by K. A. Hobbs
“You wish,” I spit out at him, hating how much I liked his arms around me. How much I enjoyed that momentary feeling of being held, being protected, even desired.
“Know a lot about my wishes, do you?” he asks, grinning around a big mouthful of cookie.
Why do I get the feeling there was a double meaning in what he just said?
“Has anybody ever told you you’re kind of an arsehole, Seb. Astian?” I question, tipping him a wink and a small grin to make sure he knows I’m not serious.
I haven’t exactly been warm towards him up to now, but I have to admit, I’m enjoying his company. It’s far better than the crappy post-Christmas telly I was planning for the evening. And I can still smell his spicy cologne and feel the ghost of his touch all over me.
“You know it’s just Sebastian, right? It’s not even Sebastian really, just Seb. You don’t have to do the pause thing like it’s two different names.”
“Nope.” I grin. “That’s your name now. Seb. Astian. I like it. It suits you.”
“I’m going to have to give you a nickname if this…” he gestures between the two of us, “…is going to be an ongoing thing.”
“Oh, God, I can’t wait to hear what you come up with.” I groan, rolling my eyes and swiping another cookie.
He taps his finger on his bottom lip and assesses me. “Morose Molly? Mean Molly? Maidenly Molly? Oh no, I’ve got it. Bonny Molly!” He tries to keep a straight face and fails, bending almost completely in half and laughing his arse off.
I scowl at him, reaching forward and slapping him lightly around the head. “Did you just call me fat?” I growl, throwing my hip out and slapping my hand on it with attitude.
“No, I absolutely did not. Look…” He grabs his phone out of his pocket and taps something into it. “Here. Bonny,” he begins. “Adjective. Beautiful, attractive, pretty, gorgeous, ravishing, stunning. Want me to go on? Nowhere does it mention fat.”
I stare at his phone, struck suddenly dumb by the words blinking back at me on the screen. Beautiful…? It’s been an awfully long time since I’ve thought of myself as even passably pretty, let alone beautiful. My fingers shake as I reach for his offered phone and take it from him, trying to ignore the way my skin sizzles when our fingers brush, and scrolling through the list of words I’d certainly never use to describe myself. “You… were being kind,” I say softly, not taking my eyes from the thesaurus on the screen.
“I was not. I was reading what it says on the screen. I was being honest.”
I hesitantly glance up into amused green eyes then straight back down at the phone as I hand it back to him. “Well, I suppose it does sort of almost rhyme.”
“And much more original than Seb. Astian.” He rolls his eyes, putting his phone on the table.
“Mmm, well, that’s not a nickname. It’s how you introduced yourself, soooo…”
“Can we forget that? It was not my finest hour at all.”
I gasp in mock shock. “You mean slamming the door into my head wasn’t on your bucket list after all?”
“You walked into the bloody door. I did not slam it into your head. So dramatic.”
I pat his cheek patronisingly and stalk past him for another cookie. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, doctor.”
He looks as though he’s about to throw another witty comment back at me, and I find I’m rather enjoying the banter when that god-awful Nokia ringing tone everybody had fifteen years ago cuts through the air and freezes what would no doubt have been an epic comeback on his lips.
I quirk an eyebrow at him in disgust at his awful choice in ringtones as he drags an ancient looking mobile phone from his pocket and mouths excuse me at me before lifting it to his ear.
“Hello? Yes, okay. Right now? Okay. I’ll be an hour.” He ends the call and places the phone into his pocket grimly. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
Disappointment churns in my stomach, hot and achy at the thought of him leaving already. I’d just got used to the idea of company and now the thought of curling up alone on the couch seems abruptly awful. “Is everything okay?” I question, slipping off my stool and standing beside him as he grabs another cookie from the packet and holds it in his mouth as he pulls his coat and scarf back on.
“Yes, all fine. They need me at work, which is really, really bad timing for so many reasons.”
