Maisie peeking around her nain’s shoulder. It’d have been rude not to have brought something when for his last birthday he’d been given a far too generous voucher for an outdoor clothing shop.
Vera pressed her palm to her rosy cheek. “Oh, lovely, you didn’t have to.”
Iain’s hands retreated to the pockets of his nicer looking black chinos. “It’s not much.”
Tearing through some tissue paper, Vera unfolded the wavy patterned scarf in various shades of cream, rose, and a pale brown. He should’ve been watching her reaction, but he couldn’t quite drag his focus away from Maisie: the softening of her eyes, the flick of a smile widening her lips.
“It’s beautiful,” Vera gushed, feeling over the soft interwoven yarn. “Where did you find it?”
“Just a local crochet … person,” he said. “No one you’d know.”
“ Diolch , Iain. You didn’t have to.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Now—” Vera gave him a look that meant business. “We’ve heard all about how you asked our Maisie here out for a date.”
His eyes slid to Maisie’s as she rolled her lips together. Two little white bows held her wild red curls away from her face and made her look entirely too innocent in this scheme.
“Have you now?” he said whilst locked on her. Even he didn’t know how he’d ‘asked’ Maisie out, so he was intrigued to hear it. They hadn’t talked over a story – which was probably a mistake – and it appeared that Maisie had shoved him off a cliff by not telling him that she’d made something up.
“Yes!” Vera answered and lightly swatted his chest with her good hand. “Who knew you were such a romantic, Iain?”
“Romantic …” he repeated slowly, watching Maisie smile like a goddamn Cheshire cat.
What the hell had she done? Knowing that he’d need to have a word with her soon enough, he shifted one step to her side, running his fingertips down her forearm to her wrist.
Vera sighed dreamily, oblivious to the way he’d made Maisie’s breath hitch. “The roses sounded so lovely.”
“The roses.” That was the first Iain had heard of them. “Would you excuse us for a moment?” he asked Vera but didn’t wait for an answer. His grip tightened on Maisie’s wrist. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to drag her along with him.
There was absolutely nowhere to hide except for outside in the dark and cold. The paving stones of the tiny courtyard smelled like this afternoon’s rain as Iain moved over beneath the string lights, shifting his feet to face Maisie.
He looked her square in the eye. “Roses?”
Maisie shrugged. “I had to get the rumour mill churning.”
“By making up that I gave you roses?”
“You knocked on my door with flowers and chocolate and gave a little speech about how much you liked me and wanted the chance to take me out somewhere, actually.”
Iain stepped in closer, fingers pulsing around her wrist. “I did, did I?”
“You were extremely convincing.”
“Hm. You’re trouble, Daffy.”
Maisie’s brow puckered in offence. “Did you just call me daft?”
“No.”
“It sure sounded like?—”
“Your dress,” he said. “It’s yellow.”
She swiftly glanced down at herself. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Iain cocked his head, unable to stop his gaze from wandering down her neck and the curves of her chest to where a knot held the dress together at the side of her waist. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
* ? Happy Birthday, Vera
* ? Thank you so much, Iain
* ? You’re welcome