by Karen Ferry
“Mum!” I hiss. “Where the heck…?”
“Be safe, and have fun,” she interrupts as she steps away from me. “Don’t think about it.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I mutter as I cross my arms. “And why is everyone telling me to stop thinking all of a sudden?”
Mum opens the door to my car, shaking her head at me.
“You know as well as I do that you have a tendency to overthink every single thing, lass, and that will only bring you more wrinkles and grey hairs.”
I don’t have a clever comeback for that one.
“Say hi to Anna for me,” I offer instead as she starts the car.
“Will do.” She smiles at me and then she’s off.
I can’t believe my own mother just hijacked my car. What the fudge is going on?
And how the heck did she get condoms?
Cringing at the thought, I rub my hands over my face.
I don’t want to know.
Resolved to forget the last ten minutes of my life, I head to the house and up to my room. A long bath is what I need right now.
Kristian
Six p.m. and I’m pacing up and down the loft, about to lose my fucking mind.
Not one text. Not all day, despite the fact Laura said she would text me.
Frustrated, I run a hand through my damp hair rush to my bed and check my phone for the millionth time. The screen is still blank, mocking me.
“Fuck.”
I know Laura’s been home for hours, and yet, I’ve heard nothing. I’m not worried about her, and I’m not on some weird, possessive, power trip, but it kind of hurts that she hasn’t done as she promised.
I stop in the middle of the flat, pulling on my lip.
“Fuck it,” I mutter and pull on my boots. I’ve had enough of waiting. Just as I grab my phone, it vibrates in my hand. My heart skips a beat as I see her name lighting up the screen.
Laura: Have you eaten yet?
Blood buzzing, I type as fast as I can.
Me: Nope, not yet.
The silence drags as I wait for her next move.
Laura: Care to join me for dinner?
“Oh, you have no idea, sweetheart,” I murmur as I text her back.
Me: Yes.
Laura: Come on over, then.
Me: On my way.
I grab my jacket and keys, then rush down the stairs and move through the stable. I should probably feel disgusted with myself for rushing to her, but I don’t give a flying fuck. If she’s cooked for me, that means she’s prepared to spend more than a short time with me.
I’ll take each second she wants to give me, no questions asked.
21
Laura
My palms sweaty, I run my hands down my simple, royal blue tube dress, which hugs my curves and stops just above my knees. I try not to fiddle with my hair that I’ve tried to curl before pulling it back in a low ponytail—bloody hell, it took forever, but I hope Kristian likes it. It’s been ages since I’ve dressed up for a date, but even though it’s foreign to me, I like the way it makes me feel.
I welcome the anticipation that mingles with butterflies. Besides, after I’d had my bath earlier, I came to the conclusion that both Mum and Trish were right.
It’s time I gave another man a chance and stop living in the past.
I take a shaky breath as I hear the gentle knock on the door and turn my head to watch Kristian as he walks inside. His eyes widen as he takes me in, standing next to the kitchen sink and he jolts to a stop. Feeling exposed, I shuffle a bit until his stance shifts and he smiles at me.
I offer him a cautious smile.
“Hey,” he mutters in that low, husky voice that turns my insides to mush. As he tugs off his boots, his eyes trail every inch of my body, making me push my bare feet firmly into the hardwood floor beneath me.
“Hey, yourself.”
He turns his head and takes in the table I’ve set.
“Seeing as I have the house to myself for once, I thought we could have dinner—get to know each other better,” I offer, wringing my hands. “I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but…”
“It looks nice, Laura,” he interrupts, as he walks towards me. “Real nice.”
“Thank you.”
Crap, why does he have to look so delicious right now?
His hair is pulled back from his face, and I want to lick my lips at the scruff on his jaw. The fabric of his white T-shirt stretches across his toned chest, making me relive the way it felt underneath my hands when we had sex last night. And his black jeans look as if they’re glued to his strong legs.
Everything about him oozes sex, confidence, and something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
No, it’s Kristian. Inherently him—male, sexy, and swoonworthy.
I glance down at the bulge straining against the fabric and wet my lips, already eager for the dessert part of the menu.
Me. Him. Naked. Sweaty. Hungry.
“So,” he muses as he stops in front of me, “is this our first official date?”
I smile at the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Yes. Sort of.”
He takes another step, his chest coming achingly close to mine, and my heart flutters at his closeness.
“I feel like a fool.” There’s a sheepish smile in his eyes as he looks at me.
I frown at him.
“Why is that?”
“Because I didn’t bring you any flowers. I think that’s the way people usually go about things—the man is supposed to give his woman a flashy bouquet on their first date, right?”
I grin at the way his eyes glint playfully at me.
“I don’t need flashy stuff, Kristian,” I whisper. “I just need to have a good time.”
He nods as he leans down to kiss my cheek.
My scar.
A shudder runs through me as my eyes flutter closed at the touch of his lips.
I’ve missed them all day.
“What’s for dinner?” he whispers as he places another soft kiss on my jaw, and another at the corner of my lips.