“And those reasons are?” I ask, curious about the genuine disappointment I can hear in his voice.
“Firstly, I’m having a lovely time right here. Secondly, I only finished work like two hours ago, and thirdly, I now need to find someone to help with Libby.”
Pain flashes through me quickly before I have time to process the full sentence. Someone to help with Libby. Libby… his girlfriend? Or have my assumptions, as usual, got the better of me.
“Libby,” I repeat, staring into eyes that have morphed from relaxed and playful and headed right into stressed and unhappy.
“Yes, Libby. She’s my cockapoo. I usually pay my neighbour’s daughter to walk her when I’m working, but they’re away right now, which would normally be fine because I’m not supposed to be working, but now…”
I blink and stare at him, not sure what to do with the relief cascading through my system. A dog. Libby is a dog. Not a girlfriend or wife or anybody else I really shouldn’t be jealous of. But a dog. A cute little bundle of fur.
“Now you need somebody to walk her for you.” I grin, waiting for him to ask. I love dogs. I always wanted one of my own, but Ben was allergic and since he died, I haven’t had the heart to take one home.
“Yes,” he huffs. “I can’t say no to work, so I’m going to have to run home, walk her and hope she can cross her legs until I get cover in.”
“Or you could, you know, ask for help.”
“I don’t have anyone to ask for help. That’s the point.” He frowns.
I cough loudly, giving him my best are you kidding expression and waving my hands in front of his face. “What am I, chopped liver?”
“You want to help?” he asks, clearly astonished.
“It wounds me that you look so surprised,” I joke. “I mean, I did share my cookies with you after all. I can’t be that much of a demon, right?”
“I just… I didn’t think you… We’ve not exactly known each other… Would you like to look after my cock…apoo while I help work?”
He clearly knows what he did as he’s grinning at me.
“Let’s start with the dog and see how we go, eh?” I reply with a matching grin and a wink. “Go save lives. Leave me a key and an address and I’ll take care of Libby for you. You can come pick her up from here when you’re done? I don’t like to think of her alone.”
“If you’re absolutely sure? That would help me out immensely. You’re a lifesaver, Bonny.” He laughs at me when I scowl. “I’ll bring dinner, and… wine? Or are you more a beer kinda gal?”
“Wine is good,” I reply, doing my best to push aside the guilt that threatens to flood through me at the thought of having dinner with another man. “And, you know, I like cookies, too.” I wiggle my very sexy cookie monster slippers at him and smile.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he looks at me with regret. “I’ll buy every packet they have. Here.” He hands me a key. “This will get you into mine. Do you have paper so I can write my address and number down?”
“Of course.” I scrabble around for a scrap of paper and watch as he scribbles his address down in typical illegible doctor scrawl, adding his phone number at the bottom ‘just in case’. Then I watch mournfully as he dashes away to save lives, leaving me standing there, hovering in the scent he left behind, wondering how on earth my evening wound up going this way.
I have to admit to feeling more than a little curious as I stalk down the street I think Sebastian wrote down. His writing is terrible, but I’m pretty sure the postcode is right. The nosy parker in me is excited to see where the good doctor lives. I guess I must have certain expectations ba
sed on what I’ve seen of him, because when I approach the small cottage with it’s beautifully pruned flower beds and neatly trimmed lawn, I almost gasp out loud.
I had Seb pinned down as a sleek, modern lines and concrete jungle kind of guy. I certainly wasn’t expecting rose plants, nor did I see the interior coming. For somebody as meticulous and thorough in his work, his house is a chaotic cluster of everything that makes Seb Seb.
Everywhere, there are piles of books, overflowing from the full, floor-to-ceiling bookcases crammed into every available bit of free wall. He has everything from complex looking medical textbooks to science fiction, fantasy and even a few classics. I never would have guessed he was so well read. Splat in front of the open fireplace is a seriously tattered old dog bed, but there is no sign of Libby. Aren’t dogs meant to bark when people they don’t know enter the house?
