A Season for Second Chances(81)

When “Minor Swing” gave way to a more chilled track, they slowed to a sway. They were still in each other’s arms, slightly breathless, still smiling. For a moment they remained like that, mid-embrace, looking into each other’s eyes.

Annie’s heart, already beating fast from the dancing, began to race. She could feel the heat of his hand in the small of her back, smell the musky black pepper notes of his cologne mixed with fire smoke. His dark stubble traveled down his neck to meet the crisp line of his shirt collar, poking out above his jumper. She could see the pulse in his throat quickening, mirroring her own, and she wanted to kiss it. She cast her eyes back up to his to find him looking at her hungrily.

For seconds, the air between them was taut with painful, delicious anticipation, and then he closed the gap; she stood on tiptoe to meet him, a deep longing pulling her toward him. Their lips met; his breath was hot in her mouth. Every part of Annie’s body woke up, her synapses pinged, her skin tingled, as spears of desire shot through her stomach and melted in waves of heat.

Her phone began to ring, vibrating angrily on the countertop.

“Do you want to answer that?” John rasped into her ear before laying hot kisses down her neck.

Annie threw her head back and he kissed her throat, while she clung feverishly to his shoulders.

“Ignore it!” she whispered hoarsely, and then his mouth was on hers again. She didn’t know how much more of this she could stand; she made a grab for his belt and began to tug at it. Her phone stopped ringing. John moved just enough for her to get to the buckle while he lifted her dress and began to move his hands beneath it. Then his phone began to ring in his pocket, and they stopped dead. Both of them breathing hard. Both of them knowing there was only one person who would ring both their phones: Mari. Annie let her hands drop and John answered his phone.

“Aunty,” he said, turning away from her; his voice was still rough. “Is everything all right?”

Annie pulled her dress back down and hoisted up her tights. Her heart was still racing; she felt like a teenager caught fumbling behind the sofa.

“Aye, she’s fine,” John went on. “No, we were just clearing down, she didnae have her phone tee hand. Aye, it’s all good, I’m settled in at the pub.”

Annie noted how his accent became stronger when he spoke to his aunt.

“I know,” he said. “You’ve nothing tae worry about. Annie’s got everything under control. No, she hasn’t fixed the fence yet.” He gave Annie a wink as he said this. “Everyone’s been askin’ aboot you . . .”

Annie busied herself emptying the dishwasher and tried to ignore the throbbing need in her body. When he finally hung up, Annie had cleared down the rest of the kitchen area. John looked at her sheepishly.

“It was just my aunt,” he said unnecessarily, waving the phone as if to confirm it was via that medium that he had spoken to her, as opposed to setting smoke signals on the beach.

“I guessed as much,” said Annie.

She was suddenly shy. She didn’t know what to do next. She’d been caught up in the moment and let her passions loose, but now her wits had returned, and all the sensible reasons as to why it would be unwise to shag your landlady’s nephew came flooding back to her. John’s expression revealed that he too was wrestling with a similar dilemma.

John cleared his throat loudly and rubbed his hands together. Annie swung her arms back and forth, to what end she didn’t quite know; she realized she probably looked deranged and clasped one hand in the other in order to stop herself from moving. John threw his arms up in an exaggerated stretch and cleared his throat again.

“Lovely marshmallows,” Annie gushed, as though they’d just come back in from eating them and the whole foreplay-on-the-dance-floor thing hadn’t happened at all.

“Thanks,” said John, fully embracing this line of conversation. “I bought them in a shop . . .” He trailed off and then came back with, “I really should make a move. I’ve got a breakfast meeting with a client . . .”

“Oh, absolutely. Thank you for helping me clear down. And for the marshmallows.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Right, then.”

“Right, then.”

“Okay, well, I’ll just go back and finish up.” She motioned to the sparkling clean counter area.

“I’ll head off,” said John, pointing exaggeratedly at the door, as if there might have been some question about him letting himself out of the window instead.

“Bye, then, have fun!” called Annie. Have fun? What the fuck? Why did I tell him to have fun? Annie’s brain shouted at her.

John frowned and cocked his head to one side. There was a crooked smile forming on his lips.

“Erm, yes,” he said. He stood looking at her for another long moment, his eyebrows knitted together, and then he said, “Bye, then. Have fun.” And he left the building.

Annie felt hot; she knew she was blushing furiously. She imagined herself running hard at the wall and knocking herself out; she was sure being unconscious would make her feel better at this point. She turned the volume up on the music in the hopes that it might drown out her mortified thoughts. Have fun indeed! Those words were going to haunt her for a long time.



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