Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
IAIN
Maisie Moss
I’ll meet you in reception. 10 Minutes
Iain Howell
Already here.
Iain tapped his foot, waiting. Sat in a black, cracked leather chair in the reception of their hotel for the night. Separate rooms, thankfully.
He hadn’t packed for a night out, and in truth he felt ten years too old for one, which explained why his attire consisted of a chequered grey fleece, boring brown jumper, and black jeans. Granted, he edged closer to thirty-six each day, but his mundane life of introversion made him feel double that. His body clock protested to not being spread out on his sofa with Ted snoring between his legs right now.
Long gone were his partying days. One of the first things he’d done when he’d moved out of the farm was drown in his new freedom: clubs, women, late nights, and later mornings. Doing all the things he’d been chained to stay away from.
He’d forgotten what it was like to be young, excited by simple things. Which is why he’d said yes to stepping out tonight. That, and how he didn’t want Maisie travelling between their hotel and wherever her friends were taking them by herself. Being with her was better than sitting alone in his hotel room all evening. Besides, he wanted to know the people that Maisie so desperately wanted to get home to. If he did, then maybe he could understand why she wanted to leave the ocean that was on her doorstep for sky rises and smoggy air.
His phone buzzed with an update from Malc.
Malc
Ted has been fed, watered and walked. Sleeping on my wife’s fancy cushions (I’ve been wanting rid of them for years, so I’m leaving him be). No need to worry. Enjoy your night.
Malc even attached a photo of Ted’s wiry brown and grey body sprawled out across the fancy cushions. Iain fired off a quick ‘thank you’ in response.
A ding announced the arrival of the lift before the metallic doors scraped open. Maisie peeked out, scanning the lobby for him as she revealed herself.
If air was essential, then it was only a concept to Iain’s lungs. He didn’t know how he’d convinced his brain to believe that this woman right in front of him wasn’t what he wanted in his life. His chest filled as he watched her worriedly search for him in every corner. The full feeling wasn’t new – he’d felt it before in small increments, but never as strongly as this.
And he didn’t try to force it away.
It’ll pass, he kept on telling himself. It’ll pass.
The seconds Iain had in his hidden corner of the reception, seated between a fake potted tree and a wall-height glass window, weren’t long enough. Their gazes caught and he stood, drawn to Maisie’s red-lipped smile like a dog to a fucking bone.
“You didn’t have to hide,” she japed, sweeping aside one of the loose curls that framed her face with the back of her finger.
Iain took a glance at all of her features, trying to capture every one as quickly as he could. “Daffy, you look … beautiful.”
Maisie blushed under the compliment, turning shy like when they’d first met. Iain wouldn’t have any of that – no belief that she wasn’t deserving of admiration. And damn it he was admiring.
Her dress … well it was really something: the V-cut and the slit in the skirt, the shoulder cutouts in the long sleeves that showed off her freckled arms – it all added up to show her off.
The boy on reception let his eyes roam over Maisie too, and Iain sent him a scowl.
“Um … well, this is new,” she told him, passing her palm down the dark-emerald, silky fabric of her dress that shaped around her soft curves. “ Nain bought it for me before her birthday party. She wanted me to wear it that night, but I thought it was too immodest for a seventy-first birthday party.”
Good. Iain was glad she hadn’t worn it, because he might’ve spontaneously combusted that night and scrapped every fledgling agreement they’d made, doubled back on his word, and skipped the fakeness to this plan of theirs entirely if she had.
She was bold and she was bright, and she was beautiful.
And her green earrings were discretely shaped like a figure that wasn’t unlike her own.
“I wasn’t just talking about the dress,” he said, realising how prominently the freckles stood out on her face in this warmer hotel light. How many did she have? Hundreds? Thousands? A pattern so uniquely hers that nothing in the world could ever replicate – things he shouldn’t be noticing.
Maisie’s lips fell apart as she blinked up at him, her heels bringing her still nowhere near to his height.
“Oh …” she breathed.
Oh , indeed. More than anything, Iain wanted her to change her mind about joining her friends, lead him back upstairs to her room, and let him show her just how gorgeous she was. He wanted it so overwhelmingly it made him jittery.
But she was like priceless art: untouchable . It didn’t go against the grain of his unavailability for commitment to recognise that.
Iain reminded himself to not get too close. To stay back from the line of getting attached before feelings crept up behind him and pushed him into the tracks of the runaway train.
