by Alam, Donna
‘Then why would you?’ There’s a waiver in my voice but this is something I have to know. Because after all the second guessing
‘Because you’re worth the risk. Because you were never the stand in, Archer. What you are is outstanding.’
I’m moving without even realising, my heart bursting and then missing a beat as my chest meets her hand.
‘That’s my big scary declaration, Archer. I’m all in. All yours. Meet me halfway?’
Her words are hesitant, her small hands pale as I bring her fingers to my mouth, kissing each of the fingertips.
‘I’m way ahead of you, sweetheart. And you know I don’t like to get there first.’ With a wink that might cost me a poke in the eye on any other day, I wrap her in my arms and kiss the hell out of her. I kiss away her fears and I kiss away mine. Kiss her like I plan to every day until the end of both our times.
‘Elvis! Will you stop sniffing my bum!’
Epilogue
ARCHER
Two years on, and I’ve persuaded Heather to put those whisky and cigarette tones to use in an effort to revitalise the sex line business.
Only joking.
She uses those pipes for only good.
Oh, and on me.
Which is also good.
Except when those pipes are used to yell at me.
Usually because of something one of the dogs have done. Dogs plural because Elvis has a friend now; another rescue we found while on holiday in Greece. He was a tiny puppy, no bigger than the palm of my hand and he was so sickly. We took him to the nearest veterinary surgery, promising to pay for his treatment, and Heather got so attached to the little fella that we ended up visiting him every day.
There was no way we could leave him. So at the cost of many sleepless nights due him being unwell for quite some time, and a few more due to dealing with a foreign bureaucracy, plus the not insignificant cost of bringing him here, he arrived in London six months after we last saw him, approximately the size of a small horse.
Yeah, so I’m exaggerating. But not much. Ambrosius is bigger than Elvis and he’s not finished growing yet. And while I’d like to say he was named for the Roman fella who features in cool Arthurian legends, you know, Merlin and stuff, Heather named him for a character in the Labyrinth. Apparently, there’s nothing as sexy as David Bowie wearing tights. But I think she meant nothing as sexy after me.
‘Can’t we leave yet?’ I slide my hands around her waist as Heather continues to fill the tray with child-sized canapes. Tiny hotdogs in slightly less tiny buns, crostini made to look like pizza, star shaped sandwiches—no crusts—and pigs in blankets.
‘No, we can’t leave.’
‘But we’re always at bloody parties.’ I press a lingering kiss to the nape of her neck. I love it when she wears her hair up. And I love when it’s down, too. Spread about our pillows like sunshine or held tight in my fist.
‘Mmm. That’s nice.’ She tilts her head to the side, allowing me better access. ‘Comes with the territory. I’ve got to earn a living.’
But she does it for more than that, and Little Red has gone from strength to strength under Heather’s attentions, Heather going from strength to personal strength during the process. It really has been a major boost for her confidence. She’ll always have those quirks of personality that she’d rather be without, but to me, they’re just facets of what make her Heather. Unique. Loveable. A wonderful woman. The woman I intend to one day be my wife.
One day. Possibly even today.
But for now, we’re stuck in the kitchen feeding guests.
‘It’s like that song, isn’t is?’ she almost purrs. ‘We’re always hanging out in the kitchen at parties.’
‘Because the kitchen is where the good stuff is at. Care to step into the pantry for a little fumble, good stuff?
The sultry sound of her laughter does nothing to turn down my ardour. In fact, it does the opposite.
‘What about the downstairs bathroom?’
‘Good try.’ She presses a quick peck to my cheek, ignoring the fact that my hands have migrated to her breasts.
‘I’m all partied out.’
‘That’s because you’re thirty now. Come on, old man, your guests are waiting.’
‘If there are anymore gag gifts, more pipe and slippers, and incontinent underwear, I’m throwing them all out.’
‘If you’re going to be grumpy, you won’t get my present when everyone is gone.’ She reaches across the worktop grabbing a pile of napkins.
‘Why can’t I have it when they’re here?’ I ask, taking the opportunity of her slipped attention to slide my hand up her thigh, gathering her dress to my wrist as I tease the silken skin of her thigh.
‘Archer we shouldn’t.’
And yet she’s pressing back against me, her palms on the countertop, her breathing a little rapid as I rub my finger over the lace of her underwear.
‘You were right!’ bellows a small child’s very loud voice. ‘They are doing the kissing thing!’
‘Hey, Teddy.’ I turn to face him, giving Heather a moment to straighten her clothes. ‘How much money did your daddy give you to come and check?’ Heather steps away sliding me a reproachful look. Red cheeked, she hip-checks me as she picks up the tray and I reach for her again.
‘A pound!’ he announces. The kid’s volume button is broken. He only does silent or loud. And he’s only ever silent when he’s sleeping, I think.
‘Next time, come and find me and I’ll double it for you to keep our secret.’
The little boy’s eyes light up, and his smile is so big, it leaves him all eyes and ears. No space for anything else. ‘I was wrong! Daddy, you were wrong! There is no penising going on in the kitchen!’
‘Oh, for goodness sakes.’ Miranda hurriedly follows her son in, taking the tray from Heather’s hands before turning back to Teddy, moving him bodily towards the door while ignoring his complaints about of being two pounds short. ‘We said kissing,’ she whisper-hisses to him. ‘See if they were kissing. Where on earth did you hear that word.’
‘You said it to daddy the other day. You said that if he wasn’t good—’
‘Stop telling stories, Theodore.’
‘Stop pushing me, Mummy.’
As Heather makes to follow her cousin, I catch her around the waist, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. She melts instantly, just as I knew she would. ‘We’re not having kids for at least another five years, right?’
‘I’m fine with the practice for now.’
‘You’re talking about sex, right? Not babysitting or work.’
‘Archer, stop stalling. We need to go back to our guests.’
‘I love your family, you know.’
‘I know.’ She smiles. ‘They know, too.’
‘I mean, Daniel is a pain in the arse, but he’s okay in small doses.’
‘The smaller the better,’ she agrees. ‘But why are you telling me now? Because if I tell them, they’ll only take the piss. If I tell you, well, you get it.’
Because as I was sure I’d never find anyone who felt like my home. And now, by virtue of loving Heather, I’ve got a houseful of the fuckers. Family. People who insist on doing stuff like this for me. Birthday parties. I mean.
I don’t know, you tell one (special) person you’ve never had a birthday party and next thing, you’re having one every year.
‘So this present of yours. Are you going to give me a hint?’
‘It might start with s and end in x, I think.’
‘A superhelix?’
‘Now, how would I get one of those in a Box?’ she asks, turning in my arms.
‘The same way you get sex in a box, I suppose.’
‘You’re crazy.’
‘It’s true. You know what else I’m crazy for? You.’
But do you know what else is in a box?
Yep, a ring.
And the best thirtieth birthday gift would be to hear her say . . . yes.
so re
ad on!
If you’re not ready to let Archer and Heather go,
and you’d like to read Archer’s proposal,
you can grab your exclusive bonus HERE!
Acknowledgments
About the Author
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