“I hope your daddy doesn’t think you’re any sort of guard dog,” I mutter as I mooch through the house, looking for signs of life. “Libby?” I call out in my best ‘I’m not an intruder, honest’ voice, moving from room to room until I finally discover the kitchen and the reason she’s neglected her post.
I’m not sure whether Seb was intending to eat the chicken or not, but if he was, he’s going to be seriously disappointed. Curled into another slightly less bedraggled bed next to a radiator that’s piping out heat, is the cutest little black scrap of a dog I’ve ever seen, working her way through an entire chicken off the bone.
“Something tells me you’re not meant to have that,” I say with a chuckle, dropping into a crouch beside her bed as she looks up at me with the most deceptively angelic eyes I’ve ever seen.
Her head cocks to the side as her almost entirely fur-covered eyes assess whether or not I’m a threat. She appears to be content that I’m not here to pillage her master’s house or steal away her chicken and goes back to working on the meal that’s probably going to make her sick pretty soon.
“Do you want to go for a little walk?” I say, totally unprepared for the response that simple, single word will have. Instantly, the pup is alert, bounding out of her bed and tangling herself around my feet enthusiastically, making her feelings on the subject quite clear.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say with a laugh, wondering briefly whether it’s normal to have full conversations with animals who can’t answer back. “So, where might a human find such a thing as a lead?” I murmur, realising that perhaps just blindly volunteering for this without asking for any information might not have been the best idea. At least it doesn’t appear that Libby is likely to savage me as a burglar any time soon.
When I stand, though, Libby is more than happy to lead me, with her teeth clamped around my coat, to the cupboard where both the lead and the treats are kept, both of which she happily points out to me with her tail wagging madly.
Eventually, we are both ready to hit the great outdoors, and Libby’s enthusiasm for every tiny part of the task of getting ready has a constant smile etched onto my face. It’s hard to be morose when you’re surrounded by that kind of happiness, and not for the first time, the thought of a dog of my own crosses my mind.
There’s something sort of domestic about taking Seb’s dog for a walk, and just for a moment, with the icy cold wind blasting in my face while Libby scampers as far ahead as the lead will let her, I allow myself to imagine this as a normal part of my every day life. Imagining evenings spent not alone in a cold, draughty house filled with memories, but with a furry friend to cuddle up to and the possibility of human closeness, too. Hot, male human closeness…
Quit it.
I silently chastise myself as I walk along, taking Libby back to my place the long way round to give her a really good walk.
By the time Sebastian finishes at work and stops by to pick Libby up, we’ve both collapsed on the couch, curled up together in front of the natural film choice: 101 Dalmations.
I vauguely hear the knocking at the door, but I’m way too tired and comfortable to get up, not to mention that Libby is like a mini hot water bottle curled up beside me.
So the first I really know of his presence is the gigantic shadow that moves first across the television screen and then covers me and my snuggle buddy up, emitting a deep chuckle.
“It seems such a shame to disturb this level of cuteness,” he rumbles, plopping down on the edge of the couch beside my legs and ruffling first my hair and then Libby’s. She stirs a little at the touch, then, seeming to realise who is doing the petting, her tail starts to wag and then her entire body shoots upright, leaving behind a cold patch.
I watch with a dopey smile as she showers him with love and doggy kisses. His face is full of pleasure at her enthusiastic welcome, his hands ruffling her chaotic fur as she attempts to love him to death. Yeah, there’s definitely something to be said for being welcomed home that way.
“Thanks for tonight,” he says with a genuine smile.
“You’re stealing my snuggle buddy,” I grumble, rolling over into the warm spot Libby has left behind.
“Sorry about that,” he replies on a laugh. “You’re welcome to borrow her any time, though. She is excellent company.”
“Mmmm, might take you up on that.”
He smiles, Libby tucked under one arm as the other reaches out and brushes away some random strands of hair that have fallen over my face. “Please do. I can be pretty good company sometimes, too, even though I do say so myself.”