He offered her his arm. “Shall we go?”
With a smile, Maisie curled her hand into the crook, her jacket folded in her other grasp with her purse. Iain was acutely aware how scruffy he looked next to her, but if she didn’t care then neither did he.
Iain couldn’t say when the last time he’d stepped foot inside a built-up city centre was. He’d rather stick a needle in his eye than get caught up in the fast-paced slog where manners were replaced for impatience. There wasn’t much that he was content with in his life, but he was happy where he lived a stone’s throw from the open air and the rolling sea, where tourist season was the only qualm he had to contend with.
They followed the map on Maisie’s phone for fifteen minutes, wandering the twists and turns of the inner-city streets to the speakeasy-style bar.
“Is this anything like the jazz club you go to in London?” he asked, stepping under red and gold lights that bounced off of dark-burgundy walls.
Maisie slipped her hand from his arm, and Iain wanted to grab it and put it back.
“Not really,” she said, leading the way into the bar. “But it does make me feel like I’m back home.”
For a Saturday night, the place was busy. Music played through speakers in the background whilst the live band got their instruments ready. Maisie found her friends gathered at a sofa arrangement around a table, and Faye jumped to her feet first, wearing a tight black number that her boyfriend raked his eyes over. Sienna, the one who’d sized him up for a meal, rose dressed in wide black trousers and a scarlet blouse, spirals of hair loose around her shoulders. Her flirting at the bakery had been upfront, which appeased the long forgotten jockish ego within Iain, though the way it made Maisie uncomfortable had been even more obvious to him, even from a glance.
He didn’t know what was going on between the warring chemicals in his body, but the overriding signal was clear.
Maisie.
His mind went quiet with her.
The pit in his stomach was weightless with her.
The rough oceans that broke in waves around him settled with her .
She didn’t ask anything of him that he couldn’t give. Which is why he couldn’t stay away. He didn’t deny those feelings to take form when he should, and he felt like an unfed hound ready to snap at anyone who dared to look at her, especially being out with her tonight.
Shit . This wasn’t good.
The ladies cornered themselves together on one sofa, leaving Iain to take the half beside Bash. Bash – what kind of name was that? A nickname, surely.
He set his sights on ordering a beer whilst the others picked apart the cocktail menu.
The minutes of conversation – most of which he sat by idly for – blended together. Iain gathered that Sienna was an upscale florist, Bash’s name was actually Sébastien, and his business partner was manning the fort of their interior design offices over in London. He noticed too how Sienna’s dark lips curled at the mention of that partner’s name before she wiped that expression away.
It didn’t take much convincing for the girls to persuade each other onto the small dance floor as the ragtime band played a more vibrant number, leaving Iain with the man who’d given him a protective eye for an hour. None of them asked any questions about how he and Maisie had met, so it didn’t take a genius to see they already knew about their agreement.
Iain watched her dance some kind of hop that was full of heart and laughter more than technique.
“How long have you known Maisie?” he asked Bash to break the ice, knowing full well the man had something on his mind he wanted to say.
“Just over eleven years.” Bash’s pale eyes didn’t stray from his girlfriend as others joined the floor. “She was Faye’s flatmate at university when I met her.” Iain tipped his head in acknowledgement, swiping back and forth at the condensation rolling down his glass. “We’re good friends. All of us – we have her back.”
Iain heard the warning amongst the sentiment. Though he didn’t need it. He wasn’t going to break her heart.
“Then she’s lucky to have you.”
Leather shifted, and in the corner of his eye Bash angled more towards him. He wasn’t intimidated in the least. Bigger, bulkier, and more formidable men than this one beside him brought him to his knees on the rugby field, and even then he didn’t go down without a fight.
“I wouldn’t be being a good friend if I didn’t ask you what your deal was,” Bash said, his voice firm yet hushed, as if the women he hid it from had any chance of hearing him when they were right next to the band.
“I expect so.”
“I’ve heard what’s happening.” So the plan was common knowledge then. “You two have this fake dating thing going on, but I’m telling you now not to play any games with Maisie.”
Bash’s warning was aimed the wrong way when it was Maisie who’d started this ‘thing’. Iain had seen the value in it for himself and just played along. But he respected the warning for what it was: reassurance that someone was looking out for her.
Meeting Bash’s eye, he said, “Maisie makes her own choices. She doesn’t need to be protected.”
