Page 17 of The Last Kiss

“I’ll carry you if it’s more.”

We count together. One. Two. Three. Un. Deux. Trois.

It’s a small boutique hotel: iron railings and a roaring fire in the lounge. It crackles and dances, throwing the room into orange and red. He takes my coat and puts it on the stand by the door. Then he turns back, catching my elbow and whispers in my ear. “Five steps to the sofa by the fire.”

I’m warm and liquid on the inside and it has nothing to do with the crackling spit of the hearth fire.

He counts us over, settling me down, tucking me in like a little dolly with a tartan wool blanket. Never have I been tucked with such care. It’s like he knows I’m spectacularly broken without me having to say it.

I’ve always strived for independence. I’m a strong, independent woman and all that jazz.

But right now, I want to be wrapped like a burrito by mystery man.

He turns back and strides with impressively long legs for the bar and I watch him leave, eyes trained on his tight arse encased in navy.

What would the end of days be like with someone like him at my side? I mean, Barney is okay, apart from the farting, but he’s never going to roll me up in a blanket, fingers skimming my cheek.

What have I missed out on being a strong and independent woman?

Why didn’t I realise that maybe the two things didn’t need to be mutually separate from one another?

Twelve months to go and no family to leave behind, no husband to cry real tears.

That’s a good thing, right? I mean this way I’m not hurting anyone. Not breaking anyone’s heart, only my own. Olivia will survive. She’s got those two gorgeous kids to keep her going. She’ll miss me, sure, but her focus will always be on them, as it should be.

No, this way is definitely for the best.

Definitely.

“You’re lost in thoughts?” He comes back and offers me a small glass. It’s his concoction again. Oh crumbs.

“Just mulling over life.”

I expect him to sit on the other sofa opposite the fire, but instead he settles next to me. Sliding an arm around my shoulder.

“Life… no small subject to contemplate.” He takes a sip of his drink and I watch for him to wince. He doesn’t.

“I’m thirty next year.”

“A babe in arms.”

I shoot him a side eye. “How old are you?”

“Forty-two.”

“Wow. You’re old.”

He chuckles and it rocks me against his chest. “And so, you’re thirty next year? And what?” He turns slightly, beautiful pouty lips near my face.

Chewing on my lip I consider this. “I’m thinking of all the things I thought I would have done by now but haven’t.” This is halfway to the truth and I nod, pleased with my efforts of honest conversation.

“Like?”

I tease a smile, sipping delicately at the liquid fire, just wetting my lips and then running my tongue along them. “Well until ten minutes ago I’d never kissed a mysterious Frenchman in the street.”

“Ah, well that’s a must before you are thirty.” The twinkle in his eye makes my stomach tighten, makes me feel brave where normally I would hide.

“And you know, funny fact.” I look up at him through my lashes, the sharp angle of his cheekbone, the dark stubble on his jaw. My words want to catch and stop on the way out. They hesitate with a gasp of air, but I push them through. “I’ve never had a one-night stand.”