Page 15 of Burning Embers
“My bad, Flamingo Princess.”
Molly stuffs her thumb into her mouth. And Marcus quickly pulls it free, a little too harshly. “Marcus,” I scold.
“What?”
“You knowwhat.”
“Don’t tell me how to parent, and I won’t tell you how to parent.”
“I will when I don’t agree with it.” I grip my bag tighter. “Co-parenting. That was our agreement, Marcus, but I’m not doing this in front of her. We need to arrange a more suitable place and time to talk.”
“Fine, I’ll let you knowwhen.”
I can’t be bothered to entertain him any longer.He’ll let me know when—arsehole.Rummaging through my bag, I find my car keys and don’t stop moving until I’m behind the wheel. Betty doesn’t start on the first go. I let out a string of curse words and bite my lip.I will not fucking cry.She starts after two more attempts.
Exhausted when I get home, I run myself a bath and pour a large glass of wine. It would be even better if I didn’t have to run into work tomorrow, but Charlie is taking Soph away for the evening, so I offered to open for a delivery—
“Shit!”Wine swooshes over the rim of the glass, and I quickly lick up the spill on my hand as I rush to my bag. “Please let them be there.” I hunt through, but sure enough, no shop keys.
I thought my bag was light.
I check the time, wondering if Soph has already left. I send her a quick text, but her response tells me I’m too late. With that, I down the contents of the glass and shudder.
She lets me know there is a spare set at the bar, and Olly can get them from the safe. I can grab them in the morning, she says. Before I have a chance to reply, she sends me his address. “Great—fucking excellent.”
Done with this day, I grab the wine bottle, my empty glass, and head to the bathroom.I sink into the bathtub—the hot water welcome—and take a huge sip of wine.
This is how my Saturday nights are now: me, a bath, and a lonely bottle of wine for one. But the truth is, I don’t think I’d have the energy for much else, anyway. Well, that’s a lie. If my supplies hadn’t run out, I would most definitely paint. Olly’s eyes would be the first, the colour so vibrant, I can’t get them out of my head. I have this urge to paint the intricate shade of his irises. My body begins to heat at the thought; I push it aside.
“I so need to get laid,” I groan.
Once the water cools, and I am pruned to shrimp-like status, I get out. The wine has me loose and relaxed. I think of my Rabbit in my bottom drawer and shrug. It’s why I went out of my way and overindulged when I bought batteries.
Chapter Eleven
RACHEL
I don’t know what I expected when I walked into Olly’s home, but this was not it. He has a small bookcase, and I can’t help but tiptoe over to take a peek, my forefinger rolling over the spines—some worn, some pristine, like they’ve never been read. But what has my mouth gaping is they are all different editions of the same book. I pull one out to take a better look.
Mary Shelley’s,Frankenstein.
“Caught you!”
I don’t even realise what I’ve done until it’s too late—my reaction happens on instinct as my arm swings up and behind me, whacking Olly square on the jaw.
I drop the book, scrambling to make sure he’s okay.
I kneel to pick it up at the same time as him; his forehead smashes into mine, causing my teeth to crash together. It takes me a moment to catch my breath.
“Fuck!” groans Olly.
“I am so sorry, Olly. Shit,” I say, trying to turn his face towards me to see what damage I’ve done. His eyes are sparkling with surprise and something akin to pride.
“It’s fine. Good reflexes,” he says, appreciatively. He turns the book over in his hands. “So, I see you found my odd obsession.”
Busted, I chew on my lip as he leans towards me, his hand moving to my face. “You have an egg on your head,” he says.
“Excuse me, what?” I ask, perplexed, lost in the violet-indigo speckles around his irises. When we are this close, it’s hard not to get drawn in.