“No. But you might if I hear that you’ve messed with her.” Bash speared him with a no-nonsense look. “Every time a man lets her down, we’ve all been there to pick up the pieces. I don’t really want to have to drive all the way to Wales – leaving my girlfriend – to do that. But I will if I have to.”
The sharp-edged sword wasn’t necessary. Iain wasn’t a boyfriend or lover to be given the best friend speech. Not to Maisie. Not to anyone.
“There’s no game,” he promised, and the intense scold in the other man’s eyes retreated an inch. “We have an agreement. One that benefits us both.”
“So long as we understand one another.” Taking his word for it, Bash reclined into the deep-red, studded leather like he had been when it wasn’t just the two of them.
Iain nodded with a sense as though he’d sealed his fate.
When he turned his eyes back to the tiny dance floor, Maisie barely danced more than a shuffle which looked painful to do in the only pair of blocky heels he’d ever seen her wear. Her gaze was riddled with uncertainty, focussed upon the two of them here on this sofa as if she’d tried to read their lips.
The band eventually ended their piece, earning applause, and transitioned into another that was cosier, like blues.
The grinning trio swished their way back to their table and grabbed at the drinks they’d left behind, all with indulgent, swept-off-their-feet smiles, except for Maisie’s; Iain knew her well enough to tell which was her real and her put-on smile, the subtle difference in the brightness of her eyes. She watched him above the sugared rim of her mojito glass, and he had the urge to tell her that nothing had happened – ease whatever worrying thoughts were streaming through her mind.
“Why do you two look so serious?” Faye asked, sipping something icy and red through a straw.
“Iain’s been telling me about his work,” Bash answered, which confirmed Iain’s suspicion that all those warnings had been from the heart. Why lie otherwise?
“Really?” Maisie cut in, perplexed. She should know it was a lie – he hated talking about his job, and she knew it.
Iain shrugged and raised his beer to his lips to dodge any answer. Her eyes though, never believed him.
They relaxed down into chatter, and twenty minutes later the girls eyed the dance floor again. When Iain returned from the bathroom, Sienna had already disappeared.
Faye reached for her boyfriend’s hand, pulling him out of his seat with ease. “You haven’t danced with me.”
Bash stood, a cocky smile on his face. “Well then let’s rectify that.”
They both grinned secret grins with unspoken meanings and swayed their way past Iain into the throng on the dance floor.
He sat back down in the space he hadn’t vacated except for the bar or bathroom all night, only Maisie left across from him. “Where’s your other friend?”
“Flirting with some guy at the bar,” she said, eyeing the emptiness of her glass except for a mint leaf before shifting her attention to him.
It was the first moment they’d had alone together since the walk here, and Maisie didn’t beat around the bush. “What were you two really talking about earlier?”
Iain exhaled and gave little thought to lying. “Your friend was giving me the third degree.”
“Oh.” Maisie’s cheeks flushed. “Yeah, Bash is quite protective of us all.”
“He thinks I’m going to break your heart.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.” Iain’s fist found itself wanting to meet the men who had hurt her before. “But maybe I’ll be the one to break yours,” she said smoothly, toying with her drink.
Those were the wrong words. They flipped a switch inside Iain’s veins that made his fingers curl into his palm. No woman was going to get to break his heart again. How could they when in eighteen months he hadn’t put its hundreds of shattered pieces back together?
His eyes were dead set on hers, his heart aching as it punched on his ribs. “There’s not enough solder in Wales that could fix what mine has been through.”
“You mean with your ex?”
Iain shook his head slowly. “Not just that.”
“Then what?” Maisie pressed.
Things that he didn’t want to darken her sunshine world with.
He leaned over his knees and clasped his hands, defensiveness marring his tone. “This isn’t real , Daffy. We don’t have to spill our darkest secrets.”
He didn’t know what he was frustrated with. With her. With himself. With the warm feelings she brought out in him that he wanted to shove back down with his boot. She hadn’t been aware of what she’d reminded him of, that walking away from his future wife wasn’t the thing to have broken him first.
He couldn’t have her.
He wouldn’t let his pathetic-ness stand in the way of what a woman wanted again.
Maisie stood before he could blink. “The dating might not be real,” she announced, “but I promised that I would be your friend. I’m sorry that that’s what I’m trying to do.”
She turned and moved into the crowd, leaving Iain with a whiplash he’d only felt once before.
The last time the woman he cared for strutted out of his life.