Page 21 of Milo
“Yep.”
“Oh my God, why am I not there? This is pure torture.”
“I’m sure it won’t be very eventful.”
“Have you seen the man? He’s tall and big and most definitely not bendy at all. It’ll be hilarious. Oh, make him do that chair pose. And film it and send it to me. There’s nothing funny on the television at the moment. Plus, if he falls over we could totally send it toYou’ve Been Framedand get two hundred and fifty quid.”
“I will not be filming anything.”
“We’ll share it with him,” he says earnestly and pauses. “Well, we’ll give him a tenner for his troubles. That’s more than enough.”
I hear the front door slam and the familiar warmth and fizzle of anticipation curls in my stomach at the thought of seeing Niall. I quash it. “I’m going now,” I say quickly. “He’s here.”
“Okay, but remember Downward Dog is not a sex pose or an invitation to fuck in a car park in front of complete strangers.”
“You think you’re funny, but you are truly not,” I say firmly and put the phone down.
I look up when Niall saunters into the kitchen. He’s filthy dirty with a streak of dirt running down his face that makes him look a bit like an extra fromBraveheart. He also has scratches running down his arms, presumably from where he’s been wrestling branches. I smile because Niall is genetically incapable of standing back and issuing orders, which would be what most people would do in his position. Instead, he has to get involved in whatever his men are doing and consequently is usually scratched or bruised or both. He’d broken his arm once trying to help the roofer and that period of inactivity had been hellish, not just for him but for everyone else he came in contact with.
However, one of the scratches looks really deep and before I know it, I’ve crossed the kitchen and taken his arm. He looks startled and for a second I think he’s going to step back, but he stays still and lets me hold it up to the light. “That’s a really deep one, Niall,” I murmur, running my finger gently down the side of it. It’s oozing blood and looks nasty. He jerks hard like I’ve electrically shocked him, and I look up in surprise.
“It hurt,” he says hoarsely.
“Oh, sorry,” I say quickly. His arm is so strong and the skin so warm that I let it drop reluctantly and look up at him. “Why don’t you go for a shower and clean up? Then I’ll patch that up and we can do some yoga and you can eat afterward.” I pause. “That’s if you still want to do yoga?”
“I do,” he says quickly. He sniffs, and a longing expression comes over his face. “Oh my God, is that your minestrone soup?” I nod and he smiles happily. “I love that.” He looks around at the warmly lit kitchen with music playing in the background. “This is nice,” he says slowly.
“What is?”
“Coming home and finding you …” He seems to stumble over his words for a second. “I mean it’s nice finding food cooking and the house lit up.” He looks almost bashful. “Usually the house is dark. I don’t mind that, of course,” he says quickly. “I like living on my own.”
I step back and smile. “Of course you do.” When he hesitates, I make shooing gestures. “Go and shower. We haven’t got unlimited time for yoga because Cora will be awake soon.”
He stares at me, something running over his face, and then he smiles awkwardly and is gone. When I hear the shower start, I turn the heat low on the soup and move into the lounge. I went up to the main house earlier to get my yoga mat and the spare. Now, I lay them out on the carpet and dim the lights.
I consider putting music on and lighting candles, which is what I do sometimes if I’m feeling stressed, but I dismiss it immediately. Niall will think I’m trying to seduce him and run a mile. A brief image of a Niall-sized hole in the door and dust at his heels comes into my head, and I smile a little sadly before I make myself cheer up.
It’s strange, but these last few days I’ve almost felt like we’re becoming real friends and I like it. I’ve always in the past felt that I’m a faceless element to him. A remnant from his past. Someone he feels obliged to look after because of Gideon. Now, I feel like he sees me, and it’s nice because we actually get on very well. I rarely feel awkward around him with my words because I know if I stammer he won’t mind or look at me funny. He has, after all, seen me at my worst.
So instead, over the last few days, we’ve talked a lot about anything and everything while we’ve been eating dinner. He’s funny and sarcastic and surprisingly sentimental at times. He’s so sure and confident and almost hard that it’s been a revelation to know that music moves him and that he can’t bear to watch animal programmes on television in case they’re hurt or die. I’d had to switch offSuper Vetthe other day before he cried.
Footsteps on the stairs bring me out of my thoughts and I look up and swallow hard as he appears in the door towelling his hair. He’s shirtless and wearing a pair of black running leggings that cling to his long legs. The low light gilds the long length of his torso and dances over the drum-tight grooves of his pelvis. For all his height he’s actually very lean with a runner’s body that shows itself in his tight abdominals and the muscled length of his legs.
I swallow again and manage to clear the expression on my face so by the time he lowers the towel I’m facing him with a hopefully peaceful expression. That falters slightly when he comes towards me and I catch a whiff of sugary scentedshampoo from the damp tangles of his blond hair. He smooths his hair down so it falls into a neat side parting that I know in a few minutes will be lost as his hair reverts to its natural messy state. However, the deep red mark on his arm recalls me to my task.
“Let me have a look at that,” I murmur, taking his arm.
“Oh, I don’t need anything,” he says airily, trying to pull his arm away.
I glare at him. “Yes, you do,” I say firmly. “With the work you do, this could get infected very quickly. You won’t be able to do much if your arm has to be amputated due to septicaemia.”
“I can’t help feeling that you’re a glass half empty sort of man, Lo,” he says, humour running through his voice.
“Well, you’re definitely a fully empty one then because you’d have drunk the contents.”
He laughs loudly and watches as I move to Cora’s changing bag and retrieve the small first aid kit. I open it and take out the plasters and he groans.
“No fucking way.”
