by Anna Bloom
There are some claps and loud whoops. Tabitha is grinning at me.
“Grab some wire. I’m going to show you how to weave the glass together.”
I have no idea how this is going to turn out. I’ve got no idea if it can even work. Still, with nothing to lose, there’s no harm in trying.
“So what we need to do is to double the wire…”
I brush all thoughts of Eli Fairclough out of my mind and instead turn to my first love: art.
We did it. Hell did we do it. Somehow the eight of us created single-stemmed blue flowers using wire and wrapping around the edges of our blue glass squares. Back-breaking work, but those kids left proud at the end of the day. When we’d finished, we hung around outside for a while, absorbing the late afternoon sunshine while Jennings brought us some cool drinks. It was nice, they are a great bunch.
In my glass studio now sits nearly a hundred blue glass flowers. I created some green leaves which I baked this afternoon, and then I had a rather amusing try at blowing some small glass beads. I’ve lost the knack of it though so I ended up—after I’d been laughed at by Dylan for ten minutes for not knowing “my shit”—deciding to roll the balls and bake them, too. It’s not the exact effect I wanted, but it will suffice.
Now I’m exhausted and soaking in the roll top bath in the wet room. It’s heaven under the bubbles, sipping a glass of wine I asked Jennings to locate me as I made a hasty exit from the dining room.
“Faith.” There’s a gentle rap on my bedroom door.
I sit up in surprise, water flooding everywhere. “Crap.”
“You okay?”
“Yes,” I call back to Elijah. I recognise his voice instantly—well, my body does. My stomach tightens and a dull ache spreads in the pit of my belly. I thought he would have been back hours ago. “Hold on a minute.”
“I’m sleeping on my feet out here, don’t rush on my account.”
I grin as I step out onto the slippery floor, taking extra care not to slide over and bang my head—now’s not the time to aim for a concussion.
Wrapping a towel tight around my body, I unlock the door and peer outside. “Did you check for nosy grandparents?” I tease, but he doesn’t seem to find my joke funny and slips quickly inside.
He’s in a blue shirt and navy suit trousers, the slim fit shirt tucked into the trim waistband. There’s no tie in sight which is a shame because it would have made the picture in front of me perfect.
“Sorry, I didn’t know you were bathing.”
“Bathing?” I giggle. “You’re so funny.”
He glares and sits on the edge of my bed. I stare closer at his face. He looks exhausted. Faint purple rings hollow the skin around his eyes, and that favourite blue of mine isn’t shining quite as bright. “You look exhausted.”
“It’s been a long day.” He lifts his face and meets my concerned gaze. When he motions me forward, I don’t hesitate. He wraps his arms right around my waist and rests his head on my stomach. I smooth my hands through his short hair, mesmerised by the light tickle the short strands create against my palms.
“What happened?”
He pulls away and tugs at the edge of my towel.
“Hey,” I scold and back away. “Talking, you promised talking.”
“I suggest you get dressed then because my brain is seriously incapacitated by you in that towel.” The heat of his stare is almost palpable as it slips across the patterns on my skin.
“I’ll get dressed.” Turning for my cupboard where I’ve just randomly thrown my clothes, I pull out a pair of small sleep shorts and a camisole. I wiggle into them, tugging them against my damp skin. When I turn back around his gaze is burning bright.
“Truthfully, I don’t know if that’s helping.”
“Hold on.” I grin and root back through my pile of belongings until I pull out a spotty dressing gown, which I quickly slip over my shoulder and tie at the waist.
“What is that?”
“My dressing gown.”
“Take it off. Take it off right now.”
Unable to repress my laughter, I slip it back off and then turn to him expectantly. “Now talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
I can’t get a grip of what’s going on. It seems I’ve gone from being single and never wanting to have more than a one-night-stand, to cuddling and talking in the dark. Part of me wants to ask Elijah what’s going on, but the other part of me realises that if I find out it might scare me, will make that flight instinct take to its wings and I’ll ruin whatever this is before it starts. And I think I want it to start… and right now that’s the best I can aim for.
So I’ll settle for sitting cross-legged on my bed in the room he painted for me and listening.
“I’m working on the Melanie Duncan case.” He’s focused on his fingers, his thumbs running patterns along my palm.
What’s the Melanie Duncan case—it sounds familiar, but...?
I shift uneasily. “Okay, don’t judge me, but I’m usually locked in a small place playing with clay.”
There’s a flash of a smile peeking out from under the tired expanse of his face.
“Melanie Duncan is the woman who blew the whistle on sexual harassment in her workplace.” He lifts his head from our joined hands.
“That’s brave of her.”
“Yes, it was. What she went through…” He hesitates, and my palms tingle with what I know could turn into nervous sweat.
“So you’re helping her bring the scum down.” My brain wants to lead me on a dark and horrific path down memory lane, but I fight it and stay in the moment with Elijah.
“I’m helping her family.”
With a shake of my head, I make my confusion clear.
His fingers grip mine and I love their firm touch covered in soft skin. I want them everywhere: I want his lips on my mouth, his body next to mine. I’m so distracted by the warmth of his hands I almost forget we are in the middle of a conversation.