Feeling slightly befuddled in the head by his proximity, it takes me a full five seconds to remember what I’ve cooked.
“Um, just steaks, pasta, and a green salad. Nothing fancy.”
“Mmm,” he breathes against my mouth. “That sounds good.”
“You’re torturing me with your lips,” I whimper as he wraps his arms around my waist. I melt into his body—I can’t help myself. “I can’t breathe when you’re this close to me.”
“I’ve missed the taste of your skin all day.”
He keeps nibbling on my skin, up and down my face, making me shiver even more.
“Food,” he mumbles then, bringing me back from the clouds I’m floating on.
I force my eyes open and nod. The smirk on his face makes me narrow my eyes at him.
He knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and he’s enjoying every minute.
“Tease,” I mumble and step out of his embrace.
“You love it,” he taunts.
I snort as I grab the bowl of salad from the counter and push it at his chest.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
I smile as I jerk my chin at him.
“Sit down, please. Let’s eat.”
As he does as I say, I move to the fridge and take the chilled Frascati out and uncork it. I take a deep breath before I turn and go to sit down opposite him.
This night is going to be interesting.
I’m grateful that Kristian has kept the conversation light the last couple of hours. I don’t think I could handle anything heavy with him from the get-go. That’s not what first dates are about.
They’re about getting to know each other on the surface, learning each other’s likes and dislikes about everyday kind of things.
The movies you like.
What you do for fun.
The life you lead.
Stuff like that.
I�
�m glad Kristian seems interested to learn more about the farm, though, and I haven’t been able to stop myself from talking about all the hopes and dreams I have for the place.
“So, you want to turn it into a school?” he asks as he tops up our glasses with the last of the wine.
I nod and take a sip, careful not to overindulge.
“I do. But not just any kind of school. I want to offer riding classes to people—both children and adults—who are dealing with some kind of trauma, whether that be physically or mentally.”
He pushes his plate to the side and leans forward in his seat, resting his arms on the table. I mirror his stance when he crooks a finger at me.
“Doesn’t that take a lot of time and money?” he asks. “Not to mention training.”
“Mmm, it does. But I think I can do it. I have a degree in psychology,” I admit.
He blinks.
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Now I just need to get Mum on board with it.”
He purses his lips at me.
“And the right horses for it, I’d think.”
I nod and place my chin on my hand.
“That, too. Finding the balance between what we do now—rehabilitating horses—and setting up the school is the most challenging part, though. I’m still trying to sort out all the details, but I do hope that I’ll make it work within the next five years.”
“What made you come up with this idea?”
I squint my eyes at him.
“Are you sure you want to know all this?” I ask suspiciously.
The slow smile he gives me makes my belly flutter.
“I want to know everything about you, Laura.”
The way his voice dips a notch lower makes my skin break out in tingles.
“Well, okay, I’ll tell you all about it on our next date, then.”
His smile falls.
“Are you kicking me out?”
I grin at him.
“Not at all.”
“Sooo…?” He tilts his head at me. “Now what do you want to talk about?”
I bring up my other hand and stare at him while I think about the right way to word my thoughts.
“You’re very good with Ailith,” I start quietly. His eyes shoot up to his hairline. I’ve surprised him.
“Thanks, I guess?” he laughs nervously.
“I was wondering if you’ve had any experience with children her age before?”
A shadow passes over his eyes as he sighs deeply and looks away from me. I wait, watching a myriad of emotions run across his face, but I can’t back down. I want to know all there is to know about him, too, especially because of my daughter.
Heck, who am I kidding? It’s as much for my sake as it is for hers.
“Is this a touchy subject?” I ask him, keeping my voice low.
His jaw clenches as his eyes turn back to mine. The anguish in them makes my stomach tie up in knots.
“Yes.”
I hold my breath for a beat, then slowly let it out.
“Why?”
He sighs deeply and leans back on the bench.
“It’s not something I talk about,” he clips.
I hate that he’s completely shut down on me.
“Will you try? For me?”
I sit forward in my seat, trying to tell him with my eyes why this is so important to me.
“Are you going to tell me about your husband if I do?” he counters, making me grimace at him.
But I know it’s only fair that I open up to him, so I nod slowly.
“Yes, but not tonight.”
He nods slowly as he bites his lip.
“If this is the only way you’ll allow me under your skin, I’ll tell you. We may need something stronger than wine for this story, though.”
“Wait here,” I start and get up from my seat. “I think we have some whiskey in the library.” Hesitating, I meet his eyes. “Or…we could go there now, if you want? It’s more comfortable than sitting here.”
Without answering, he leaves his seat, and I blow out the candles before I turn and go out of the kitchen. The sound of his soft footsteps as he follows me makes me happy. Happy that he’s here, but also happy that he’s trusting me—putting his faith in me, even when I haven’t really done anything to deserve it. It’s a heady feeling.
Our library is right next to our kitchen, and the low whistle Kristian lets out when we walk through the doorway makes me smile.
