Page 33 of Starting Over in Starshine Cove
“No. Allow me.”
He closes the distance between us, and gently smooths his thumb across my cheekbone. It is unexpected, the feel of his hand on my face, the closeness of his body, and I just about stop myself from gasping out loud. I am so surprised I wobble a little, and instinctively put my hand on his hip to steady myself.
I rally, trying to look cool, calm and collected, but the intimacy of the gesture, the touch of his skin on mine, is enoughto turn my heart into a jackhammer. His fingers linger a little longer than they need to, and our eyes meet. He looks as surprised as I am, and I wonder if he felt the same kind of zing – the same little jolt of electricity.
Of course he didn’t, I tell myself. I’ve seen the kinds of women he goes for, and they ain’t me. He’s the one who is encouraging me to see other men, talking me into going on dates. If he was at all interested in me, he wouldn’t have done that, would he? I am an idiot to have even imagined there was more to that touch than friendship.
“There,” he says, finally taking his hand away. “All gone.”
He’s still standing close, though, still gazing down at me with a look of… well, I’m not quite sure what it is. Curiosity, maybe – combined with a touch of surprise? What the hell is happening here?
I return his look, and manage what I hope is a casual ‘everything’s fine’ smile – but inside, I am fighting a raging battle with my own urges. What if I reached out and placed my palm on his chest? What if I pulled him closer? What if I wound my fingers in his hair? What if I emptied a full packet of flour all over myself, so then he’d have to wipe smudges from the whole of my body?
The moment is well and truly broken by the dainty sound of our two hungry daughters galloping down the stairs. Zack and I immediately pull apart, putting a table between us for safety.
I’m glad they didn’t come a few seconds earlier, and I’m equally glad of the distraction. Zack touching me like that was perfectly innocent, I’m sure, but my reaction to it was not. I’m still tingling where he made contact, and I go and open the fridge door for absolutely no reason other than I want to stand in front of it and cool down. Phew. It’s getting hot in here, in all kinds of ways.
I let the cool air flow over my face, and listen in on Sophie and Marcy’s chatter. The café is closed today, and they’re planning a trip to Bristol on the train, staying overnight in a cheap hotel. Apparently they’re suffering from Big City Withdrawal Syndrome, and need to up their quota of inhaled traffic fumes and angry people in queues. Zack came down here to spend time with his girl, but he is left picking up scraps – something most parents of teenagers have to accept early on in the process.
“So,” he says, as we all sit down to tuck into our feast, “I have a proposition for you, Connie.”
I’m embarrassingly mid-chew with a mouthful of pancake, so I simply nod. I’m still a little befuddled by the flour-on-face incident anyway.
“Both of your dates are in Lyme Regis, and I’m really keen to see Lyme Regis. I went there as a boy with my grandparents, and remember it being magical. So, why don’t I drive us? That way, I get some company for part of the day, and you get less stress.”
“You can also drink,” Marcy points out helpfully. “You might need a G&T if things don’t go well… or even if they do!”
If this was Archie or Jake or Ella offering me a lift, I wouldn’t hesitate – it would be a whopping big ‘hell, yes’. But it’s Zack, and I’m not sure that spending time alone in a car with him will do anything positive for my stress levels. I take my time while I try and come up with a way of saying no that doesn’t sound rude – ‘I’m sorry, you’re just too hot to be around’ somehow feels wrong.
“Go on, Mum,” Sophie says. “You know you always hate parking in Lyme.”
She does have a fair point, and I have to concede.
“Okay,” I finally say. “Sounds like a plan. I have an emergency whistle, Zack, so if you hear me blowing on it, come running.”
“An emergency whistle?”
“Yep. George gave it to me as a safety precaution. I think he’s worried I might get taken.”
I pull the whistle out from my blouse and give it a light toot. Sophie laughs and points at me.
“See how it feels?” she says. I know what she’s talking about but the others don’t, and she explains: “When I first moved to London Mum bought me three different attack alarms – one for my pocket, one for my keychain, and one for my bag!”
“I was just covering all the bases,” I reply, refusing to feel embarrassed. “I wish I’d got you one on a string around your neck as well now. Plus I assumed you’d lose at least one of them.”
She has nothing to say to that, so I assume I was right.
“So, when should we leave?” Zack asks. Bear has his big head rested on his thighs and is gazing up at him with adoration. Possibly because he has a Nutella-coated chunk of pancake on his fork.
“I’m pretty much ready. I’ll just clear this stuff away, then meet you at the inn in half an hour? We’ll get there early, but that suits me.”
“Perfect. It’s a date.”
Ha, I think. As if I need another one of those.
TEN
The Day of Dates turns out to be what you could only describe as a mixed bag.
