The Spark - Jules Wake Page 0,36
silence settle for a moment before asking the question quietly haunting me. ‘Do you think you should go back to her? Wouldn’t it be easier?’
There you go. One perfectly formed, Sam-shaped escape-hatch handed over on a platter. A nice, quick exit, fuss-free and no one’s pride hurt – or even so much as dented.
Without hesitation, Sam looked straight into my eyes, clear resolve in his expression. ‘No. I want to be with you. I wouldn’t have chucked away four years if I didn’t feel sure. For me,’ his eyes met mine, strong and steady, ‘there’s no going back. I want to be with you, whatever that looks like. I mean, in some ways we hardly know each other; in others I feel like I’ve always known you.’
His words made everything inside me soften. I knew exactly what he meant. That weird sensation of completeness which I couldn’t find words to explain but I felt down to my fingertips.
I lifted a hand, palm forwards, fingers stretching up to the sky, needing to share it with him, and he placed his against mine, our fingers aligned. It was a silent acknowledgement between us as our eyes locked on each other’s, while around us the air danced with insects dipping into the water, notes of birdsong sprinkling down from the trees, and the sun dappled through the overhead tracery of leaves.
‘I’ve never felt like this before and … it scares me. The damage we could do.’ I thought of my mother, hamstrung by bitterness.
‘Don’t be scared. We’re in this together, Jess.’ His fingers closed around mine. ‘We have nothing to be ashamed of.’
He was right. We hadn’t done anything wrong – but telling myself that was easier than truly believing it.
Chapter Eleven
Shelley’s scrawl in red Sharpie on a note pinned to my door greeted our return when we tumbled out of the car, sun-kissed, happy and ready for cold beers on my balcony.
You are either walking around like John Wayne with an unseemly smile on your dirty little face or buried in a shallow grave somewhere. Either way, FFS turn your ****ing phone back on and call me.
Sam laughed as I turned a colour which had nothing to do with the day’s exposure to the sunshine and ripped the note from the door. One of these days I would overcome all my scruples and, favourite cousin or not, I would strangle her.
‘Come on up.’ I led the way up the narrow staircase to my first-floor flat, conscious of Sam still sniggering behind me.
‘This is…’ Sam did a quick three-sixty, taking in the high ceiling and big apex window of my lounge and the little balcony beyond.
‘Why I bought the flat,’ I finished. ‘Beer?’
He followed me into the kitchen, which was just about big enough to swing a small hamster, its proportions best suited to a contortionist.
‘Nice place,’ he said as I wriggled between the old chimney breast and the fridge to pull out two bottles of Bud from the fridge.
‘You mean, interesting,’ I said wryly. I’d got used to the low sloping ceiling in the corner of the kitchen and the distinct lack of cupboard space. It wasn’t the most practically shaped room, but the rest of the flat more than made up for it and, as I spent very little time in here, it didn’t bother me. I am to cooking what John Sargent was to the Paso Doble. (Why is it always a surprise to everyone that I’m such a Strictly fan?)
‘It suits you.’
‘Hmm, I’ll take that as a compliment,’ I said, shooting him a grin as I dug out the bottle opener and a bag of Kettle chips.
‘Cheers.’ Sam chinked his bottle against mine. ‘That noise,’ he grinned and leaned forward, lifting his bottle against mine again, ‘will always remind me of the first time I met you.’ His foot nudged mine and like a pair of idiots we smiled at each other, holding each other’s gaze for a ridiculously long time, until finally Sam lifted his head and took a long slow pull of his beer. Who knew that watching someone drink beer could be sexy? I felt as jumpy as a skittish cat all of a sudden, fidgety, impatient and far too hot. Without thinking, I rested the cold bottle between my cleavage – or what little of it there is. Sam’s mouth quirked and I snatched the bottle up to my mouth, taking a hasty sip. The sudden movement sent beer frothing out of the neck of