Page 58 of More Than I Can Bear

“River! I… Fine, what did you have to say?”

“I haven’t given up hope.” His thumb rubbed across my knuckles in a slow, sure stroke that produced little thrills of sensation through me. “I can’t. She’s beautiful, Mum.”

But he wasn’t talking to her, he was talking to me. His eyes held mine as he spoke, never wavering for a second.

“She’s talented, more talented than any person has a right to be and she doesn’t seem to realise that.” I shifted restlessly on the couch. “I could spend hours just watching her work.”

“Oh, River…” There was a world of need in the woman’s voice, one I didn’t quite understand, but I couldn’t interrogate that right now. His gaze felt like it pulled me in, drawing me closer. “Well, I’m ringing about the pie for you to take to Sunday lunch with Freya’s parents. Will one really be enough? I could make a quince and apple one as well, or apple and custard? What about apple and rhubarb? What sorts of things does her family like?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” he said.

My eyebrows shot up and I glared intensely at him, right as his mother seemed to lose her shit.

“What do you mean…? Do you have me on speakerphone? River…!” I heard her take a shuddering breath. “Is Freya there?”

“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice light as I scowled at him. “I’m Freya and pretty much anything with apple in it will make my dad happy, though maybe not the rhubarb.” I wrinkled my nose then, not really understanding people’s fascination with it. “But you don’t have to make anything—”

“Oh, I am so sorry, love. If I had any idea you were listening in. River, we’ll talk about this later.” I grinned at his mother’s suddenly terse tone, pointing a finger at him and making a silly face, but he was utterly unrepentant. “I’m Valerie, sweetheart, River’s mother and I swear I didn’t raise him to be like this.”

“Sweet?” I said. “Quiet, but like there’s a lot going on under the surface and very talented. He’s drawn me a couple of portraits that would have had my drawing lecturer losing their mind if they saw them.” I looked down at the hand that was covering mine. “Big and strong.”

“Yes, well, he is all of those things.” She seemed somewhat mollified by this. “He came around the other day because apparently your parents invited him around for Sunday dinner?” I didn’t know that, but it sounded like Dad. He was always complaining that I didn’t have a bloke around to keep me safe. “I said I’d make one of my famous apple pies, but I wanted to be sure that wasn’t overstepping. Your mother might have her own ideas about what she wants served for dessert.”

“As long as she doesn’t have to do the cooking, she’d be happy,” I replied. “Dad does the roast, because if it was up to Mum, we’d live off cheese and Vegemite sandwiches. She was never really a fan of cooking.”

“Oh, well, perhaps I can share some of my recipes.”

“Mum, not everyone is a culinary master in the kitchen,” River said. “Speaking of which, I need to try and cook something for my mate.” My stomach growled in agreement, forcing me to slap my hands down over it. “She hasn’t really eaten much today and that needs to be rectified.”

“What were you going to cook? Not that terrible concoction you try to pass off as Bolognese? Freya, he likes to think some beef mince fried until it’s burnt, then some tomato sauce and pasta is an actual meal. Do not hold his lack of cooking skills against him. I tried to teach him and his fathers—”

“I was thinking a nice stir fry,” he said, winking at me. “I’m pretty sure even I couldn’t fuck that up.”

“River!”

His mother started to spit out a rapid array of instructions and he just nodded along as he drew me into the kitchen.‘What do you want?’he mouthed, even as he made reassuring noises for his mother. I just grinned then, watching the big man engage in what seemed like a familiar ritual, one where he humoured his mother’s flighty nature, all while doing what he wanted.

“That sounds amazing, Valerie,” I said, stopping her mid-flow. “I think we’ve got most of those ingredients here. We’ll give it a go and see how the meal turns out.”

“Well, if you’re sure—” she said.

“We’re sure,” he said. “Love you, Mum.”

And before she could get another word in, he disconnected the call.

“So, you went to see your parents about coming around to see mine?” I asked as he settled me against the kitchen bench.

“’Course I did,” came his reply as he edged closer. “I’ve never bloody done it before and, after Adam…” We winced but he was determined to recover. “I don’t want to fuck this up.”

One big hand, then another, landed on either side of me on the bench.

“The stir-fry?” I was trying to be funny, but that didn’t work when my voice was all high and breathy. He was looming over me, smelling like pine needles and wood shavings and something spicy.

“This.”

He moved slowly, too slowly for my liking, because the anticipation seemed to build with every second he hung above me. I caught the moment his eyes went heavily hooded, his lips parting slightly. But when he swooped closer, it wasn’t to kiss me into oblivion. Rather his mouth hovered over mine, so I could feel his breath on my skin, almost taste him on my tongue.

“I really want to kiss you now, Freya.”

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