Page 80 of Meet Me Under the Mistletoe
“They aren’t all like that... and anyway Guy’s a terrible drunk...”
“You’re defending him.”
“I’m not, I’m...”
“Being drunk is no excuse for behaving like an arsehole.”
“You’re absolutely right.”
“All it means is that the alcohol has loosened his inhibitions and he’s saying what he really means.”
“Well, I... the thing is, his wife just left him...”
“Still no excuse.”
“No.”
“God. Now I’m being the arsehole!” Isaac rubbed a hand across his brow. “Sorry, none of this is your fault.”
Nory smiled. “It’s okay.”
“I don’t do so well with the whole ‘the customer is always right’ stuff. Never have done.”
“You don’t say.”
Now Isaac smiled.
“Do you want me to talk to Lord Abercrombie? Confirm your version of events?” Nory asked.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. Jimmy and a couple of the other stable hands saw what happened. And Jeremy’s already spoken to him on my behalf, said I was acting in self-defense and defending your honor.”
“See,” said Nory, smiling. “They’re not all bad.”
She must remember to thank Jeremy. Isaac rested the pitchfork up against the compost heap.
“Come here,” he said.
Nory narrowed her eyes. “You’re muddy and sweaty,” she said, smiling as she moved closer to him.
He returned her smile and hooked his arm around her back, pulling her to him. Nory let herself be pulled; a delightful fizz of excitement made her breath catch. He kissed her once, softly, pulling back just a fraction as though waiting to see if she would push him away. Nory kept her eyes closed, the taste of him still on her lips, hearing the sounds of his breathing, hard and fast, the air taut between them. He kissed her again, more deeply this time, and Nory’s breath matched his for speed. She wondered how comfortable the potting shed floor would be. Isaac pressed himself against her and she let out a gasp of delight.Screw the potting shed, she thought,that compost heap looks pretty soft...
“Ahem!”
Nory and Isaac sprang apart like they had electrodes on their genitals.
“Sorry,” said a young man, whose cheeks were flushed red in perfect pantomime dame circles. Nory recognized him as one of the groundsmen.
Isaac cleared his throat, grabbed his fleece jacket off the fence post and tied it around his waist. Nory tried to suppress her smile.
“Everything all right, Milo?” Isaac asked, running a hand through his hair.
Milo had the haunted look of a person who had just caught their parents heavy petting. “Er, a deer got into one of the greenhouses.”
“Which one?”
Milo looked as though he didn’t want to say.
“Not the kitchen garden,” Isaac said, trying to read Milo’s expression.
