The Things I Know(29)
He kissed her mouth.
And the lips she considered ugly, the mouth a little misshapen, was the very thing that connected her to him. She thought her heart might burst at this gesture that seemed so natural and easy and yet was something she had doubted she would ever experience.
And she knew she would never, ever forget it.
Never.
‘Is that okay?’ he asked sheepishly.
‘Uh-huh,’ she whispered, from a smile so wide it made speaking difficult. His soft lips against hers had left the sweetest residue, like the feel of sun on skin after the rain. ‘Are you okay?’ she asked, a little recovered, but still breathless, holding the moment in her heart, a thing so precious she feared that the tiniest flutter and the essence of it might slip away.
‘Uh-huh.’ He too beamed and leaned in again.
Hand in hand, they walked slowly back along the lane. Hitch was almost in a daze and quite lost to the memory, which raced around and around inside her head. It made her happy and it filled her right up!
They parted on the upstairs landing and she danced along the hallway to her bed with her head spinning and her soul leaping with happiness! Diving on to the duvet, she pulled her jotter from the bedside table and wrote with a flourish . . .
I know this:
he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . he kissed my mouth . . . X
SIX
Hitch felt torn, wriggling back under the duvet as morning broke – keen to rush from the room and see Mr Potts again, but also a little reluctant to rise and start the day, wary of a new dawn where any experience might corrupt the happy state in which she found herself. Touching her fingers to her lips, she felt the soft, bruised imprint of his apple-flavoured kiss, the memory alone enough to fire a fully charged bolt of joy through to her very core.
She lay back on the soft bolster and looked up at the beamed ceiling. The first, hesitant kiss they had shared made the drunken, rushed coupling she had shared with Tarran Buttermore pale into insignificance. Her head ached a little and her mouth was dry, but she was smiling on the outside and on the inside. With the thought of Buddy waiting for her in the kitchen, she kicked off the heavy bedspread and walked to the deep-set leaded window, where she stared out over the fields, where grass swayed in the morning breeze. Today the landscape looked particularly beautiful.
Looking out towards the shadow of the Welsh hills on the horizon, she replayed the kiss and the ones that followed. Like an observer, she saw herself sitting on the rock; Grayson stood in front of her with his feet slipping on stones, feeling for purchase, while his mouth was fixed to hers. Her gut bunched in a feeling hitherto unknown. It was a heady combination of joy, excitement and something that was similar to the first flickering of fear, but without the dread that accompanied it, as if she was aware of the edge of the abyss at which she stood, toes curled, back and arms straight, ready to dive. How was it possible that she could be this person? It was as if, when she was with him, she could shake off the suit of the broken, as if she were no longer damaged, but a girl who a man like Grayson wanted to spend time with. No, a woman a man like Grayson wanted to kiss!
Like a toddler on Christmas morning, she ran back across the room and jumped on to the bed, landing on the mattress with a thud, where she buried her face in the pillow and let out a silent scream of pure joy.
Hitch balanced the tray loaded with cutlery and a cup of tea on her forearm and walked it into the dining room, where Grayson sat. There was a momentary flare of sickness in her gut before she saw him – supposing he regretted his actions? Her fears of rejection were immediately assuaged as his fingers twitched and reached out to touch her arm, before deciding against it. She more than understood his hesitant desire to feel the warmth of her skin, as it was the same for her. Hitch was entirely unsure of how she should navigate the morning. This was like nothing she had experienced before. She was a little fixated by the curl of his fingers around the napkin in his lap and wanted so badly for him to take her hand that her chest ached with the longing of it. The cup of tea rattled in its saucer as she placed it on the table, and she giggled.
‘How did you sleep, Mr Potts?’ She smiled at him, a wide, unself-conscious smile which he returned, and she knew she would tuck his almost shy expression in a pocket within her heart to carry with her when he was far away – the prospect of which was enough to catch in her throat.
‘I didn’t sleep very well at all,’ he said honestly.
‘Oh? Most people say it’s one of the comfiest beds they’ve ever laid their head on, but you didn’t sleep?’ She looked at him with rising concern.
‘The bed is comfortable, but I couldn’t get to sleep.’ He shook out the white linen napkin and tucked it into his shirt collar.
‘Was it too quiet for you out here in the sticks? Maybe we could get you a recording of some sirens and some dogs barking to help you nod off tonight?’ She kept a straight face.
‘Ha, no need for that. It was quiet, but the reason I couldn’t sleep was because I was thinking about you. I thought about you as we walked back from the flat rock and I haven’t stopped thinking about you. But I like thinking about you. It makes me happy. I don’t mind that I didn’t sleep. I don’t even feel tired.’