Page 130 of Every Day of My Life

She laughed a little. “Indeed.”

He smiled at her fondly. “And before I feel well and truly scorched, why don’t we speak frankly about what lies before us.”

She swallowed confidently, not at all uneasily. “I am not afraid.”

“Of me?” he asked, looking genuinely surprised.

“Well, of course not you,” she said, feeling equally surprised. “But this… well, you know.”

He smoothed her hair back from her face and smiled again. “Let’s do this. We’ll make ourselves a comfortable nest on the floor not too close to the fire because there isn’t any possible way I’m going to fit in Moraig’s little nook over there.”

She nodded. “That seems reasonable.”

“We’ll find pajamas.”

“Emily bought me some very pleasing ones in pink,” Mairead agreed. “They have these charming wee felines on them.”

He bowed his head and laughed. “I can’t kill her, but I might have to shout at her.”

“Why? They’re adorable. She said they are ones you are very fond of, so I will wear them with pleasure.”

“Perfect,” he said, looking as if he might like to laugh again, but didn’t quite dare. “Then after we’ve garbed ourselves in luxurious pajamas and made a proper investigation of the freezer to see if there might be dessert, why don’t we just have ourselves a wee cuddle in front of the hearth?”

“A cuddle?”

“Accompanied by a few kisses,” he amended.

“Only a few?”

“Several.”

She smiled. “And?”

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

She leaned up and kissed him softly. “I am.”

He reached for her hand. “Let’s go make sure the door is locked.”

“And then?”

He laughed a little and tugged on her. “You’ll put your knife in the fridge for safekeeping and we’ll see where the rest of the evening leads.”

She thought that a most acceptable plan.

Twenty-five

Oliver leaned back against aridiculously comfortable overstuffed chair, propped his feet up on a stool where he could toast his toes against the fire, and watched his newly made wife prowling through the kitchen, investigating things that intrigued her.

He fully intended to offer himself as an item to put very next on her list, but he was content at the moment to simply watch her in her spy outfit for which he absolutely owed Emily a very large bouquet of flowers.

Mairead MacLeod was, he would freely admit, absolutely scorching in black.

And he was going to be of absolutely no use to anyone for the foreseeable future. He was half tempted to send Derrick a text informing him that the holiday had been such a success that he thought he might want to extend it for several months. The village had a decent grocery and a fabulous chippy, the camping mattress they’d made good use of the night before and tucked away in Moraig’s sleeping nook had been surprisingly comfortable, and he imagined with enough flattery, Emily might occasionally bring them more clothes so they didn’t have to do any wash.

He could think of much worse ways to spend the fall than holed up in a charming little cottage with the woman he simply couldn’t keep his hands off. Well, except for the moment, but she likely needed a chance to breathe now and again.

He came back to himself to find that she was leaning against the sink, watching him. She was smiling faintly, though, which he thought might be a good sign. He crooked his finger at her,had a laugh as his reward, but also had his handfasted wife soon sitting on his lap with her arm around his neck.