Page 19 of No Kind Words (Calston Cove #3)

It takes Hope and me a couple of days to get used to each other.

She’s doing well and eating, beginning to find her feet, but I’m not letting her move around too much.

Today is her first trip back to Jethro.

And the first time I’ll speak to him again since New Year’s Day.

I haven’t gone silent, though.

I’ve sent a few texts, mainly about Hope, but also to let him know I’m thinking about him and all he said.

Which is true.

He’s been on my mind constantly.

He spoke the absolute truth that we needed to talk to each other. Use this time to learn everything we can about each other. Only then will we be able to see if we have something still.

“Come on, Hope, let’s go and see the sexy vet.

Do you think he’ll want to come on a date with me? There’s only one way to find out.”

Hope’s tail thumps frantically on the rug she’s made her own.

Thank god she’s a small dog.

Carrying a German Shepherd or, hell, a Great Dane up and down stairs or in and out of the car would not be fun.

I’d do it, but I’m glad my girl is a compact one.

The weather is dreadful again.

I can’t wait for spring and then summer to come.

Having to drive even short distances around town is annoying.

The trip to the vet’s takes a little more than five minutes.

A few other cars are parked in the car park.

It’s good to see it’s going well for Jethro.

Luke greets us with a huge grin, but his smile isn’t aimed at me but at Hope.

Her wriggling in my arms shows how pleased she is to see him too.

“Take a seat. Jet, I mean Jethro, will only be a minute.”

It’s more than a minute, more like five, but everyone seems to have heard about Hope, and the other people giving her lots of fuss, which passes the time.

When it’s finally our turn, I follow Jethro and his perfect tight jean-clad arse into the examination room.

He takes Hope from me and places her gently on the rubber-topped table.

He looks her over thoroughly while I fill him in on all she’s managed to do.

I’m surprised at how impersonal he’s keeping it until he rests his hand on her head and looks at me.

I know he wants me to speak first.

He deserves it, probably with a bit more panache than I manage to stutter. “You wanna have dinner, or um, like something, or just a drink? Together, me and you?”

He stares at me for a good thirty seconds longer, then bursts out laughing.

“That was smooth.

You must have spent hours practising.”

His eyes are warm and gentle, no hint of ridicule or even hostility.

“I did. You should’ve heard the ones I discarded.”

I chuckle, still not sure if he’ll say yes or not. I wait a moment longer, then ask again, “Will you?”

“Yes, to all of it. Especially the ’or something’. I can’t wait to find out what that is.”

He straightens his face. The smile is gone, but his expression is still kind. “Ben, I told you I want it all with you. If this is how you want to start, I’m happy. When would you like to go out?”

“Are you free this evening?”

I want to do this now. If I don’t, I’ll talk myself out of it again. I’m very good at telling myself he’ll get bored of me or he’ll realise that the torch he held burnt out years ago. At eighteen, he loved that I was the hot older guy. At thirty-three, he’s the hot one. I’m forty and pushing my luck for a chance with him.

“I am, and any or every night you want to spend with me.”

He leans over Hope, his mouth tantalisingly close to mine. “Trust me, Ben, I want you.”

“I’m beginning to get the message.”

I want to press my lips to his, but he pulls back, the tease. He knows exactly what game to play, and I’m annoyed and excited at the same time. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“I’ll be ready.”

As he walks me to the door, he places his hand against the small of my back, the warmth radiating through me. I press into it, and he reciprocates by pushing a little harder.

As we return to the reception, everyone turns their heads to look at us, making me aware of how close we are. Jethro’s low chuckle proves he not only knew this would happen but that he planned it.

“You’re going to get us talked about, Jethro Palmer,”

I mock whisper, unable to contain my happiness.

“I’m banking on it, Benny-boy.”

“Don’t call me that.”

I shake my head but grin like a fool.

Before I can get ready for Jethro, I’ve got a meeting with Amy back at home, purposely planned to take my mind off either excitement or rejection, depending on how my talk with Jethro would go.

As I offer her a management role at the café, her expression morphs from incredulity to delight. “I thought you were kidding, Benny. Are you sure? Do you think I can do it?”

“Amy, you’re more than capable of running the place. I’m not asking you to bake or do any cooking.”

She’s baulked at the thought of it over the last year or more than she’s been with me.

“Phew. That would’ve been a deal-breaker.”

Amy laughs, swiping her hand over her forehead.

“I’m going to need to be around for Hope, especially while she’s still recovering.

Friends also told me I work too hard, and I’ve finally decided they’re right.

Obviously, this position comes with an increase in responsibilities. Therefore, you’ll be salaried accordingly. I believe this is the going rate for a manager.”

I hand her a piece of paper. “That will be your starting point. I know how popular the café is, so I’m happy to reassess as time goes on. Is that acceptable to you?”

“It sounds amazing. I know I’ve got lots to learn, but I really want to do this.”

Amy’s virtually vibrating with excitement.

“I have every faith in you. We can start on the background duties tomorrow. You’re already more capable than you think you are.”

We talk for another five minutes and arrange a time to meet in the morning.

When she leaves, I get ready.

I made the brave decision to book a table at the bistro farther up the high street from the café.

If Jethro had turned me down, I would’ve cancelled it.

As I pull up outside Jethro’s, nerves do a tango in my stomach.

The lights in the kitchen and one above the front door are on.

Should I wait in the car? It’s been so long since I went on a date I’ve forgotten the protocol.

I should go to the door. Yes, that’s the right thing to do. I think. Is it? Yes.

The cold air swirls around me, and shivering, I jog up to the door.

Before I get the chance to knock, it swings inward.

Jethro stands tall and breathtakingly gorgeous.

His hair looks stylishly messy, and he’s got jet-black studs in his ear. Again, I wonder what else he is hiding under the well-fitting clothes. “Hi,”

I manage to say.

“Hi. Let me grab my keys, and I’ll be ready.”

He steps back, leaving the door open for me to step inside. He collects his phone and keys, says something to his dog and gives her a pat, then returns to me. He leans in and hovers his mouth over the shell of my ear. I hold my breath. “I’m really looking forward to this.”

Almost imperceptibly, he brushes his lips over my cheek. I nearly swoon.

As we walk back to my car, his hand is on my back again.

Even through my coat, I feel the possessive pressure, and I like it.

His confidence is the opposite of how he was all those years ago.

The nervous way he spoke to me when he asked if we could meet up, the tentative kisses and touches that sent fireworks through both of us.

He found the best places to meet without any eyes near us, the fear of his father always in the back of his mind.

With all that behind him and the experiences he’s had since those secret rendezvous, I don’t think Jethro is going to hold anything back tonight.

How am I going to stay level-headed?

Do I want to?