Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

BEE

I come awake in a tangle of warm bedsheets that smell of sex and Tom’s cologne. For an instant, my mind is blank, and then all the memories come flooding back with the force of a tsunami—the heft and length of his cock, the scent of his pubes, the feel of his weight on me, and our sweat mingling.

I groan, rubbing my eyes, and as I move, I feel the stretched soreness in my arse. My cock hardens, but I ignore it. It’s already gotten me in quite enough trouble this holiday.

I fumble for my glasses to better see the day. Rolling towards the window shows me a grey and white Edinburgh washed in monochrome. Thick clouds heavy with snow lie low over the city, with an occasional sunbeam forcing its way through the murk and lighting up a building in a startling dazzle of gold stone.

Is Tom out there now or still in bed? My belly churns with nerves, and I don’t know why. My morning afters are usually coloured with irritation if the bloke has slept over, accompanied by a strong desire for them to fuck off.

Tom left after sex last night. He hasn’t bought me a wedding ring and breakfast in bed this morning. He’s stayed away.

So, why am I so nervous? I think the answer may lie in how much I like him and the fact that despite fucking him, I not only want to do it again as soon as possible, but I also want to be with him.

I’m thinking about seeing his high-boned face and broad shoulders, that mischievous smile of his, and the rich laughter that makes me smile. I wonder if we’ll be spending the day together again, and instead of dread, my heart skips a beat, and excitement fills me.

Shit, this isn’t good. I really don’t need to go home with a bad case of feelings.

Pushing away that dreadful thought, I throw the covers back and head for the shower. Half an hour later, I’m dressed in jeans, and another of my vintage finds, this one a navy fisherman’s roll-neck jumper. I pause outside the closed living room door. I can hear loud laughter and voices from inside, so people are obviously up. After wiping my damp palms on my jeans, I open the door.

Everyone stops talking for a horrible second, looking up from their plates and cups, and then they all chorus variations on good mornings. The radio is playing “I Was Born on Christmas Day,” and the room looks warm and cosy.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I say hoarsely. Hopefully, they’ll think it’s just morning hoarseness rather than me sucking Tom’s cock down my throat.

“Oh, you’re not late at all,” Sal exclaims. “We’re waiting for Theo and Georgina, but we’re all a bit hungover, so we’re taking it slow.”

“Oh, did you go to a bar after the ghost walk?” I shut my mouth with a snap as I just advertised that Tom and I were not at the bar. Are they wondering why?

Freddy groans. “My hangover feels like I got kicked in the head.”

“Maybe a ghost did it in revenge for you treading on that grave,” Sal says.

“It was very dark in that graveyard.” Freddy grimaces. “How was I to know?”

“Maybe by the fact that it was grassy. That’s when you have to be wary in a cemetery.”

They carry on talking, and my eyes fly to Tom as if I’m a magnet and he’s my due north. He’s sitting on the sofa, his sock-clad feet up on a pouffe, and Freddy is lounging against him. I’d been coming to think of it as “our” sofa. And now I’m wondering if he got up earlier and waited for me to arrive, but I didn’t. That’s an awful thought, and my eyes immediately search his face.

Is he sad? Have I upset him? Ugh, why am I so fucking bothered?

However, he looks his usual self, his face creased in a wide smile and his hair flopping over his forehead. He looks warm and comfortable, and my desire to fall into his lap is so strong that it’s startling. He shoots me a wink that no one notices as they all seem to be talking at once. My smile back is far too wide, and when I find my fingers twitching with the desire to wave at him coyly, I make an immediate beeline for the kettle. Maybe tea will help.

Tea made, I edge over to the others. There aren’t any seats free, but Tom pushes out the pouffe. “Sit down.”

I collapse onto it, and Ivy grins wickedly at me before leaning in. “Hard night?” she whispers.

I shoot her a repressive look, but it’s never worked before, so I’m unsurprised that it doesn’t work now. I eye Tom nervously, but he’s answering something Freddy asked him and isn’t paying attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say primly.

She chuckles. “Fair enough. You’ll tell me later.”

The thing is, I always tell her everything . No detail is so sordid that it can’t be confided to Ivy. However, now I find myself reluctant, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to share what Tom was like. Somehow, that seems private, which is completely ridiculous.

My silence seems to have amused her because her eyes are twinkling.

I sigh. “Yes?”

She hums. “It’s you and me today, darling.”