“She killed herself.”
The warm run of liquid anticipation freezes, and I stare into his face in shock. “What, when? Because of what happened?”
“Because at first no one believed her, because she had to explain to her husband what had been happening in what should have been a safe place.” He shrugs his shoulders, but deep in the blues I see fierce compassion for a woman now passed, that stills the wild beating of my heart.
“So what are you doing now?”
“I’m helping to get justice for her family. They shouldn’t have to be without a wife and mother because of a corrupt society that turns a blind eye to such horrors.”
The room seems to become smaller. The universe shrinking as my lonely path crosses with that of Elijah Fairclough and changes everything that I thought I knew. “No, they shouldn’t.”
“So what happened for you to be called before dawn this morning?” I ask, swallowing the lump around my throat.
“Lewis, Melanie’s son, was arrested for breaking and entering.”
“What?” I sit a little straighter.
Elijah shakes his head and lets go of a heavy breath of air. “It was silly, but he’s so full of anger.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was graffitiing the office block his mother worked in.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah.” The blues settle on my face.
“What now? When is the case due in court?”
“Not until October, and actually that’s something I want to talk to you about.”
His leading sentence makes me wince. I’m not giving away any secrets about myself, no matter how cosy we are in my pink room.
“What?”
“I’ve brought Lewis here. He needs to be away from the city, away from the demons chasing him.” The blues couldn’t read me any harder if they tried. “I was hoping you’d let him hang here with you.”
“And Tabitha? Jeez, Elijah, I don’t know anything about teenagers. You don’t seem to be understanding th
is.”
“Tabitha doesn’t think so. She broke house rules following you out yesterday.”
“Pfft. House rules… this place seems more like a prison than anything else.”
Elijah grins and my God does it do crazy things to my stomach. “As you can imagine, my new guest was not well received.”
It’s almost impossible not to roll my eyes. “You surprise me.” My fingers pick at the duvet cover while I think. “Really, you and Tabitha, you don’t get to make any choices for yourself? What if you wanted to date someone? Someone not chosen by your mother?”
The lengthy silence that spreads between us as Elijah watches my face is at least five seconds too long for my liking. “Then I get cut off.”
“And is the money that important?” There’s an undeniable sting to my words.
“No. Tabitha is. I won’t leave her, not for anyone.”
We watch one another, time slowly ticking past.
His words hurt even though I don’t want them to. Even if I wanted something with him, it’s impossible. That’s what he’s saying, and he’s saying it pretty damn plainly.
So isn’t this ironic. The one time I’m interested in someone, the one time I can feel my determination to never let anyone close, begin to crumble. It’s an impossible situation. It’s like I’ve sought it out as a self-preservation system.
Then he grins. “Was it my spooning? It’s made you want more, right?”
I chuckle and get up from the bed. “I already told you, I don’t do relationships.”
“Then we are all good.”
He catches my hand and wheels me around, pulling me off balance until I land back on the bed, falling into his chest. His hands slide up my back, running under the material of my vest. His lips graze my mouth and I catch my breath. “I’m available for spooning weekends and every other weeknight.”
I lean back and stare into his face. What is he saying? That he wants this to be, but I won’t be his girlfriend? Isn’t that my perfect situation? I get to be obsessed. I get to taste and enjoy, but it doesn’t mean anything.
“Every other weeknight? But what would I do the nights you aren’t available?”
He kisses me, his lips hungry and demanding. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you for hours.”
“Are you a rampant teenager?”
He chuckles into my neck. “I think you’re making me one.”
“Really?” His words light sparks with excitement. Am I having the same effect on him as he has on me? I can’t believe that? Does he really want me?
“Have you changed your mind about your onetime only rule?”
Using his body as a lever, I edge myself out of his grasp. “No. I can’t.”
He sighs, his insistent hands tugging me back to his broad chest. I want to undo the buttons on his shirt and discover the skin underneath. I want to explore all of him. “We will have to make out like teenagers then.”
Uncontrollable giggles wrack my body. “Don’t you want to see what we did today?”
“Later. First, I want to forget about a really long, really shit day.”
He grabs me and stops any further talk with his lips, and I allow myself to fall into the dream Elijah Fairclough is able to spin with his hands and lips alone.
“So, this ball? Why didn’t you tell me?”
His fingers trail up and down my spine. We really have made out like teenagers. There was possibly some dry humping going on, and I’m grinning so hard my cheeks might split.
“I’m working out with you it’s best to drip feed information. That way there’s less chance of you bolting.”
“I’m not a horse running from a race.”
He chuckles and plants his lips against my neck, and an irrepressible shiver of desire tingles through my limbs. “And what a fine filly you are.”
“That’s so cheesy.”
“I know, I practise very hard to perfect the right level of cheese.”
