Page 45 of Sunset at Embthwaite Farm
It also might have been rather wonderful.
Clearly, the moment—if there even had been a moment—had passed, and after breakfast, they both launched into the usual script of courtesies, thanking each other, saying they must do it again—whatever it was.
At the door, James helped Anna on with her coat, and the feel of his hands sliding up over her shoulders ignited something in her again, that spark she’d long believed had flickered to cold ash. She turned around, and his hands dropped to his sides. He gave a smile that was clearly meant to be a farewell.
“See you soon, Anna,” he said, and he leaned forward to do the kind of kiss where you simply hovered your cheek next to someone else’s without actually touching. For a second, Anna just breathed him in. He smelled of woodsmoke from the fire, and coffee, and a hint of soap. Her senses swirled.
His cheek was still hovering near hers and he was about to ease back and suddenly Anna couldn’t stand it. She’d stood on the sidelines of life, of her own marriage, for far too long. First accepting Peter’s affair, and then living as quietly and unobtrusively as she could—yes, in part because she’d wanted to—but also because she hadn’t believed she’d deserved anything else. Hadn’t dared to dream she might ever find it.
And yet here was a man, a wonderful, amazing, handsome,sexyman, and his lips were an inch or two from hers.
Before she could overthink it, Anna moved her head. Moved her mouth, so her lips brushed and then bumped his. She felt James’s whole body twang with shock and then go completely still, and with her lips still glued to his, she feared she’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
In fact, she was pretty sure she had.
But in the split second of having that awful thought, things changed. James’s hands came back up to grip her shoulders. His mouth fastened on hers with intent. And the brush-bump kiss that was more suitable for a thirteen-year-old than a fifty-three-year-old turned into something wonderful and passionate and intense.
Anna wasn’t sure which one of them was deepening the kiss, who first walked who right up to the door so her back came against it and still James was kissing her, and she was kissing him. Her hands were in his hair, that lovely, white wavy hair, and her mind was reeling. Her body was on fire.
Then James broke the kiss, gasping, and they both stared at each other in wonder.
“Should I say sorry?” he mused aloud, and Anna let out a choked laugh as she pressed her hand to her tingling lips.
“No.”
He laughed too then, a sound of incredulity. “That’s the first kiss I’ve had in fourteen years.”
“Me too,” Anna replied. “Well—twelve. Probably more, actually. I can’t remember the last time Peter and I kissed, to be honest.” She stopped talking abruptly because she didn’t want to think about kissing Peter. She wanted, most definitely, to think about kissing James. Preferably again.
“I wasn’t expecting that,” James admitted with a sheepish laugh. He passed a shaky hand over his face as he shook his head. “But I’m very glad it happened.”
“Me too,” Anna replied, and knew she meant it. Utterly.
Chapter Eighteen
Anna couldn’t stopsmiling all the way back to Mathering. She felt guilty for feeling so happy when so much else in life was harrowing and sad, and yet…shewas. And she knew she didn’t want to feel guilty about it, because heaven knew she’d felt guilty about so much for so long. Right now, she just wanted to enjoy whatever it was that was happening between her and James. She wasn’t even going to second-guess or catastrophise about the future. She just wanted to be.
Back at the house, Anna glanced uncertainly at Jane’s front window; it was nearly nine o’clock on a Monday morning and yet the curtains were still drawn. Should she knock on the door, check up on Jane? She felt she should, but she knew it would mean a long conversation, and she couldn’t exactly admit she’d spent the night at her father’s and kissed him senseless, to boot.
A sudden, unhelpful giggle escaped Anna at the thought. No, now was definitely not the time to talk to Jane. She’d let something slip, she wouldn’t be able to help it, and who knew how Jane would react. That was for James to handle; Anna supposed they would have to talk about it at some point. Some point soon, if things continued the way they had this morning…
For the next hour, Anna carted things from her car, so there was a big pile of boxes in the middle of her kitchen. She checked in with Rachel, who texted back to say Peter was sleeping, and Ben was bringing over lunch. Anna responded by saying she’d come by later that afternoon, which would hopefully give her enough time to unpack everything and sort her little house out.
She was coming to quite like this house, she reflected as she stacked some of her cookbooks on a slate shelf in the kitchen. If she sold her place in Stroud, she supposed she could buy something here, although she didn’t think she’d mind staying in this rental. Of course if things became serious with James…
But she couldn’t let herself think that way, not after just one kiss.
We’re both in our fifties so there might not be loads of time to waste when it comes to a relationship…
James had said that, but he’d also said there was a reason people took things slowly. Anna neither wanted to presume nor rush. No, she just wanted toenjoy…as much as was possible, considering everything else going on in her life.
With everything unpacked, Anna changed her clothes, made herself a cup of tea, and then finally sat down with Peter’s address book and her mobile phone to call Ruth Hatch. Outside the sky was a pale blue, laced with gossamer-like clouds. Pale sunlight had turned her little patch of lawn silvery, and a cluster of snowdrops had sprung up under the yew tree. Anna gazed out at the pleasant little scene, letting the moment’s peace soak right into her bones.
I’m happy, she thought, and marvelled.
Then, putting down her cup of tea and squaring her shoulders, she turned to the address book and flipped it open to H. There were only two entries—a feed supplier and R. Hatch, in Peter’s crabbed handwriting. Her heart lurched like a drunk staggering inside her chest. Did she really want to call this woman?Talkto her?
Then she thought of the look of wonder on James’s face that morning, and decided that no, she didnotwant to ring Ruth Hatch but yes, shecould—and would—do it. Taking a deep breath, she swiped her phone and then started putting in the numbers, her heart thudding harder with each digit she pressed.
