Page 19 of A Cornish Love Story
‘We could practise, if you wanted?’ Ethan gestured to the door of the watchmaker’s. Its wooden frame was cracked and rotten, possibly infested with woodworm.
‘We can’t.’
‘Why not?’
I held up my index finger. ‘One, it’s broad daylight.’ I held up my middle finger. ‘Two, there are people everywhere.’
‘But this glass.’ He pressed his palm against it, fingers splayed. ‘It feels like picture glass to me. I bet I could break it with my elbow.’
‘Are you a secret rebel, Ethan?’
He raised an eyebrow and then, as if in answer to my question, took a cigarette out of his pocket. He put it in his mouth and brought a silver Zippo up to light it, cupping his hand around the flame. I was torn, because he looked like a golden age Hollywood film star, with his mess of hair and high cheekbones, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. But I thought about the poison going into his lungs, and after his second drag I plucked it out of his fingers and ran up the road, my rucksack bouncing on my back.
‘Hey!’ I heard his footsteps behind me and swerved left, across the seafront road and onto the beach.I dipped right, so I was running along the edge, where the cliffs rose up from sea level. Little streams of water ran down the stone, through patches of moss, making trails on the sand. It was damp from an earlier shower, squidgy beneath my feet, the sky still bustling with clouds. I stubbed the cigarette out against the stone.
‘Hey!’ Ethan called again. His legs were longer, he could have caught up with me already, but for some reason he was holding off. I kept going along the cliff line, the jagged rock rising above me until there was an overhang, a shallow recess that was close to but not quite a cave, and I risked glancing behind me.
He was on me immediately, his hands gripping my hips, lifting me slightly and then placing me back a step, so I was inches from the cliff face. I let my bag slip off my shoulders, heard the scrape as it met rough rock on the way down.
‘Hey, Georgie.’ Ethan stepped forwards, crowding me, his legs on either side of mine.
My head knocked gently into the overhang as I looked up at him.
‘You,’ he said through laboured breaths, ‘are a little thief.’ His eyes blazed, but he brought his hand up behind my head, a soft cushion to shield me from the rock.
‘Smoking’s bad for you,’ I said. ‘You’re only eighteen. What if it stunts your growth?’ I’d meant it as a joke, but it hadn’t come out that way.
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I don’t think …’
‘I don’t want you getting ill,’ I blurted, then flushed,embarrassed. I’d tried so hard to keep my fears about Mum away from this part of my life; it was a personal promise I’d renewed when I met Ethan, and this was only the odd cigarette: I was being ridiculous.
But his gaze softened, and he brushed my hair off my forehead. ‘I’m OK,’ he said, ‘but I will stop, if you want me to?’
His words hung in the air, the crash of the waves punctuating the quiet, and I realized what he was offering me, because how could I make him stop smoking if we were just friends, if we just hung out occasionally? Why would he do that for me?
‘I want you to stop,’ I said.
His gaze flickered, and then he smiled, wide and bright. When he leaned towards me, the smoke lingering on his breath, I parted my lips and invited him closer, closing my eyes when he brushed his mouth over mine.
I’d kissed a couple of other boys in school, but those encounters had been overeager and desperate, more about getting important milestones out of the way than the people I was with, and I hadn’t gone any further than that. Ethan was patient, his lips exploring gently, his hand on my hip again, pulling me against him.
‘Is this OK?’ he whispered.
I nodded and tried to moan seductively, but it came out more like a squeak.
‘Good,’ he said. That one word reminded me of the first day we met, and then my mind went blank as hekissed me again, increasing the pressure. I slid my hands around his back, clinging to him like I never wanted to let go.
It felt unreal and reckless, kissing Ethan on the beach, in sight of the cold, raw ocean, the March wind twisting around us.
When he finally pulled away, his cheeks were pink. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked hoarsely.
I tried to catch my breath. ‘I’m …’ I didn’t know what else to say, so I pressed my fingers to my lips and grinned at him.
He puffed out a breath, as if he was relieved, then returned my smile. ‘I will stop smoking for you, Georgie.’ He picked up my rucksack and shrugged it onto his shoulder, then took my hand. ‘Can I walk you home?’
I nodded, helpless to do anything else. My world had changed in those few minutes, and I couldn’t wait to go to the clifftop mansion with him, no matter how dark it was, how many spiders or rats or ghosts there might be waiting to terrify us, because I knew he would make me feel safe.
Chapter Nine