“Is that so?” I reply with a yawn.
He grins and pulls down the throw from over the back of the couch and tucks it around me. “So rumour has it. Only one way to find out, though, right?”
A small laugh erupts from my chest as I snuggle down into the blanket and stare up at his jovial face, the dimples in full freefall. “I guess so.”
“Sleep, Molly,” he murmurs, standing with Libby in his arms, still loving on him madly. “Call me any time. And thank you again.”
All things considered, Christmas and New Year haven’t been so bad.
There have been moments of sheer joy and some of absolute agony. But somehow, I’ve had George and Molly there for both of them, and it seems like they’ve given me the courage I needed to get through it, even if they don’t realise it.
Tonight is a bit of a big deal.
Actually, no. It’s just a big deal, no bit about it.
I look at myself in the mirror and frown.
“Wear what you feel comfortable in,” George said.
How do I know if what I feel comfortable in is suitable, though?
This is my first Elders dinner and I’m stressing out. I don’t want to be the person who takes it too seriously, but I really don’t want to be the person who doesn’t take it seriously enough, either.
I look at my outfit choice: a dark blue, long-sleeved dress that skims the tops of my knees. The neck is high but the back has a deep V. It’s smart and elegant, and I feel great in it. I have pulled my dark hair up and I’m wearing a pair of heels that perfectly match the dress.
I guess it doesn’t matter if I’m overdressed. I feel good and that’s all that matters. I check the time and decide to head down to the formal dining room where the meal is being served.
George told me that these dinners happen a few times a year so everyone has a chance to relax together, to talk about things in a friendly environment and to get to know one another. He said everyone always enjoys them, and that I will, too.
He assured me that no one will be judging me like I worry they will, that Franklin enjoys these events because they’re formal and that he is utterly delighted to be accompanying me to the dinner.
I asked him if it was a date.
He said no.
I asked him if we have to be all stuffy and pretend we haven’t spent any free time we had together over Christmas.
He said no again.
So, of course, I asked him if I would be getting another of his life-altering kisses at the end of the night, hoping the answer would b
e anything but no.
He said he couldn’t promise anything either way.
He didn’t, however, tell me what the dress code is.
I check myself once more in the mirror and decide now is the time to take the plunge and head to meet George.
As I make my way closer to the ornate gold doors where we’ll be eating, my stomach does a flip and the nerves kick in.
I don’t know why. I was a dancer. I stood on stage with hundreds of people watching me, so why is a dinner making me turn to jelly? I hear feet approaching and turn to see who it is.
George.
He’s dressed impeccably as usual, and I’m pleased to see he’s wearing a navy suit.
We match, without even meaning to.
“Imogen you look exquisite.” He beams as he gets closer to me.
He stops just in front of me, and in old-fashioned greeting, reaches for my hand, placing a small kiss to the back. I smile and wish with every fiber of my being he’d kiss my lips again.
“You look very dashing, and we match,” I tell him, beginning to relax a little now I have him with me.
“It appears we both have exemplary taste.” He smiles, giving me a little bow.
“I had no idea what to wear. I’m so glad I chose this.”
“You look beautiful. There’s no need to be nervous. You know everyone and everyone knows you. This isn’t a place you need to feel uncomfortable. We’re all the same. Shall we?” He holds out his arm and I link mine with his.
He pushes open the big gold doors and we walk in. Immediately, several eyes are on us. I fidget and he leans close to whisper in my ear.
“They’re looking because you’re beautiful. Hold your head up high and walk with pride. I’m unbelievably proud of you.”
I’m sure I blush, but I nod and follow him over to a tray of champagne. He takes two and hands one to me, leaning forward to chink his glass with mine.
“To your new life.” He smiles.
I spend the next ten minutes listening to George speak to various people. I occasionally add something to the conversation but I’m a little overwhelmed with everything, including just how intelligent George is.