Page 46 of Forever, Maybe
Chapter thirty-six
N ell wrinkled her nose. “No, thanks. I’ve gone off fizz after that time with Stephanie. Sorry you splashed out on the champagne. It can’t have been cheap.”
Danny waved it off with an easy smile. “Doesn’t matter at all! Tell you what, I’ll stuff it in my suitcase and give it to Joe when we’re back. To celebrate him convincing the powers-that-be to stock our stuff. Or, you know, as a consolation prize if it all goes pear-shaped.”
One of Danny’s greatest dreams was seeing Stuffed ’s products stocked on supermarket shelves.
Watching him now—doing his best to mask how much he cared about landing a deal with one of the UK’s biggest supermarkets—stirred something deep in Nell.
This version of her husband, earnest and quietly vulnerable, made her chest ache in a way that had her turning away to hide the prick of tears.
People were at their most irresistible when they tried, with all their heart, to meet your expectations, no matter how impossible.
She gestured towards the folded towels on the bed, raising an eyebrow. “Seems a shame to disturb the swan, though…”
That was the thing about being in a different room, in a strange city: it reframed your view of someone you thought you knew.
She found herself looking at Danny with a stranger’s eyes, as if she were meeting him for the first time on a train bound for London.
She imagined herself sitting across from him, her curiosity piqued by the tall man with the Roman nose and the slightly-too-close-together eyes that strayed from conventional handsomeness.
Wondering what he would do if, hours later, they were alone in a hotel room?
Exactly what he did now.
He unbuttoned his shirt with slow deliberation, his gaze locking on hers.
The metallic click of his belt buckle matched the staccato rhythm of her heartbeat.
He unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them with a fluidity that seemed designed for film—a seamless choreography that made even undressing look effortless.
Through it all, his gaze burned with anticipation, as if he were fast-forwarding through the moments ahead, devouring every detail of what was to come with a hunger that made her breath catch in her throat.
She knew every inch of his body, yet in this unfamiliar setting, he felt like someone new.
Danny’s torso was proportionately longer than his legs, giving him an illusion of extra height when seated.
Otherwise, fate had been kind, bestowing him with a six-pack he hadn’t worked for—a definition so sculpted it wouldn’t look out of place on the cover of Men’s Health.
He wasn’t facing her directly, but she could still make out the unmistakable bulge in his boxer shorts. Men had that advantage over women—their desire laid bare, blatant and flattering.
“Take off your clothes. Now.”
Desire ebbed and flowed in most relationships, but not in theirs.
Sure, there had been stretches—weeks, even months—where life got in the way.
But Nell knew, from whispered conversations with other long-married women, that she’d hit the sexual jackpot with Danny.
Early on, he’d made it his mission to uncover exactly what turned her on, and once he had, he’d never stopped delivering.
It never got old.
Like now, when he commanded her to undress or adjust her position—his low, firm voice leaving no room for hesitation.
She complied, lying face down as he climbed on top of her, a heat radiating from him that ignited her own.
He pinned her hands above her head with one of his, the weight of him pressing her into the bed.
His teeth grazed the back of her neck, sending a shiver skittering down her spine, while his other hand skimmed lower.
His fingertips brushed her skin, a teasing stroke that set off electric jolts that arced through her body, pooling low and deep, leaving her breathless.
The bed, no matter how expensive, creaked with a steady rhythm—loud enough, Nell suspected, to alert any next-door neighbours to precisely what was happening.
Strangely, the thought thrilled her. That tiny, unintended exhibitionism lit a fire beneath her skin.
She tilted her pelvis, inviting Danny to sink deeper, and his groan spilled hot against her hair.
“I’m not,” he panted, his accent thickened by the strain, “gonnae last much longer.”
She shifted again, relishing the sensation of his skin against her back. “That’s fine, because I’m pretty close myself.”
Her body obliged. Anticipation—always the most potent aphrodisiac—worked its magic, heightened by the sure, practiced way he used his fingers.
The slow, tantalising build began, a whisper of sensation growing louder with every movement.
When he adjusted, just enough to find the right spot, her whole body lit up.
The tingle burst into a wave of heat and pleasure that crested and crashed, leaving her crying out as her muscles melted and her mind dissolved into blissful relaxation.