“What? And why are you smiling at me like that?”

“Because, at the moment, you’re more transparent than those ghosts the guide was talking about last night.”

I give a beleaguered sigh. “And?”

“Well, you seem mighty disappointed to be with me today. You could hurt a girl’s feelings, you know.”

“Not if she’s you.”

She chuckles for what feels like thirty minutes, while I try to conceal the fact that she’s right. I am a bit disappointed. I love being with Ivy, but I can’t deny that I’ve liked that it’s been just me and Tom. Maybe a bit too much.

She stops laughing. “The others are going to Mary King’s Close.”

I check my memory banks. “Is that underneath the city?”

“Yep. I took a wild guess that you’d be counting yourself out of it.”

I shudder. “Unless anyone fancies witnessing a meltdown of epic proportions.”

“So, I thought we could do something together.”

I sneak a glance at Tom and discover he’s watching me. His grey eyes are warm and almost affectionate, and I find my mouth tilting up in a smile. It takes great effort to wrench my attention away from him and back to Ivy, who’s watching me and smiling.

“That sounds nice.” I mean it because I will always love spending time with her. She’s my girl, and I love her. “Where shall we go?”

She shrugs. “Maybe we can find somewhere and take some photos.”

I brighten. It’s something we love to do together. “Where?”

“I don’t know. I thought your opus might tell us. I’m sorry. I mean your tourist itinerary.”

I roll my eyes, hearing her laugh. I hesitate and look over at Tom. “Maybe we could ask Tom. He’s very good at finding things to do.”

“I bet he is.”

I glare at her.

She starts to laugh again. “I’m sorry. You were asking for that.”

I wait her out patiently. “Well?”

She shakes her head, her face affectionate. “Of course we can. I feel I should get to know him.”

“We’re going home tomorrow. Is there any point?”

She examines my face and then pinches my cheek. “I’d say it’s essential.”

“Okay, then.” I hesitate and then say, “Tom?”

He’s talking to Freddy and Jack but immediately breaks away. “Yeah?”

I lick my lips. “Erm, Ivy and I are going off to find some places to photograph for our Instagrams. Do you f-fancy coming too?”

His whole face brightens as though I’ve offered him a pot of gold. “Yeah, that sounds great . I’d love to.”

“Well then.” I pause and then say abruptly, “Great. That’s g-great.”

Ivy nudges me. “Has he broken you?” she whispers, and I give her a repressive look.

Tom uncurls from the sofa and crouches beside us. I try hard to ignore the muscles bunching in his thighs and the scent of his cologne. This close, I can see how bright his eyes are, the grey almost molten.

“So, the three of us, eh? That sounds wonderful,” he says, grinning at Ivy, who smiles helplessly back. He’s so charming he ought to be illegal. “Where are we going?”

Ivy and I look at each other and then back at him. “We’re not sure yet,” I admit. “We want somewhere pretty that sums up Edinburgh.”

He considers that while I consider the full contours of his lips and remember how soft they’d felt against mine. I become aware that he’s talking when Ivy nudges me.

“Ouch,” I say crossly. I flush when they both look at me. “Sorry. What did you say?”

His eyes are full of amusement now. “I said I might know a place. Do you trust me?”

“Of course,” I say without thinking. Ivy goes still next to me.

Tom seems unaware of the undercurrents. He grins at us. “Great. Let’s meet back here in ten minutes. Wrap up warm.”

We both watch him vanish into his bedroom.

“ Do you trust him?” Ivy asks me in a low voice. “Instant answer, please.”

“Yes,” I say, slumping as though someone just let the air out of me.

Her expression becomes stern. “If you stuff this up, Bee Bannister, I am going to be exceptionally cross with you.”

“There’s nothing to stuff up,” I say automatically.

“ Exceptionally cross.”

“Oh, goodie,” I say faintly.

“So, where are we going?” I ask, my breath turning into a white cloud in the air.

We’re walking along Queen Street, and the Christmas lights are neon bright against the gloomy sky. It’s lunchtime, but it feels later.

It's freezing, and I’m very glad Tom helped me buy the coat, jumper, and boots I’m wearing. Everyone we pass is bundled up, and the Christmas music that drifts out of the shops lends the whole scene a festive air that makes my spirits feel light.

Tom grins at me. We’re walking three abreast, and Ivy is holding on to his arm and dimpling up at him. They’ve been talking and laughing for the last ten minutes, and it makes my heart full to see her happy.