Who is this guy? Where is the man with the suits and the worries of the world settled on his broad shoulders? I could stay tangled in this moment forever—I could almost forget I had a no second chance rule in place. I could forget any rule I’d ever made. He’s still in his suit trousers, his shirt undone after I unbuttoned each one with deliberate care. I want to dive under his clothes and discover who he really is, but he won’t let me. Every time my hand strays too far or I take the initiative, he gently stops me and turns it back around to me.
His hands have been over my clothes, hot under my clothes and I’ve loved every minute of it.
“So, the ball?” I prompt again.
“Yes, totally boring, well normally it is. This year I’m thinking it could be fun.”
“An evening with your grandmother judging me and my tattoos does not sound like fun.”
Elijah sits up a little higher, leaning on one elbow. “What’s she said?”
I smile but it’s bitter. “Only that Saskia will help me to find a dress that will cover them up.”
A tut takes the place of what I could imagine are expletive thoughts. “She’s a witch.”
“I know. And she won’t let you bring a date of your choice?”
He chuckles. “I wouldn’t have anyone to bring.” Ouch, his words cut like a knife.
“Shame for you.”
“There is this woman I’d like to take on a date; maybe just something casual, dinner, a drink perhaps, but she’s got these crazy rules and I don’t know if I can abide by them.”
I flush a vibrant pink and try not to grin. “Sounds difficult.”
“Oh, she is. So difficult, you wouldn’t believe. I might ask if she’s free this weekend.”
“Good idea.”
“Even though I might want her to break her rules?”
“Maybe.” I have to look away and face the wall, I’m smiling so much. Could I break my rules for him?
I don’t know.
Then I remember what I had planned for the weekend and the smile drops. “I was going to go to see Al this weekend.”
His face falls a little, but he nods understandingly.
“It’s only Sunday, though. I’m still free Friday and Saturday.”
“Hold on a minute.” He grabs my hands and rolls me until I’m pinned under his amazing body. His body is hard above me and my rules begin to melt around the edges. “Who said I was asking you on a date?” His teeth pull on my earlobe and I shriek a giggle.
“Don’t! I’m ticklish there.”
His eyes light with fire. “Now that you really shouldn’t have told me.”
I squeal as he attacks me again, laughing so hard I think I may burst.
Finally, I’ve managed to convince him to see the glasswork. He’s nodding silently as he looks at our blooms of blue flowers.
“Have you nothing to say?” I shift from foot to foot. I kind of expected some reaction, not just dead silence.
“Faith, I can’t believe you got this out of them in two days; it’s insane.”
“Oh, it was easy. It was fun, so they were keen to see what stages came next.”
“What’s on the agenda for tomorrow?”
“Glassblowing and free form glasswork.”
“Sounds hot.”
“Have you got any other paintings stashed here?”
His eyes narrow. “No, why?”
“I just wondered where you hid all your little secrets.”
“Not here.”
We turn back for the door and my chest begins to ache. He’s already told me he’s driving back to London tonight. It’s nearly midnight, and I think he’s crazy, but he’s got a breakfast meeting at eight. I can’t believe he came all this way just to talk to me. Although the silly giddy little girl locked inside me wants to believe he came this way to kiss me too.
“You going to be okay with Lewis?”
“Another messed-up teenager? Sure, I’ve got that handled.”
We are outside my room and he kisses me on the cheek. I inhale the delicio
us scent of him.
“Drive back safe,” I say. What I really want to say is “stay”, but I don’t.
He smiles, kisses me again, and walks away, and I slip into my room before anyone can see me.
Elijah has made it clear that this can’t, and won’t, be anything other than just fun between the two of us, and that’s okay. It’s just how I like it: fun, casual, and simple.
When I wake in the morning, there’s a notification on my phone from Messenger.
Eli Jones: I like being a teenager with you.
I grin and swipe the message open.
Faith Hitchin: Don’t forget to grow up for work. Hope your breakfast meeting goes well.
I’m surprised when a green dot appears next to his name and I can see dots moving at the bottom of the screen telling me he’s writing.
Eli Jones: You remembered my meeting, I’m honoured.
I shake my head, and when I glance up as I think of a response, I find an insane version of myself grinning back at me in the mirror.
Faith Hitchin: I feel somewhat neglected by the lack of overnight spooning.
Eli Jones: you’re going to break your rules for me.
Faith Hitchin: don’t be so sure. They are unbreakable and have been for a very long time.
Eli Jones: are you free Saturday?
Faith Hitchin: I’m living in your grandmother’s museum of a house. I think I might be free.
Eli Jones: got to go, the meeting is starting.
Faith Hitchin: have a great day.
But he’s gone. I’m still smiling, and I stretch in my bed.
He’s making me a whirlwind of irrational emotions. I’m a walking and talking contradiction. Maybe I should text Abi and check she’s okay? I’ve an uncontrollable urge to talk about Eli. I never talk about the opposite sex with anyone but Abi. Well, let’s be real, I never talk about them full stop.
I’m typing out a message when there’s a light tap on the door. “Miss Hitchin?”
I sit up and pull the duvet close around me. “Yes, come in.”
Jennings, who I’m beginning to think is the master of discretion, manages to walk in and firstly not look at my skin, and secondly not look at all embarrassed.