Page 48 of Short Stack 3

I gaze at him in astonishment.Does he think Chewwy was growling at him?The dog wouldn’t hurt a flea. I open my mouth to reassure him but then reconsider when I remember the hug Rob gave Oz that lasted far too long.

“I’m sure he’ll be fine when you’re gone. He’sveryprotective of Oz.” I reach down and scratch Chewwy’s head. “It’s alright. Rob isn’t a threat, baby. I know how you are with those.” I wink at Rob. “We were picking bits of the last offender out of the shrubbery for ages.”

He blanches and backs out of the door, and then he’s gone, his hurried footsteps marking his exit. I smile in satisfaction and then turn around and jerk when I find Oz leaning against the door, watching me. One eyebrow is raised.

“Oh,” I say. “Oh, hello. I didn’t know you were there.”

“Obviously. I’m so glad I was, though.”

“Really?”

He nods, pushing his hair back and showing off his neon yellow nail varnish. “How else would I have realised that my boyfriend has such a talent for sprouting whopping fibs?”

“Oh, I don’t think I’d put it like that,” I say, shifting nervously.

“No, I’m sure you’d say it in anotherveryfictional way, Maeve Binchy.” He tuts. “Suchstories,” he says, his Irish accent thick with amusement.

I roll my eyes. “I don’t like him. He fancies you.”

He starts to laugh, his face merry and those pretty blue eyes creased in amusement. I relax and enjoy the sight, smiling at him affectionately. After a bit, he recovers. “Well, if he did ever fancy me, I’m sure he’s getting over it after being threatened with one of the Hounds of the Baskervilles.”

Chewwy groans and settles down on the floor, looking long-suffering between us.

“I’m sure Chewwy is fierce somewhere deep inside,” I say tentatively. “If Rob pushed him, I’m sure he wouldn’t be happy.”

We both look down at the dog, who is licking his testicles.

“Thank you, Chewwy. You’ve just reminded me of something,” Oz says cheerfully.

“Reminded you of what?”

“I have plans for you.”

I swallow hard at the hot promise in his eyes and then groan. “Do we have to do the cast supper first?”

We serve the dinner in the restaurant, and it’s a lengthy occasion fuelled by copious amounts of booze. Either Oz or I always attend.

I perk up when he shakes his head. “Nope. They can get on with it themselves tonight.”

“Why?”

“I have plans. Valentine plans.”

I grin at him. “I have presents in the car for you.” One is a jumper, the colour of his eyes. The other is a watercolour picture of our beach by a local artist. I’d seen it in Padstow while passing a gallery and gone in and bought it straight away. I didn’t care what the price was. I had to get it for him.

His face softens with so much love that it makes me swallow hard. “Yours are upstairs. We’ll get them on the way.”

“On the way? Where are we going?”

“Up to the attics.”

I sigh. “Are we looking formorefurniture?”

Something about that seems to amuse him. “You’re hardly David Dickinson.”

“Sadly, I’ve yet to achieve his level of fake tan.”

“We are going up there because it’s probably the only place in this huge house where we’ll have some fucking peace. I havea Valentine’s picnic set up with candles and wine.” He winks. “I might also have made up an old mattress with the nice sheets in case you feel in a Barry White sort of mood.”

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