Danny followed, his final thrusts wild and forceful, driven by that edge of ferocity he always reached before he let go.
His body tensed, a low, guttural sound escaping him as he came.
He collapsed onto her, their hearts racing in tandem, his breath warm against her ear and his pulse hammering steadily through her back.
Later, after they’d showered and pulled on robes, Nell grabbed the box of expensive chocolates. Danny propped himself against the headboard while she curled into his side, giggling as she read aloud the absurdly overblown descriptions.
“This one!” She held up a glossy, dark sphere, its surface dusted with raspberry powder. “Listen to this: ‘The finest roasted cocoa beans, sourced from a single-bean organic plantation in Ghana, marry dark and light, sweetness with sharp accents for an exquisite taste experience.’ ”
Danny snorted, poking at a rectangular piece, which was described as five-five per cent cocoa solids milk chocolate meets artisan-crafted honeycomb.
Nell bit into it, then raised an eyebrow. “Nice, but Cadbury’s Crunchie does this better. Sorry, Danny, but you, a man who makes his living from artisanal produce, married a food philistine.”
He plucked the other half from her fingers, grinning. “Ach, well, you’ve plenty o’ other charms to make up for it.”
She nuzzled closer and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “So… eh, shall we get to the serious discussion now?”
Oh, heck. She set the chocolates aside. Now was the time. Finally, after all those years. What did you do? Take a deep breath (always), prepare the words in your head (as if you hadn’t done that hundreds of times before), utter them out loud…
“Okay, let’s talk. It’s… it’s about children. Kids.”
She couldn’t see his face, but something shifted—the atmosphere itself changed, as if his smile had seeped into the air, warming it, thickening it and even altering the smell of the room.
“Have you… changed your mind?” he asked. “Want us to give it one last go? Try for a baby? The trying bit’s fun enough.”
No. No, no, no.
Nicky’s pregnancy. Of course. He must have been stewing over it all along. The moment she’d said they needed a serious talk, he’d put two and two together and landed on five. No, not even that. He’d landed on a hundred. He was galaxies off.
Sometimes she wondered if she knew him at all. The arm around her shoulders no longer felt like comfort—more like a chain. She slipped out from under it, trying to make the movement look casual, unthreatening, as she turned to face him on the bed.
Time to retreat to the practicalities.
“Danny.” She kept the tone light. “Let’s say Mother Nature miraculously cooperates, and I get pregnant easily—which is highly unlikely at my advanced age.
We try for six months, maybe a year. By the time the baby’s born, I’ll be forty-four, and you’ll be forty-five.
That means we’ll be in our sixties when they start secondary school and actual pensioners by the time they hit eighteen. ”
Danny reached for her hand, lacing his fingers tightly through hers. “We’re fit, we’re healthy. Still young at heart. And you—Nell, you’d be a brilliant mum. I know you would. And we’d do it fifty-fifty, I promise. I’m cutting back on the hours I work.”
The same old argument, dragged back to the surface after all these years. She stiffened, her long-buried self screaming, You know nothing. NOTHING!
“Please, Nell,” Danny murmured, his voice soft but insistent. “Just think about it. Mebbe nothing will happen—it probably won’t. But there’s no harm in trying, eh?”
She looked away. The curtains were still open, but the bed sat far enough from the windows that only the most determined, sharp-eyed Peeping Tom could’ve caught a glimpse of them having sex.
Still, the urge to bolt—to fling herself across the room and hurl out the window—rose up suddenly. Not to hurt herself. Just to escape.
This wasn’t a conversation she wanted to revisit, but here it was, dragging itself back from the dead. What was she supposed to say?
She’d stall. Buy time. Tell him she’d think about it—fully expecting that Danny would bring it up again before the weekend was out.
After a couple of overpriced glasses of wine at the bar downstairs when he judged her more persuadable, perhaps.
Or after a few peaceful hours meandering through a gallery, when her defences were down.
Nell’s thoughts tumbled ahead into a future she hadn’t planned. Mum probably has dementia. The next few years are going to look nothing like I imagined—endless trips to Norwich, a minefield of hard decisions. Dad will need constant support.
The doubts pressed in, solid and immovable. Could she really take all that on—and a child?