Page 6 of All Mine
‘Well, there’s a good social scene in Honeybridge if you fancy it. Depends on what you’re into?’
Isabella considered for a second. A single social scene. A whole new ball game. Oh God, it wasn’t the best to be thinking about balls with this gorgeous man in front of her. He carried on.
‘The Bolthole is the best bar in town and does theme nights which are fun if you want a night out. The Lit Lounge bookshop has a book club if you like reading. The gym is always organising events if you’re into fitness. The rowing club has a monthly party. . .’
It was exactly what she’d hoped for. A vibrant, fun place to live. But not yet.
‘Sounds perfect– for when I’ve got a bit more time on my hands.’
‘How’s it going then?’ he said, indicating the front door. ‘The renovation?’
She laughed.
‘Itwasgoing well until now! But the workmen accidentally hit a water pipe and then the stopcock broke. Honestly, it’s like Niagara Falls in there.’ She ran her hand over her cheeks, still feeling the moisture on them. For the first time she wondered what she must look like, half her hair still up in a messy bun, no make-up, flushed from the steaming, wet from the flood. Especially when he looked so good, like fresh laundry and just out of the shower good. She bet he smelled good up close. God, he was distracting. ‘The kitchen’s soaked, the utility is soaked, I’m soaked. . .’
He lowered his eyes and nodded slowly.
‘Yes, I can see that. . .’ he said with another smile, raising an eyebrow. That look again. The one that made her feel undressed. Like he was looking right through her clothes.
Curious, she followed his gaze and looked down at herself. She was drenched. Not just her face, but her clothes. Top, jeans, the lot. She hadn’t felt it in the urgency of the situation. And she had completely forgotten that she was wearing a thin, white T-shirt, which was now completely transparent. Her nipples stood proud and dark through the wet material in the early autumn air, and they were the focus of Etienne’s slow smile. She gasped, clapping her hands to her front, cupping her own breasts. She could feel her nipples pebbled against her palms.
A commotion sounded at the restaurant door behind her as the builders piled out and leaned on the front of the building, starting to roll cigarettes and sip tea from mugs. Obviously, it was time for tea break.
‘Oh God,’ Isabella said to herself, knowing now that she looked half naked and so keeping her back to them. Which kept her front to Etienne. He grinned and allowed himself a quiet laugh as he looked from her to the builders and back again. Then he shook his head, regretfully, as he seemed to make a decision.
‘Here,’ he said, pulling his hoodie off over his head, flashing her a tiny glimpse of taut stomach with a trail of dark hair heading downwards as his T-shirt lifted. He passed it to her and she grabbed it and clutched it to her front. ‘I have to say I’m enjoying the view, but I think maybe it’s not for public consumption.’
She knew she was blushing as she pulled the hoodie over her head and covered her badly behaved nipples that seemed to be quite enjoying the attention. The rub of his sweatshirt against them almost hurt.
‘Thanks,’ she managed, and then laughed self-consciously, pulling the hoodie around her. It smelled of his cologne, deep and woody.
‘Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,’ he replied and then walked back across the square, whistling. ‘See you soon.’
She realised she was still holding his wrench in her hand as she watched him go, thinking about today’s date. Months stretching out in front of her.
The next evening, about six, when all the workmen had left for a pint and a packet of crisps, there was a ring on the doorbell. Isabella’s first thought was that it might be him, Etienne. She wasn’t interested or anything, but she stopped to check her teeth in the mirror and toss her curls over her shoulder as she headed to the door. When she glanced at the Ring camera and spied two women on the doorstep, she wanted to laugh at herself.
‘Hi!’ The shorter blonde woman smiled, eyes twinkling through oversized tortoiseshell glasses as Isabella swung open the door.
‘Hello,’ the taller, more willowy redhead said simultaneously.
They both held out a bag towards Isabella.
‘Welcome to Honeybridge,’ the blonde said.
Isabella stared blankly, unsure as to whether they were a welcome party or a sales delegation. Did they want her to buy something? Sign a petition?
The redhead saw her confusion.
‘Sorry, I’m Wren.’
‘And I’m Rosie.’ The blonde nodded.
‘We own The Lit Lounge.’
‘The bookshop.’
‘And we wanted to welcome you to the neighbourhood.’
