Page 63 of Romantic Hero
‘That’s beautiful, River.’
‘Oh, also,’ he says, ‘I tried to make a pot of tea? It should still be toasty warm.’
He points proudly to the kitchen counter behind him where I see my teapot covered with a knitted tea cosy I bought from Mrs Casablancas when she was in her wool phase.
I bounce over excitedly, pour myself a cup and take a sip, but immediately let the liquid dribble back out of my mouth.
‘Ohno,’ I say, grabbing a glass of water immediately. ‘Nooooo.’
‘What?’ River’s face falls. ‘I did it wrong? How can that be? Isn’t it just a tea bag and hot water?’
I laugh. ‘Oh, sweet summer child. There’smuchmore toit than that. The ratio of tea bags to water, exactly how hot the water is, how long you leave the tea bags to stew. It’s an art. But I appreciate you trying. That was very sweet and nice of you, so thank you, River.’
He shrugs a shoulder, lips raising in a cute lopsided grin. ‘You’re welcome, Gertie.’
He picks up one of the note-covered sheets of paper filled with the plan we made last night after dinner. At the top of the page is our new mission title: Operation The End. Beneath it is a list of three things that, after reading through the library books we got from Aled, we deemed to be the most often mentioned in terms of authors overcoming writer’s block. They are:
Learn something new and have fun learning it!
Unravel unresolved emotion.
Get the helloutof your head and get the hellintoyour body.
Still holding the paper, River raises his arms up into a stretch, tongue poking out slightly, T-shirt riding up to reveal a tiny glimpse of The Torso. An idle thought immediately pops into my head.Bet The Torso feels very nice pressed against one’s cheek… The thought is instantly followed by an overwhelming urge to just casually nip over to him and find out exactlyhownice it would feel. A real urge, a compulsion almost. I mentally scold myself.Gertie, stop.I quickly grab my laptop and open up my Instagram page in a bid to distract myself.
Less than thirty seconds later I peek back up from behind the laptop and watch as River looks up from the paper to glance at the failed pot of tea on the countertop. He scowls, like the tea personally did him harm, lips twisting up to the side as if he cannot believe such a simple task bested him. A laugh bubbles in my chest. I clamp my hands over my mouth so he isn’t alerted to me watching him.
A strange surge of longing warms my body.
I like watching him.
I like it very much.
My hands fall from my mouth, my breath catching in my throat as something occurs to me. Yesterday when Bridget confirmed that River was a real man, my heart leapt with joy to hear it confirmed. And now, since that moment, something major has shifted. Everything has become more …real.Thisis real.
The evidence is here. It’s right here. It’s in the fine hairs prickling on the back of my neck when his eyes meet mine, the giddy flush of my cheeks when he makes me laugh unexpectedly, the tingle of my body when he’s within touching distance, and the soft slow smile of yesterday when I watched him trying to discipline Squish, or the way he danced when he tasted Auntie’s Delicious Spotted Dick and made me feel like I wanted to dance too.
I’m not watching him because he’s insanely symmetrical and has biceps the size of thighs.
I’m watching him because he’s …him.
River Oakley.
A real living breathing man who exists. Right here. Rightnow. A man with his own history, desires, agency, wants and feelings and plans. And of course he is – someone so multi-facetedhadto be more than just a product of my imagination. Let’s face it, while I’m a good romance novelist, I’m notthatgood. I doubt even the great Diana Gabaldon herself could have created a person as true as River Oakley.
Oh God.
I can’t blame it on science any more.
I can’t blame it on the fact that he kisses like he invented kissing.
I can’t even blame it on being miserable and messed up about Henry, because the absolute devastation I expected to sweep over me when I saw him with Marisolstillhasn’t arrived.
I fancy River. Emotionally, physically, mentally, properly, properlyfancy him. More than just looks. More than just proximity. More than justBig Cowboy Handsome Hunk.
Him.
I watch him now, cleaning out the mugs with a foamy dish sponge, rinsing them and putting them neatly on the draining board.
