That One Moment (Lost in London #2)(33)
I frown at her peculiar reply. Not entirely sure of how to respond, I make quick work of showing her how we dip the cloth into the stain, rub it on heavily, and then wipe it off. I’ve already applied a thin strip of painter’s tape across the top of each box for the design element I’ll add later.
I set her up with her own supplies and she sits down on the stainless steel stool next to me. Her loose shirt keeps getting in her way, so she stops what she’s doing and peels off the offensive material.
I try to look away, but out of the corner of my eye, I’m transfixed. Now wearing only her small tank, her creamy alabaster skin is on full display and her cleavage is drawing me to her. My body reacts reflexively to the lush softness of her skin.
She catches me eyeing her. “So, what do you need these extra boxes for?” I ask, dragging my possessive gaze away from her and back to the box in my hands.
“My brothers,” she replies, applying the first stroke of stain. “The one I got Sunday will be for my dad.”
“What are you putting inside them, if you don’t mind me asking?”
She looks over at me with a fleeting look of embarrassment. “Erm, it’s just something I stumbled upon earlier this year. It took me a while to get it all sorted. But now that I have, I want to make it a special gift.”
My brows lift as I angle toward her. “Do I get to know what the gift is?”
She shrugs. “It’s not so much a gift I suppose. Just…I found a series of poems my mum wrote and some other trinkets. I think they’d all make the best surprise gifts.”
“That’s a lovely idea. How does she feel about you giving away her poems?”
She looks back at her project and murmurs, “She died when I was young.”
My heart clenches. “Vi, I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“I was only four. I don’t really remember much. But we shared a birthday, so I’ve always felt a connection to her on some level.”
I look at her thoughtfully. “So what are the poems about?”
“They were written in Swedish, so it took me a while to find a translator. But they’re quite cool. They’re all about motherhood. It’s odd, but I felt like I got a glimpse inside her heart when I finally got them translated into English. Some of them are really beautiful, some tragic, some funny. It was surreal. I really connected to them…To her. My dad and brothers don’t even know they exist. The book was tucked away with all of her cookbooks, so it’s no wonder they never saw it.”
“It’s going to be incredible when you give them their gifts.” I give her a smile and ask, “So, what about you? Do you like to cook?” I can easily picture her in the kitchen looking just as she does now with a towel tossed over her shoulder. The image elicits a tiny smirk.
Her brow furrows as she catches my playful expression. “I do. I love it. I did all the cooking growing up and my brothers can eat, let me tell you.”
“I’m sure,” I chuckle good-naturedly. “What was it like living with a bunch of athletes?” My curiosity over her lifestyle is definitely piqued. I grew up watching football on the telly and my entire family is Manchester United fans through and through.
She shrugs. “I don’t know any different.”
“You played too, I assume?”
She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. “No, I didn’t. I traveled with my dad and brothers instead.” Suddenly, she stops what she’s doing and looks up at the ceiling as if she’s having an epiphany. “You know what I just realised? Without even knowing it, I grew up as a mum. I submerged myself in their world and their schedules so much that playing football myself didn’t even occur to me!”
I frown. “Surely there were some things you did for yourself.”
She looks at me seriously as if she’s just been whacked in the face by a sad truth. “Not a lot. I didn’t even have many mates. Really, the first proper thing I’ve done was get my own flat last year. That’s pathetic.” She shakes her head in frustration.
“It’s not pathetic to be close to your family. Growing up traveling with them sounds amazing. I’m sure being in a house with your brothers and dad was a life experience all in its own.”
“You have no idea,” she chuckles in a secretive, knowing way. “Are you, Theo, and Daphney close?”
I pause and try to determine the best way to answer without turning the conversation around on me again. “We used to be. Then we weren’t. Now we are again.”
Her face screws up in confusion. “Mind embellishing a bit?”
“Tonight isn’t supposed to be about me. It’s supposed to be about you, and you’re treading into day three material here.” I squint at her speculatively.
She laughs and her smile lights up her eyes. “It’s a give and take, Hayden. It’s called conversation for a reason. This isn’t an interview. Go on then, we’ll get to day three eventually anyway.”
She turns back to her box and swipes her cloth over the excess stain, her tongue flicking out as she applies more effort to a particular seam.
“Day three was a rather painful experience that Theo and I discussed in great detail during my stint in rehab. Theo has a tendency to blame himself for everything, from Marisa’s death, to my attempt, and all the darkness in the cracks. Perhaps it’s an older brother thing. Regardless, it took a great deal of opening up for him to relieve himself of that lot.”