“You wanted to see something representative of Edinburgh?” he says.

I palm the camera hanging around my neck and nod. “Yes, I need something for my Insta.”

“Well, we’re going to Stockbridge,” he says. He turns left at Queen’s Street West and starts down a wide cobbled street. It’s lined on either side with tall Georgian houses of yellow-grey brick. They’re five-storey and so beautiful—elegant and graceful with long windows that suggest drawing rooms full of people making polite conversation.

The street is also very steep, and I make note of the fact that the return journey is going to be exceedingly painful for my thighs.

“Stockbridge?” I search my brain. “Ah, yes. The Scottish name stock brig was derived from the Old English stocc brycg meaning a log bridge. However, the current bridge is actually made of stone.”

His steps slow and then he smiles and rallies. “That’s the one. It’s a great place. Very pretty, and the place I’m taking you to see is a famous sight, but it’s not immediately obvious.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“You certainly are,” Ivy observes.

Tom’s mouth twitches, but I ignore her with the ease of a great deal of practice. “That will be great.”

“What sort of things do you like to photograph?” He frowns. “Maybe I should have checked that before I brought you here.”

I smile at him. “Anywhere you pick will be great. You haven’t steered me wrong so far.”

Ivy is looking very determinedly at the street, but I can still see the curve of the smile on her face.

“You can see my account if you like,” I find myself saying.

Ivy’s eyes widen, but Tom’s looking at me with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle. “I’d like that.”

I fumble for my phone, and he steers us out of the way of other pedestrians. I pull up my Instagram account and hand the phone to him.

He takes it and scrolls down, his full mouth pursed in thought. Ivy and I hang over him, watching the changes in his expression.

I feel tense, which is hardly surprising, as I never show anyone this. My account is not connected publicly to me, and it’s where I share my expressive side. The photos aren’t concerned with the complexity of my thesis but rather with simple beauty.

“Wow,” he says. I relax when I see admiration in his eyes. It makes me feel a bit hot. “These are gorgeous.” He points to one. “What is this?”

I lean close, aware of his breath's sweet, minty scent. “Oh, that’s an iron bench in the park near my flat.” I point to the carved centaurs and unicorns. “I liked the creatures in it. They’re so beautiful but hidden unless you take the time to look close.”

Our gazes catch and hold. “Some people are like that.”

Ivy makes a soft sound like someone has knocked the air out of her, and I direct a quick glance to check if she’s okay. Tom continues to scan photos, his long finger scrolling slowly as his eyes take in everything.

“I like how you focus on objects so you can see the details.” He points to the broken window of an old carriage that we’d seen in a reclamation yard. “This is my favourite.”

“Ooh, mine too,” Ivy says, grabbing his arm in her enthusiasm. “I love the way you can see the interior and the monogrammed seats. It’s spooky.”

I smile at the two of them. “Thank you,” I say quietly. I hesitate and then hold out my hand.

He grins at me and sets the phone in my palm. “Thank you for showing me you.”

“Pardon?”

“Thank you for showing me your photos.”

I narrow my eyes, but his face is innocent. Ivy chuckles.

“Shall we get moving?” I say. “It’s freezing.”

He immediately obliges, and we wander down the street. There aren’t many people about, and the people we do see are scurrying home with shopping bags. It’s so charming with the beautiful old buildings broken up by trees that droop over the street, promising an array of greenery when spring arrives. Now, they just wave their bare branches at the sky like brazen tree strippers.

I wonder what it would be like to live here, but when my thoughts steer towards imagining me and Tom with a little flat, I immediately look around for a diversion.

I find it in the little parks on either side of the road, an oasis of green hidden behind sharp black iron railings. I peer through the railings of one and see children’s bikes and play equipment.

“These are parks for residents,” Tom says. “They have keys. I like that.”

“Me too.” I hesitate. “This has that air we talked about with the wynds,” I finally say, and he nods, instantly getting it.

“Lots of little lives.”

The road near the bottom of the hill is dotted with expensive-looking shops. We pass an optician whose windows are tastefully filled with expensive glasses. I adjust my own glasses on my nose for the fortieth time today. They keep steaming up in the cold. “I don’t think I could afford anything in there.”

Ivy makes a sound of pleasure when we come to a candle shop that has rather incongruously set a cast iron bath in the window and filled it with candles in all shapes and sizes. She grins at me. “I won’t be a minute.”

