Chapter 7

Ivy

With Fallon dropped off in town to meet Cassie, dinner cooking, and a final check of my outfit in the mirror, I sit nervously on the sofa and wait. I’m not sure this is a good idea at all. But as he walked away from me yesterday, I’d seen it. Shoulders slumped, head down, hands shoved into his pockets. Disappointment. And he wasn’t the only one.

Watching him walk away brought a burning to the centre of my chest, and then I’d realised what he’d said. That he’d take himself on a date. Meaning he’d turned up thinking yesterday was one, that I’d invited him for dinner – as a date. And he’d come. The rueful smile told me something had changed, but I don’t know what. Or when. Or how.

What I do know is that I’ve been feeling things for Dan from the moment we met, that I’ve been fighting it, am still fighting it. But that kiss the other day. I’ve replayed it over and over so many times – and I have regrets. And not the kind I thought I’d have either. No, these are the kind where I regret the fact I didn’t know what to say afterwards, had gone so blank in how to communicate with him that I essentially ghosted him for days. And more than anything, I regret that I didn’t get the chance to get my brain in gear and kiss him back.

So, if we were both disappointed in the date that never was, what does that mean? Neither of us date, we’ve admitted that, said we’re not looking for anything, but where does that leave us? As flirty friends, or something more? And will there be kissing involved? Because holy crap on a cracker, that man’s mouth feels like heaven.

As the doorbell rings, I guess we’re about to find out.

****

“That was delicious,” Dan smiles later as we sit at my kitchen table, talking and finishing our wine, the remnants of home-made lasagne cleared away.

“Thanks, I didn’t even order in.”

The conversation has been flowing easily over dinner, talk about the girls, the school, our work, but now the meal is over, I feel a little awkward. I know why, it’s because once we get up from this table, once we go through to the living room, we’ll probably both sit on the same sofa, and that seems loaded with temptation and danger.

In a moment of either stressed desperation at wanting to delay that, or maybe just complete confusion and panic over the realisation that I actually like the idea of sharing a sofa and the possibilities it could bring, I get up and start to wash up. I ramble incessantly too. I can hear myself, words falling from my mouth, talk about the school garden, the bushes that will attract butterflies, the benefits of wood chips over gravel, anything, everything. It’s a barrage of words trying to stop the images flashing through my head. Scenes of tender kisses and nights cuddled up on the sofa together. Except it’s not the images that are worrying, it’s the realisation that these thoughts aren’t as scary as they once seemed.

“Careful” Dan says, one hand on my hip as I overbalance, the other catching the glass bowl I’m trying to put back into the top cupboard.

I can do nothing but stand still, his front pressed against my back, trapped between him and the counter as he easily places the bowl in the spot I was trying to reach. My heart is thumping. I tell myself it’s because I slipped, that little surge of adrenalin. I know I’m lying. It’s him, a reaction to the closeness, his body, that fresh scent he always has, just a hint of lingering engine oil underneath. It’s heady, sexy, and I’m powerless to my thoughts in this moment. Impure thoughts of him lifting me onto the counter, hands all over as he parts my thighs and steps into me, taking my mouth as his fingers roam.

His voice breaks me from my fantasies. “You okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

There’s a beat, a few seconds maybe, and then he turns me to face him. The air is electric, crackles, sizzles, and I’m both scared and exhilarated at the fact he might kiss me right now.

“Tell me you use a step, that you don’t always overstretch yourself,” he says, thumb stroking my hip.

“Usually, I just climb on the counter, but I thought it might look a bit undignified,” I reply.

“I’ll bring you a step next time I come, we’ve a spare in the garage.”

My mind whirs with the words ‘next time’ and starts a merry little dance that there’ll be other dinners, moments we’re this close. And then something somewhere screams that he just meant when he picks Cass up or something, that this is all just a game, a flirtation, a safe way for us both to break out of our routine without the consequences of dating, love, a relationship. We don’t date. I know that. It’s safer that way.

