Page 78 of Milo
He snorts and shakes his head. “Date first, cock after,” he says loftily and turns just in time to grab the pad which the waiter bobbles in shock. “Sorry,” he says, smiling brilliantly at the man. “It’s best to set out one’s boundaries early, don’t you think?”
I’m still laughing when we leave the restaurant. We pause to button our coats when the cold sea wind hits us. Then he grabs my hand and pulls me along after him.
“Where are we going?” I ask plaintively.
“You’ll see.”
We wander along after that, taking in St Ives on a cold winter’s night. It’s a beautiful seaside town known for its surfing beaches and its thriving art scene. In the summer it’s murder as cars queue to get in and you practically have to sell an organ to get a parking space, but in winter it’s quieter. There are still a fair amount of people about, but the lack of all the tourists makes it easier to admire the slightly raffish charm of the place.
We pass shops whose windows are a golden glowing oasis in the cold night, and I move alongside Niall as he obviously has a destination in mind. Finally, he comes to a stop and I look up at the huge plate-glass window.
“A gallery?” I say, turning to look at him.
For a second, he looks almost embarrassed with his cheeks flushed. “I thought you’d like it,” he says quietly.
“But you hate art.”
He shrugs. “I like being with you, though, and anyway, when you talk about art it’s interesting.” He smiles almost shyly at me. “I thought it would be nice and would make you happy.”
My heart bangs hard in my chest and I feel hot all over. “I am happy,” I say hoarsely, moving into him and loving the way his hands come up almost automatically to bracket my hips, holding me to him. Being with him like this is almost what I imagine dancing with a long-term partner to be. Easy and fluid, our bodies seem to know what the other one is doing and echoes it. “You make me happy.” I finally say the words, stumbling a little.
I want to close my eyes in mortification that I can’t say that without stumbling, but I can’t because his face blazes with happiness and he kisses me swiftly. It’s a soft kiss, barely landing before he moves back, but I blink as if he’s stunned me. I try to parse what I’m feeling but at that moment the door opens, letting out a gush of warm air, and we both shiver like Pavlov’s dogs.
“Come on,” he says, tugging me through the door. “It’s an art show tonight. Four very successful local artists who got their start here are showing their work. I thought you’d get a kick out of it when I heard about it.”
“How did you hear about this?” I ask, handing the woman at the door my coat with a smile.
He grins, looking around curiously. I don’t even bother because all my attention is fixed on him. He has a flush from the cold and his blond hair, ever so slightly darker now in the winter, is tousled and glowing under the light. I remember lying in bed the other night, running my hands through the strands as he rested his head on my chest. The strands had gone a light tan colour but I’d found threads of white gold underneath, like a piece of summer had been caught in his hair.
He motions us forward and I look around. The gallery is huge and well-lit and teeming with people. A wave of loud conversation greets us.
I look sideways at him. “How did you find out about this?”
He smiles. “Do you like it?” I nod and his smile gets bigger. Then he leans forward and whispers. “I spoke to Simeon.”
I jerk. “You spoke to Simeon? How? When?”
He shrugs. “I met him in St Austell. I’d been to the bank and he was coming out of a pub. We stopped to talk.”
I stare at him. “You never said.” Jealousy stirs suddenly. Simeon is very good-looking and Niall even more so. “Why didn’t you say?”
He immediately looks disgruntled. “Are you bothered that your admirer flirts for a living?”
I open my mouth to say something rude but pause at the note in his voice, and instead I smile and cuddle into his side. “I’m not bothered that he might look at you,” I say. “But no one gets to touch you.”
He stops dead, stupefaction running across his face, and then a huge smile crosses it. “You’re jealous.”
“A little bit,” I say warily. “Does that bother you?” I have horrible memories of the aftermath of a party when I’d drunkenly accused Thomas of flirting with a young artist. By the time we’d finished, I was under no illusions that I should ever be jealous again. The bruises had taken a while to heal but the lesson is still fresh and I hate that.
However, Niall confounds me as always. Drawing me to the side of the room, he hugs me. “It’s nice,” he says. “Shows you care.” He pauses. “But you know you can trust me, don’t you? I would never do anything to damage this between us. It’s too precious.”
I stare at him, my mouth open to say I don’t know what, but the next second my name is called. When we turn, it’s to find Simeon walking towards us.
“Hello, you came,” he says, shaking Niall’s hand and giving me a hug. It’s quick and he steps back hurriedly, looking at Niall, but he just smiles happily back at him.
“I said I would,” he says. “Milo loves this sort of stuff.”
“Not you?” Simeon asks, and my eyes narrow at the way he’s looking at Niall. He can stop that right about now.