“You lie,” I say gloomily. “And we both know it.”

She blows me a kiss and opens the door, making the bell jangle and a wave of warm, scented air gust out.

“We could be here a while,” I advise Tom. “If you can set light to it, Ivy will buy it.”

His grey eyes search mine, and I know what he’s going to say before he says it. “I have to say I’m surprised you asked me to come with you today,” he tells me.

I start to respond flippantly, which is always my fallback position, but then hesitate. There’s a faint hoarseness to his voice like he’s nervous, and I feel a wave of affection and protectiveness rush through me, which is both surprising and unwelcome.

When I finally say something, my voice is soft and warm. “Well, maybe I like your company, Tom.”

He instantly brightens, and I can’t help but smile at him. We’re grinning at each other when someone clears their throat behind us. I spin to find an old man observing us and waiting to get by.

“Sorry,” Tom instantly says. “We’ll get out of your way.”

“Thank you, young man,” he says, moving slowly past.

“We’d better move.” Tom takes my arm and steers me away from the shops.

As we move, my boot hits a slippery bit of the cobbles, and my foot shoots out from under me. I gasp, expecting to hit the ground painfully, but Tom grabs me, swinging me into him. We fall together against one of the park railings.

“Ouf,” he grunts.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I gasp. I pull away to check if I hurt him, but he stays me, his gaze holding mine. His eyes are full of heat and amusement, and before I can think twice, I rise on my toes and fit my mouth to his.

Tom’s cheeks are cold, but his lips are warm, and his fingers, when they cradle my face, are so gentle they make my eyes hot. He pulls back. “I didn’t think we’d do this again.”

“You were very wrong,” I inform him, and he grins before kissing me again.

We’re shielded by the hanging branches of a big tree, and I enthusiastically return his kiss, finding that he tastes as sweet as he did last night. I make a disgruntled sound when he pulls away, and he smiles, his lips swollen and pouty.

“Ivy,” he warns.

For a second, I can’t remember who that is. “Oh, Ivy . Oh yes.”

I go to move away, and he stops me again. “I want to pick this up when we get back.”

Before my mind can tell me no, my mouth opens, and I say, “Yes.”

His grin widens, and I blink as he drops an almost fond kiss on my nose. “Good.”

When Ivy comes out laden with bags we’re standing innocently waiting for her. Her eyes narrow, and then I see the moment she decides not to ask.

Tom jumps forward to grab her bags, and she gives him a warm smile of approval. “Thank you,” she says gratefully.

He looks at the bags in his hands. “Did you buy all the wax in Edinburgh?”

She chuckles. “I bought you one.”

“Did you?” he asks, surprised and obviously touched.

“Yes, it’s got cinnamon and vanilla in it, and it’s warm like you.”

I clear my throat. “And what about me?”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Oh, I bought you something with sage in it in the hope that it’ll cleanse your soul.”

The two idiots laugh at me, and rather than get snippy, I smile because they’re adorable.

We continue walking down the road, and I look at the huge church looming ahead of us. It’s tall and gloomy but has a sort of gothic beauty about it. I read from the board, “St Stephen’s.” I glance at Tom. “Is that where we’re going?”

“Nope. Take a left turn.”

I look curiously at where he’s pointing. A narrow lane leads off the main road, but it’s winding, and I can’t see where it leads.

“What’s this?” I peer at the street sign half hidden by the branches of a tree. “Circus Lane.”

Tom grins. “It’s one of the most recognisable streets in Edinburgh and one of the most Instagrammed.”

“ This is?” I say doubtfully. It looks like any of the windy streets in Edinburgh.

He nods. “Trust me. Start walking and you’ll see.”

“Okay.” I hesitate. “But first, why here?”

His face reddens, and he suddenly looks almost shy. “I wanted to show you something beautiful and hidden for your photo collection. This is Edinburgh in a nutshell. Beauty around every little corner.”

Ignoring Ivy’s rapt attention, I lean in and kiss him lightly. I can almost feel her astonishment at the affectionate gesture. “Thank you.”

He blinks. “You haven’t seen the beauty yet.”

I raise my camera and snap a picture of him against the stone wall. He’s wearing jeans and a parka, and his skin is golden brown.

“Oh yes, I have,” I say.

“I think I should take a photo of the two of you against the street sign,” Ivy says. I open my mouth to object, and she raises an eyebrow. “For my Instagram.”