I do the only thing I can, wave it away with humour, like I always do. “Careful, anyone would think you care about me.”

He smiles. “Nah, just don’t want to see these lovely marble worktops all scratched up when you drop stuff on them.

“Charming.”

“You know me, full of charm.”

It’s true, he is. Which is why I spin away, out from where he’s had me trapped, and over to the fridge. We need to get this night back on track. I need to stop being weird. And we definitely need more wine.

Thankfully, the wine helps enormously and it’s not long before we’re back to our usual selves. To be honest, it might work too well, as conversation turns to how to get revenge on our girls for all their meddling and mayhem. It’s as we hear a car pull up outside though, that the best idea hits, fleshing itself out further in my mind as we hear the giggling voices of Fallon and Cassie.

“We should so make them walk in on us doing it. Ultimate payback,” I laugh.

Dan grins. “On my lap then. How convincing is your orgasm face?”

We both fall about laughing, the voices outside getting nearer.

“We can’t fake that. We’ll scar them for life.”

“Maybe not, but they can walk in on something. Hop on,” he says taking my hand and pulling gently.

I straddle him where he sits, and even in my tipsy state, I know this is a stupid plan. Funny, yes, but it also means we’re now in the most intimate position we’ve ever been in, and his hands are on my hips, my arse, a thin dress all that sits between it being skin on skin. And it might as well be because, again, I can feel the heat as if his hands are on my body. And then he nuzzles my neck, his breath warm on my skin, goosebumps rising as his lips move against my ear.

“Got to make it look real,” he whispers.

The whimper I give in response is probably all too real, my body reacting in ways it’s not done for years. I’m also suddenly not so tipsy anymore.

“What the— Shit. Sorry!” Fallon says, covering her eyes dramatically as she pushes open the door.

“Way to go dad,” Cassie adds, grin wide as embarrassment hits and I bury my face in Dan’s neck.

“We’ll just be upstairs. Keep it down though, we don’t need to hear any … noises. Come on Cass, you can stay over seeing as it looks like your dad is anyway.”

Fallon grabs Cassie’s hand and they both run giggling from the room. It strikes me that although I knew they were sensible and mature, they really are the best kids in the world. Neither have been scarred by a parent leaving, are open to sharing us with someone new, and very obviously want our happiness.

“Well, I don’t think that had quite the level of payback impact we hoped, do you?” Dan asks, hands still on my arse.

“Not really. You can probably move your hands now they’re gone, though.”

He doesn’t. “Actually, it’s probably best I don’t move anything right now. I’ve got a bit of a … situation.”

I frown, confused for a second, until I move and feel exactly what he means. “Oh.”

His voice is quiet, the sweetest blush colouring his stubbled cheeks. “Sorry, that’ll happen when you’ve got a beautiful woman on your lap.”

I stroke his face. “No apologies necessary. It’s quite flattering you think I’m beautiful. It’s a long time since I’ve been told that.”

He grins, blue eyes flaring with lust. “Then let me tell you again. Ivy, you’re stunning.”

His hands roam up my back, wrap around me and pull me closer, the hard ridge of him pushes against my most sensitive spot, and nerve-endings ignite across my body as he brings his lips to mine. This time, I kiss him back. There’s no thinking about it, it’s instinctual, natural, and every bit as perfect as any fantasy I’ve had.

We kiss for ages, long, slow, exploring very inch of each other, hands in constant motion, can’t get enough. And when we finally break apart, we both just stare.

“I’ve never known you so quiet,” he says eventually.

There’s only one thing running through my mind, one question. “What are we doing?”

He frowns, kisses me once more, on the cheek this time. “I don’t know. You deserve to be happy, though.”

“So do you,” I say, confused by the slight shift in temperature between us.

“I … erm … I should get going.”

“Okay.”

Within minutes, he’s out the door and I’m left standing in the hall wondering what just happened. And this is why I avoid men. You never quite know when they’re going to make you feel one thing, and then do something stupid that makes you feel another. Like leave.