over, she’d said.
She was wrong.
They may be technically at war, but yesterday hadn’t been their Christmas Day truce, and one way or another, he was going to make her realise it.
Resolution made, he tipped his bitter black coffee onto the grass and grabbed his jacket to go buy milk.
Marla dropped a bag of porridge oats into her basket as she trailed listlessly around the village store. Back at home her fridge was packed with delicious leftovers from yesterday’s picnic, but she needed bland, boring fare to mark her return to reality.
Purgatory food.
If there had been sackcloth and ashes in her wardrobe, she’d have donned them this morning rather than her jeans and black angora sweater. She stretched up on tip-toes for raisins to sweeten the porridge, then snatched her hand away as a particularly lurid image of Gabe holding her hands stretched above her head last night swam in front of her eyes.
God, she’d been so brazen.
No. No raisins. Far too frivolous.
‘Honey?’
A male voice suggested right behind her. A beautiful, Irish male voice.
‘No thank you,’ she replied on autopilot, and then froze.
‘Syrup, maybe?’
She could hear the smile in his voice, and turned to find her nose about six inches from Gabe’s chest. He had a milk carton in his hand, and the stubble and dark circles around his eyes testified to a sleepless night. She’d had matching circles herself in the mirror this morning, along with similar kiss-swollen lips and sex hair. She’d looked like a satisfied slut, but right now he looked like a rock star after a night on the tiles.
‘Let me pass, please.’
She couldn’t meet his eyes. She just wanted to pay and get the hell out of there.
‘Marla, please. Can’t we at least talk?’
‘No! Please, just move out of my way.’
She glanced around him in desperation towards the teenager behind the counter at the far end of the shop, but the girl was too engrossed in her phone to notice.
‘Marla, come on. You can’t seriously expect …’
‘Stop it!’ she cut across him. ‘That’s exactly what I expect.’
She couldn’t listen to this, wouldn’t let him weaken her resolve. Daylight had brought with it the realisation that she’d just made the situation between the chapel and the funeral parlour a million times worse, and the only course of action available to her was to pretend it had never happened and stay as far away from Gabe as possible.
‘Read my lips, Gabe,’ she hissed. ‘It was a one night stand.’
She pushed past him to the counter and shoved her basket at the vacant teenager with white earphones plugged into her phone. The girl flicked heavily kohled eyes over Marla’s shoulder towards Gabe, and then yanked the earphones out quick smart as a slow grin spread across her face.
Marla tapped her basket, desperate to get out of the store and back to the safety of the cottage. The teenager ignored her completely as she removed her gum and stuck it to the underside of the counter.
‘Another late night, eh, sex god?’ she smirked and flicked her eyes between Gabe and the pile of newspapers on the counter in front of her. Both Marla and Gabe followed her cue and looked down at the front page of The Shropshire Herald.
There was Gabe practically nose to pneumatic breast with a scantily clad, red-haired lap dancer straddled across his lap.
Oh God, I straddled those same hips myself yesterday.
A second, grainier picture, a wedding of some sort. She squinted at the groom and gasped, winded.
He was married?
Marla scanned the headlines.
Murky past of local undertaker exposed!
Convicted drug offender! Sex addict! Ex-wife reveals all!
‘What the fuck?’ Gabe made a grab for the top copy as she whirled around to face him.
‘It would seem that you have a thing for redheads,’ she muttered, sick to her stomach. She threw some money on the counter as she picked up a paper and made a dash for the door.
‘Marla!’ Gabe caught up with her on the footpath outside and reached for her arm.
‘Marla, wait, please …’
‘Get your hands off me,’ she ground out as she shook his hand off, furious at the tears that amassed behind her eyes.
‘I can explain.’
Marla laughed, despite the bitter bile in her mouth. How dare he have the audacity to stand in front of her with those beautiful eyes full of anguish?
‘Yeah, I bet you can. Save your pathetic excuses for someone who’s interested, Gabe.’
She turned on her heel and ran, glad that she couldn’t hear footsteps behind her this time. If he’d have