This Time Next Year(85)

Minnie took a gulp of champagne.

‘I can’t really, can I? We sold everything.’

‘You gave up your lease – you didn’t get rid of whatever is in that box.’

‘Well, I didn’t say I was never going to bake a pie ever again, did I?’

‘That would be a travesty.’

The sofa was so small their legs were touching. Minnie felt very aware of every point at which his body was in contact with hers.

‘Warm champagne isn’t great, is it?’ Quinn said with a comical grimace.

‘Sorry,’ she said, taking a large swig. ‘Drink faster, it doesn’t taste so bad.’

He followed suit and then topped them both up. What were they doing? He had to drive home. But she didn’t want to ask questions; she just wanted him to stay.

‘I’ll leave my car here, fetch it tomorrow,’ he said, as though reading her mind. ‘Can’t leave you to celebrate alone, can I?’ He picked up his mug and clinked it with hers.

Minnie realised she wanted to be drunk, she wanted to relax, to turn off the anxious inner narrative that kept asking what she was doing, what she was hoping would happen. The champagne would dull that questioning voice, allow her to relax and enjoy herself. She got so tired of the barrage of questions constantly knocking away at the inside of her head; alcohol was sometimes an excellent mute button.

‘So, no more baking, just catering,’ Quinn said, getting comfortable on the sofa, sinking down into it.

Minnie didn’t want to talk about work, she just wanted to snuggle down into the nook beneath Quinn’s shoulder and feel the warmth of his body against her face. She blinked. She felt drunk already. Had she said that out loud about putting her face into his nook?

‘I think you loved running your own business, though. You loved helping those people.’ He looked up at her, sensed in her face that the direction of this conversation might puncture the pleasant atmosphere. He changed gears. ‘But then you wouldn’t have time to enter the wild swimming Olympics and that would be a tragedy for Great Britain.’

She smiled and briefly patted his knee, acknowledging she appreciated him changing the subject. They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Minnie glanced over at him. She knew now she was deluding herself if she thought she could be happy just being his friend. She had lifted the bell jar by bringing him here – she might as well just smash the glass now – say what had not been said.

‘So, what is this do you think?’ she asked, moving a hand between them to indicate him and her. She was doing it; she was digging up the elephant in the room from the giant elephant-shaped box they’d buried in the garden months ago.

‘What do you mean?’ he asked. His eyes darted around the room like a prisoner looking for an escape route. She should drop it, talk about something else.

‘I mean you and me. What is this? Are we really just swimming buddies?’

He gave her a smile that looked self-consciously sheepish.

‘I will take all the credit for your illustrious swimming career.’

‘Seriously though, Quinn.’ She wouldn’t let it go. ‘You genuinely don’t have any feelings for me other than swimming buddy feelings?’

He shifted uncomfortably on the sofa and closed his eyes. She’d done it now. There was no papering over that.

‘Because I know you said you didn’t want that, but when,’ she exhaled loudly, ‘when we’re together it just feels – I’ve never had anything like this connection with someone. I can’t,’ she closed her eyes, she couldn’t look at him as she said it, ‘I look forward to seeing you all week. When we’re together it just feels – like it’s meant to be. Am I imagining this?’

She opened her eyes and looked over at him. He looked up into her eyes and she saw clearly that she hadn’t imagined it. He leant in towards her, the blue of his eyes suddenly wild, like a raging sea as he reached a hand behind her head and then he pulled her towards him, his lips meeting hers – a forceful, urgent kiss that took Minnie by surprise. She knew it! She knew he felt the same! Her mind fizzed with victory. The kiss softened, his lips gently parting hers, and she felt dizzy with desire as she pulled herself closer to him, wanting to erase any molecule of space between them. He gently pushed her back onto the sofa, his body controlling hers. Being held in his arms she was suddenly very aware of the strength of him, his broad shoulders, his arms, the sheer size of his frame. A bolt of heat coursed down through her belly and between her legs; she was falling, intoxicated, with no sense of solid ground beneath her. She lifted her face to kiss him again, but the sofa was too small, restricting them from pressing their bodies against each other.

‘Shall we move?’ she asked, her voice breathy against his cheek.

In one deft movement, he was on his feet, picking her up and setting her gently on hers. He danced her in a circle over to the wall by the door, but she turned and pressed him against it, pulling his jumper and T-shirt up over his torso, her hands searching out the firm skin of his chest. Then he clasped his hands around her waist, gently easing her top off, and she felt every pore burn with pleasure where his hand made contact with her skin. She unclipped her bra and he looked at her body as though it was some rare marvel he had just discovered. He traced one hand gently down from her neck over her breastbone, around her waist and into the small of her back. Minnie thought she might explode with pleasure and her lips reached up again to find his mouth –