Page 62 of All Yours

‘Night, Red,’ he replied, and she had to tear her eyes away to shut the door.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Fox

‘So, how was the stag?’ Millie asked.

The question hung in the crisp air between them as they set off across the common the next day. Millie had been up bright and early, to make the most of her visit. Dingbat pulled on his lead and the boys charged ahead, heading for a den they’d made the week before with Robyn that they wanted to show off.

‘It was . . . fun,’ Fox said, a kaleidoscope of images rushing through his brain: shots, sequins, cowboy hats, dancing, lassoes, all leading up to the kiss. His stomach lurched. He could hardly believe it had happened, but in that moment he had felt the most alive he had done in as long as he could remember. Her hair in his hand, her moan into his mouth.

‘Probably the most fun I’ve had in ages, actually.’ He released Dingbat from his lead and they both watched the dog chase after the boys.

‘How’s your hangover?’ Millie asked, swinging her gloved hands beside her to keep warm.

Fox considered for a moment.

‘I’d give it a three out of ten.’ Though there had definitely been drinks involved, he had not been drunk, and while the drinks might have loosened his inhibitions, he could not say that the kiss was a drunken mistake. He had been very much aware of what he was doing. Now, thinking about it, all he wanted was to do it again.

Millie slipped her hand through his arm, tucking in beside him to shelter against the wind. Looking down at the top of her blonde head was like looking down on Meg, walking home from the cinema or the club, protecting her from the cold. A pang of guilt so fierce hit him that he felt winded.

‘So, Etienne is finally settling down!’ Millie said. ‘I can’t quite believe it.’

‘He is,’ Fox agreed. ‘Looks like you missed your chance, Mill.’

She laughed. ‘I’m quite happy as I am, thanks.’

Millie had a long-term partner, Ben, who lived in Paris and ran a law firm, a very similar job to hers. Both workaholics, they met as regularly as they could – long weekends in France or London – but had never seemed to feel the desire to live together or marry.

‘Still not wanting that ring on your finger?’ Fox pressed.

She shook her head.

‘I don’t need it. I’m committed. He’s committed. It might not be for everyone, but it works for us.’

That word again. Commitment. Her interpretation so different to his. To her, it meant being faithful to one person, but living independently, working out her own issues and opportunities. To Fox, it meant sharing everything that life threw at you. He pulled Millie in close against him. ‘As long as you’re happy.’

Reggie ran back, panting, and grabbed at his aunt’s hand. George took the other one and they pulled her along, laughing. Fox smiled, knowing how much she loved being such a big part of the boys’ lives. Being someone they could rely on. He knew that sometimes she prioritised visits to the boys over spending time with Ben, just to be present for them.

‘It’s here, Aunt Millie! Right here, in this jungle.’

‘This jungle’ was a small copse of oak trees, bare now in the breeze. Dead, dried bracken covered the ground and George kicked his way through fallen leaves, shrieking in delight, while Fox hoped all the other dog walkers used poo bags as religiously as he did.

‘We made a den so that we can wait and watch for animals,’ Reggie explained. ‘Robyn said we might see them if we’re quiet.’

‘She’s right,’ Millie said. ‘But I can’t imagine you staying quiet for very long.’

Reggie puffed up his chest. ‘I’ve been practising. I did five minutes without talking last week. Robyn timed me.’

‘Woah, five whole minutes,’ Fox said, smiling sideways at Millie. ‘Bliss!’

Millie stopped suddenly, pulling Reggie to a halt. She put a finger to her lips and waited for his full attention.

‘I can see a fox!’ she whispered. Reggie scanned the woods, mouth open, eyes wide.

He leaned in close and whispered back, ‘Where?’

‘Right there,’ Millie laughed, pointing directly at Fox himself and nudging Reggie so hard he almost fell over. ‘Gotcha!’