Page 51 of Don't Bite the Boy Next Door
“Oh I think you are a great deal more than that,” she laughs gently, “and you know, you don’t have to remain in separate rooms on my account, I’m not that old-fashioned.”
“I’m leaving today,” I frown, leaning down to pick up the cats to put an end to the conversation. I don’t want to be drawn further into her fantasy that her son and I are involved.
‘After all, wasn’t that my fantasy too?’
“It was nice meeting you, Mrs Spencer, I wish you a very merry Christmas. I’m sorry I ran out of time to order you a present. Orson, c’mon.”
I gesture to my piglet, and he reluctantly hops down off the lounge to follow.
“I don’t understand,” she says, rising to follow me out onto the porch and frowning at my bags.
“Would you do me a favour and take the cats to the car for me, please?” I ask quietly, handing them to her before she can answer, and hefting my bags.
“Of course,” she shakes her head, still confused.
I feel horribly rude being so abrupt, but I’m only just keeping my emotions in check. I know I will likely begin to cry the moment I get into the car.
“At least say you will come back for Christmas dinner,” she says, as I load the last of the bags and, holding the car door mostly shut to prevent the cats escaping, slide one leg in.
“That’s very kind of you,” I smile gently at her, reaching over to give her hand a quick squeeze, “but no. Please thank Ryan for his hospitality and tell him I will be vacating the property the day after Christmas.”
I turn and get into the car, driving away without looking back.
I couldn’t if I wanted to, I am blinded by tears.