“Wow,” he murmurs. I glance at him before I settle down on the rug in front of the fireplace. “This room looks like it belongs in a fairy tale.”
Proud, I glance at him as I turn on the fire—it’s only a fake fireplace as it wouldn’t be smart to have a real fire in a room like this. He beams at me, and I love seeing that the shadows have disappeared from his eyes—for now, at least.
“It does, doesn’t it?” I take in the square room as if I were seeing it for the first time. Out of all our rooms, this one has the highest ceilings. Every wall is covered in dark brown bookshelves, and they’re filled with books from floor to ceiling.
“It’s always been my favourite room.” I point at the plush wingback chair to my right. “Why don’t you sit down? I’ll find the whiskey.”
I jump up and move to the small, square table to the left of the fireplace, which hides a bar underneath. Quickly, I grab the bottle that holds the last of what used to be Dad’s favourite whiskey and pour a generous amount for Kristian. Something tells me that he’s going to need it.
“Trying to get me drunk, Laura?” he smirks at me, legs stretched out before him, when I hand him his glass.
I grin at him.
“No, not tonight.” I look down at the label as sweet memories of Dad assault my senses. “It’s from the Blair Athol Distillery in Pitlochrie. I hope you like it.”
Kristian’s eyes gentle briefly and I shrug.
“Always choose a whiskey that’s at least twelve years old,” I tell him conversationally and turn away.
I go back to the bar and pour a glass for myself, though not as much as I gave Kristian, and then sit down in front of the fire. I cross my legs at my ankles and pull at my dress, attempting to cover my thighs.
Silently, I raise my glass at him and a take a cautious sip when he does the same, his eyes holding mine the entire time. The burn of the whiskey makes me hiss as the sharpness hits my tongue, then my palate, until it settles in my stomach, warming me.
Then I venture a glance at Kristian, hoping he’ll start sharing his story with me. That he isn’t going to back down now.
His head is turned to the fire as he takes a deep breath, the glass held loosely in his right hand hanging down the side of the chair.
“When I was eighteen, my mum found out she was pregnant,” he starts. “Her latest boyfriend didn’t stick around when she told him about the baby, but she wanted it, and once I got over my initial shock and embarrassment, I was happy for her.”
I sit still, afraid to move.
“So, baby Rose was born, and while it was tough for Mum, she had me to help her out. We were all pretty happy for the next few years.” His lips twitch as his eyes warm, no doubt lost in the good memories. I hold my breath, waiting for him to go on. “Except, it didn’t last. When Rose was six years old, she started getting sick a lot, ended up in hospital, and once the doctors had run a lot of tests, they told us that she had leukaemia.”
I gasp.
“Oh, no,” I whisper, my heart breaking for him.
“I still remember the day her doctor told us about it,” he grits out before he takes a large gulp of his whiskey. His jaw clenches as his breath hitches. “He was so fucking cold—no sympathy in his voice, with empty eyes, his face blank. How the fuck can you be a doctor and act like that?” He raises his eyes at me, and all I can do is shake my head as cracks erupt in my heart. It’s breaking for him—for his mum—for Rose.
“I don’t know.”
He runs a hand through his hair as he sits up straigh
ter before he leans forward in his seat, his hands wrapped tightly around the glass.
“Anyway,” he breathes, “she started treatment at once. The doctors did what they could, pumping her frail body full of medication. I can’t fault them, and the nurses, for that—they tried to kill the beast that consumed her, and, for a while, she got better. It was hard, no, it was agony seeing my little sister fighting so hard for her life. For months, we practically lived at that hospital, and she must’ve hated it. I know I did. But despite everything, Rose never lost her spirit. She was so fucking brave, even when she was in so much pain, sometimes crying until she fell asleep.”
I try to swallow the thickness in my throat as I wipe a lone tear from my cheek.
“When we met at the pub, I told you I don’t have any siblings.” His head falls down and I ache to touch him. “It’s because I don’t, not anymore. Rose died two years ago.”
I gasp as a shudder runs through him and push up on my knees, shuffling to get closer to him. I place my glass on the rug and put my palms on his thighs, aching to offer him some comfort even though I don’t know how. His eyes are dry, but filled with sorrow. I wish I’d never asked him to share something so personal with me. It’s too soon.
“I’m so sorry, Kristian,” I whisper. The words are beyond inadequate, but they’re the only ones that I can say without blubbering all over him.
“Thanks.” He finishes the rest of the whiskey and then sits back, distancing himself from me. “At least I had the honour of being her big brother for a while.” He pushes up the sleeve of his T-shirt and bares his right upper arms to me. The most beautiful black and white rose covers most of it.
“That’s why I had this inked on my skin—I know I’ll never forget her, but there’s more to it than that.” He wets his lips as I trail the petals with my index finger, along with the word Rose underneath it. “It feels like she’ll always be with me, wherever I go.”
I nod as I keep my eyes on the tattoo.
“I understand,” I whisper. “I take it you designed this yourself?”
