It Started With A Tweet(107)

Anyway, I’m sort of in limbo as I can’t go home because I’m guessing Rosie and Rupert are ‘making up’ after their big fight, so I’m at a loose end. I thought I’d go up to that hill where I first met you. Last time I was far too distracted looking for a mobile signal to notice the views, which I’ve been told are incredible. I’m sure I’ll not need a knight in shining armour this time, but if you fancy a stroll, I’ll be up there for a bit.

Love

Daisy xxx



I start to debate if three kisses is a bit much, but then I get a grip of myself. That’s probably the least of my worries, bearing in mind that I practically confessed my undying love for him.

I wedge it into the door handle so that he sees it when he gets home and I start off on my walk, telling myself that he’ll catch up any minute as he wouldn’t have left Buster at home if he was going far.

I start walking through the muddy field where I fell over all those weeks ago. Good job I’ve got my wellies on, or else I’d be slipping all over the place. Only, what they make up for in grip, they lack in flexibility, and I have to yank them out as my feet get well and truly stuck. Once free, I attempt to jump over to a grassy patch to the right, only my left boot gets stuck again and instead of landing on the grass, I land in a patch of mud. I desperately try to keep myself upright, as I don’t want to put my welly-less foot down. I place my socked foot onto my leg flamingo style and attempt to keep my balance. I’m wobbling about, desperately trying not to fall over headfirst.

I’m starting to ache in flamingo pose, and I’m just about to brave putting my welly-less foot in the mud, when Buster leaps up at me. I windmill my arms, trying my best not to fall, but he keeps jumping up, covering me in muddy paw prints and licks.

‘Buster, Buster get down,’ I hear Jack yell, but it’s too late. Buster gives me one last jump before he goes off in search of his owner, and it’s enough to send me tumbling into the mud, bum first.

Jack’s laughter carries on the wind, and I can’t help but join in.

‘Need a hand?’ he asks as he gets closer.

‘I’m fine here,’ I say, looking up at him, my breath catching in my mouth as he’s shaved off his beard, and let’s just say he’s looks hot.

‘Right you are. And I guess you were just standing around out here on one leg doing .?.?.?’

‘Yoga. Clearly.’

‘Clearly. So what’s this? Sitting-down pig pose?’

‘Oi,’ I say, batting at his legs. ‘Who are you calling a pig?’

‘Sorry, er, that came out wrong. Here.’

He reaches over and retrieves my lost welly. Not that it matters. I’m caked in mud from the waist down now. He slips it on anyway, in such a gentle way, as if he were Prince Charming slipping on my glass slipper, but then he pulls me up to standing with such a force that my body crashes into him.

‘About the other night.’

I shake my head. ‘We don’t have to –’

‘Yes, we do. Or at least, I do. I’m sorry for what I said. You were right; I shouldn’t have judged you by your Twitter feed. It’s just, I started to .?.?. you know .?.?.’

He tries to brush a bit of mud off my leg as if to take my attention away from what he’s trying to say.

‘Actually, I don’t know,’ I say, finding it amusing how his cheeks are flushed and he can’t look me in the eye. ‘For a psychologist you’re not very good at expressing your own emotions.’

The poor guy must be dying inside, and I’m going to rescue him any second.

‘I’m used to listening to other people baring their souls, not the other way round.’ He takes a deep breath before exhaling loudly. ‘I like you, OK? And then when I saw the article and that postcard about a fling, and I didn’t want to be just another holiday romance.’

I think back to what Rodney said about the tourist who broke his heart and I take hold of his hand.

‘I want it to be more than that too,’ I say. ‘And I’m not going anywhere.’

Finally, he looks up at me, and as he looks into my eyes my stomach flips.

And then he kisses me.

It’s one of those kisses that makes you weak at the knees, and I’m grateful that the wellies are stuck in the mud again as they’re stopping me from collapsing. Although, Jack’s doing his best to help with that too; his hand is creeping down my back and grabbing my bum.

‘Yuck,’ he says, pulling away and looking at his hand, which is now muddy. ‘I think it’s time we got you home and changed.’

‘I might need a hand. Fancy carrying me?’ I say, imagining him scooping me up into his arms and carrying me like a true damsel in distress.

‘Um, it’s a pretty long way to carry you, unless you want a fireman’s lift or a piggyback?’

‘A piggyback?’ I say in disbelief. It’s not really worthy of a Hollywood swoon.

‘Or you could walk .?.?.’

I practically leap on his back.

‘It looks like I’ve got you all muddy,’ I say, as I wrap my legs around his waist and cling onto his shoulders.

‘It does indeed.’

‘We’ll have to get you out of your clothes too .?.?.’ I purr into his ear.

Jack bolts like an untamed horse and practically trots across the field, and I let out a scream.