Page 20 of Short Stack 3

“What on earth would happen if I cut my hair?” I say lightly, feeling pleased inside. I’m older than him, so the fact that he never seems to stop wanting me is very gratifying.

“Let’s not try it,” he says darkly.

We walk down the little street, and I consult my phone. “It’s just up here,” I say, pointing to a row of three-storey whitewashed cottages. “This one,” I say triumphantly, stopping outside the red door of the one on the end.

I produce the key and unlock the door. After we get inside, I stop to put the bags down, and Jude breezes past me, his eyes wide. “Blimey,” he says faintly, dropping his own bag on the floor.

“I know.” I look around. “Bloody hell. He made it sound like a tiny, little cottage.”

“This would be a tiny cottage if you were a family of ten. Not two people.”

The whole of the ground floor is open-plan, so you can see straight through to a set of French doors that give a view of the river. The lounge has huge, squashy sofas set around a stone fireplace in which fresh logs are set, and I eye the massive TV screen on the wall, already happily imagining me and Jude curled up naked on a sofa and watching something together.

“Who owns this? A letting company?” Jude asks.

“No, a mate of mine. Do you remember Seb? You met him at that party at Max’s house last year.”

His face clears. “Oh, I remember him. Wow, so this is his. Does he use it much?”

“I think it was his grandma’s house. He renovated it when she died, and now he uses it as a getaway.”

“I don’t think I’d ever leave,” he says and vanishes upstairs. “Bloody hell, come and look at this, Asa,” comes the immediate shout.

Smiling, I climb the stairs after him, but a lot more cautiously because cottages are not generally made with a man of my height in mind, and I don’t fancy a concussion this weekend.

When I clear the stairs, I find a big, light-filled room decorated in colours of sand and blue, with a huge bed piled high with pillows and an oversized, fluffy duvet. Jude is standing by the tall bay window, which overlooks the river. There’s a comfortable-looking window seat with lots of bright cushions, and I know I’ll find him sitting there a lot over the next few days.

I wander over and wrap my arms around him. “Do you like it?” I ask.

He nestles into me. “I love it,” he says softly. He turns to me. “And I love you, Asa Jacobs. We could be staying in a cow shed, though, and I’d still be happy.”

“I know.” And I do. It’s a precious knowledge that I hold close to my heart. He’s one of the select group of people in my life who see me for me and not the film star.

I kiss the side of his face, inhaling the scent of his shampoo and looking out on the view.

Jude stirs. “That’s a really awful fucking colour for railings,” he says contemplatively.

I look over and see the house he’s pointing at. It’s big and set by the side of the ferry stopping place, and it catches the eye with its garish blue railings.

“I’m not sure I can criticise someone’s colour choices,” I say idly. “What colour would you have chosen?”

He hums. “Probably shocking pink to match our house.”

“There’d be no need. Mrs Fawcett-Smythe doesn’t run the neighbourhood watch around here.”

“There is a Mrs Fawcett-Smythe oneveryneighbourhood watch committee,” he says darkly.

I smile. “You’re just pissed because she told you off for playing your music too loud in the car.”

“Yes, inmycar,” he says indignantly. “Where I play what I want. She was just cross because it wasn’t Gregorian monks chanting about the benefits of organic carpets.” I laugh out loud,and he turns to me. “Let’s have sex,” he says with a gleam in his eyes.

“Just like that, eh?” I touch a curl of his hair and watch it twine around my finger.

He smiles wickedly. “I need to expunge the energy I’ve worked up by disliking Mrs Fawcett-Smythe.” He pauses as I move away. “Wait. Where are you going, Asa?”

“Putting a note in my diary to make sure you attend the next few committee meetings.”

“You’re very funny,” he says thoughtfully as he starts to strip off his clothes.

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