Page 16 of Since We're Here
“I did ask you to, didn’t I?”
“Yes. Who does that?”
A crooked grin comes across her mouth. “I’m really not that forward normally. I’m just in this awkward spot in my life.”
I refuse to ask her to elaborate, even though I’m kind of dying to know more.
“Anyway, you didn’t fight me on it.”
I make a rumbling noise in the back of my throat.
“Easy, Patrick, no need to growl at me.” She leans back and crosses her legs to the side of the table, within my line of sight. I find myself wishing she’d worn a short dress where I could get a peek at her thighs. “Hello?”
“Sorry.” Feck. I was staring at her covered legs. The side of her mouth twitches.
“Okay, well, we have time to figure this all out because I’m in town for a month.”
“I’m sorry, what did you say? Surely it’s not that you’re in Dingle for a whole month?”
“Yes. That’s what I said.”
I can’t help but laugh, and it attracts Beth’s attention from behind the bar.
“Why? Where are you staying?”
“Above the pub, actually. There’s a flat right there.” She points at the ceiling.
Oh, feck.
“You’re not serious.”
She nods and crinkles her forehead. “The owner is absolutely obsessed with sheep. It’s kinda weird.”
I grab my mobile and click through to read Noreen’s full text.
Noreen
Your new tenant arrived last night! She signed a one-month lease. Her name is Maddie Hart and she’s a delight. She was at the pub last night, actually, but I didn’t get a chance to introduce you two. Be nice if you see her around town!
“I counted at least half a dozen framed pictures and paintings of sheep. And when I woke up this morning, there was a sheep figurine glaring menacingly at me. I swear it wasn’t there last night.”
Bollocks. I’m absolutely not telling her that I carved that sheep figurine, and I also made the coffee table in the living room.
“Oh my god,” I whisper.
“What? You look... disturbed.” She reaches out and touches my hand, an exaggerated look of concern on her face.
I almost yank it away at the jolt her touch gives me. Sure, we touched last night, but this is different. We’re sober. I resist the urge to turn my hand over and press our palms together.
Should I tell her that she’s sleeping in my old bed, since I left it there when I built myself a bigger one for the cottage?
“Seriously, are you okay? It’s not like you have to hang out with me every day. Or at all.” The smile falls off her face, and she pulls her hand away slowly. It’s like a live wire being dragged away from the back of my hand, leaving a trail of crackling electricity. Then she leans back and licks her lips, this time more as an anxious movement. I can’t watch her do things like that for a whole freaking month.
I also hate that her mood seems to have shifted back to the anxious one she had when she walked in.
“That’s my flat.”
“Huh?”
