Page 23 of Burning Embers
After Buster has eaten, I check the time, knowing if Molly doesn’t get to bed soon, she’ll be a villain tomorrow. “I need to get her settled,” I say.
Olly nods and leads us upstairs. The room we enter is larger than my living room. “Here you go, make yourselves at home,” he says, slipping out of the door.
I settle on the bed with her and can’t help but slink into the plush mattress. I miss having a bed.
When my reading puts her to sleep, I slip out to search for Olly. He’s perched on a stool in front of the kitchen counter with Buster at his feet, mouthing on a soft toy.
“She’s asleep,” I say, and he turns to me with a smile.
“Drink?” he asks, slipping off the stool.
“Yes, please.”
He looks around in the fridge, then waves around a bottle of unopened Moscato. I nod—it’s a glass of wine kind of day. He pours me one and nudges his head in the direction of the living room.
Nothing about his home screamsbachelor, but I’m starting to realise that nothing about him surprises me anymore.
“Thanks for this,” I say.
“No worries.”
We settle into a strange kind of silence, and I’m not sure if it’s welcome or not. “So, how’s the dating going?” he enquires, and now I think the silence wasn’t so bad after all.
“Ha ha, you know full well it’snot,” I reply, hiding behind my glass and taking a huge sip. Truth is, since the last guy, and taking up self-defence classes, I haven’t bothered.
“What about you? Any conquests?”
“I don’t have conquests,” he says, bringing his beer to his lips before taking a swig. I watch as he swallows—the veins of his throat pronounced—and my fingers itch to trace the lines, then paint them to canvas. “I only haveaconquest,” he says with a wink. Surely he doesn’t mean me.
I stand and find my way over to his books to run my fingers over their spines. “I’ve never read it,” I ponder out loud. “Why do you have so many editions?” I ask, scanning over the different sizes and colours.
“That’s for me to know and you to find out,” he whispers over my shoulder. My heartbeat accelerates. He reaches out, pulls one free. I squeeze my eyes closed as the heat from his body causes me to sway slightly. “Here, read this.” He places it in my empty hand, his chin just shy of resting on my shoulder.
“I have quite a bad attention span. I’m fine when I read to Molly, but other than that, I struggle to stay focused.” I turn the book over and read the back.
“But it’s a classic. Listen—” He flips open the book and reads aloud, “So much has been done, exclaimed the soul of Frankenstein,—more, far more, will I achieve: treading in the steps already marked, I will pioneer a new way, explore unknown powers, and unfold to the world the deepest mysteries of creation.”
I peer up over my shoulder, his voice thick like warm honey. He moves back to the sofa. “Come sit,” he says, patting the space next to him.
Sinking into the deep filled cushions, I do as he says. He opens the book and begins reading. “What are you doing?” I ask.
“I’m going to read it to you,” he says, like it’s obvious. I shake my head but go with it, pulling my legs up underneath me. “Ready?” he asks with a cock of his eyebrow. I nod and trace the condensation on the outside of my glass while he starts from the beginning, pulling me into the extraordinary world of Mary Shelley.
I roll over, the softness of the sheets like heaven against my skin. I sigh and blink a couple of times, my surroundings too dark. It takes me a moment to remember where I am. I put out my arm for Molly, but the space beside me is cold.
Sitting bolt upright, I check to see if she’s migrated to the other end of the bed—she’s always been such a fidgety sleeper.
My heartbeat picks up speed.
I jump out of bed to switch on the light, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. “Fuck.”
I pad out of the room, the house unfamiliar as I look in the bathroom, switching on lights as I go, my insides squirming as raw panic sets in.
Without thinking, I swing open Olly’s bedroom door. He sits up, blinking at me, confused.
“I can’t find Molly,” I say, looking around in case she wandered in here.
“What?” He springs from the bed in one swift movement. “Did you check the bathroom?” he asks, pushing past me—bare-chested and in low slung pyjama bottoms.