Tom throws his arm over my shoulder, dragging me close.

“Smile,” Ivy says sweetly, and I bare my teeth. “Not like that, Bee. You look like a chimpanzee in a zoo.” Tom laughs, and I look up, caught by his affectionate gaze. I hear the click of Ivy’s camera.

“Nice,” Ivy says, looking at her camera and then passing it to me.

I look down and my eyes widen. It’s a lovely photo. We look so right together.

“And at least your hair is your natural colour this time,” she continues chattily as I hand her camera back.

“This time?” Tom asks.

“Oh, he changes his hair styles and colour more than his underpants,” she informs him. “And it’s probably more miss than hit most times.”

“Hey, it’s how I express myself,” I say indignantly. It’s like my camouflage. If people look at my bright hair they miss me.

Ivy rolls her eyes. “And your hair follicles would appreciate you learning how to use your voice for a change.”

It feels cold now I’m not against Tom, but then he takes my hand and leads me down the cobbled lane.

I say, “ Oh, ” and Ivy immediately echoes me.

Mews cottages line both sides of the lane and each house has different architectural details—windows and doors of differing styles—but somehow, they form a cohesive whole that is timeless and quite simply beautiful.

I crouch and take some close-up photos of the wisteria winding up a house. The base is thick and twisted. Then I jump to my feet and join the other two. Tom listens to Ivy as she chatters away while snapping pictures.

Hammering comes from a house we’re passing, along with the sound of Christmas music playing. I sneak a look in and catch a glimpse of a room that’s been gutted with wiring hanging out and, beyond it, a small garden.

“Turn around,” Tom says. I look at him enquiringly and he points behind us. “This is the spot that’s most photographed.” I turn obediently and see the church rising above the cottages. It’s so pretty that I snap a photo and then another.

The builder’s radio starts to play Chris de Burgh’s “A Spaceman Comes Travelling,” and somehow, the sweet tune sounds magical in this small, quiet street. I cock my head listening to it, and then squeak as Tom seizes me in his arms.

“What are you doing ?” I gasp as he twirls me down the lane, our boots crunching in the snow.

“Dancing,” he says calmly.

“I can see that, but why?”

He grins at me. “Everyone should have a dance on a snowy lane at Christmas.”

He sets me down and then scoops Ivy up and twirls her madly until she’s giggling and pleading for mercy. When he sets her down, her eyes are soft, and her cheeks are cherry red.

He moves on saying something about a pretty door ahead of us, and when she looks at me, she mouths, “Don’t fuck this up.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say loftily.

“Pardon?” Tom calls.

“Nothing, and I do really mean that,” I say, hearing her laugh.

There’s something to photograph everywhere—an iron bench painted blue, a house with a small front door painted green. Ivy growing up old stone and more prettily painted doors. A chimney puffing smoke into the cold air, and pots of winter roses that bloom brightly in the dim light. Even as I watch, ornate lampposts wink on against the afternoon gloom.

“It’s like a fairyland,” I whisper as I catch up to Tom. I wouldn’t say that to anyone else, but it’s safe with him because I know he won’t laugh. And why is that?

The answer is wonderful in its simplicity. Because he’s kind .

I watch him as he strolls along, giving us a chance to take photos and reeling off historical facts that I damn well know he’s looked up for me. It gives me a warm feeling in my belly.

You’re a kind man , I think.

He turns to me, raising a quizzical eyebrow. “What’s up?” he asks with a crooked smile.

Well, Tom. I’ve just realised that I could fall in love with you . I blanch. Fucking hell.

His smile dims a little, and I step forward quickly, unable to bear it when he’s even a little sad. “This is the best place I’ve ever been,” I declare, watching that grin come back in technicolour.

He winks. “And even better, I happen to know there’s a Starbucks on the street at the bottom of the lane.” He raises an eyebrow. “Buy you both a tea?”

I grin. “I bet you say that to all the boys, Tom.”

His smile becomes something else. Something I can’t recognise. “No. Just you.”

He raises his hand, and I take it. He crooks his arm for Ivy, and like we're on the fucking yellow brick road, we let him lead us down the pretty little lane.

“Circus Lane,” he says, approaching the lane's end and looking up at the sign there. “It’s a nice surprise.”

It is, but Tom Wright is the better surprise and the one that has the potential to change everything for me.