Page 14 of Strawberry Moon

“You should have that on your CV. The family send their best wishes and say they’ll see us at home.

My dad nipped back to get you a change of clothes and my mum brought food from the reception while you were asleep.

It’s in the bag over there. The length of time we’re going to be here, I can see us eating it for breakfast.” I groan and he brushes my hair back gently.

“The doctor says you’ll be fine. There’s no concussion.

Just some bruises as a memento of the wedding. ”

“How did I come to be asleep?” I stare at him as he strokes my cheek, his long fingers soft on my face. “I barely remember.”

“Oh, you passed out after the X-ray. They gave you some painkillers which they said might make you sleepy. We’re just waiting for the doctor to discharge you.”

He sets the bottle on the nearby table, and helps me settle back, plumping the pillows so I can sit up a bit. Then he lingers, taking my hand and looking down at it. My skin looks pale against his tanned hand.

“I really am so sorry,” I say.

He looks up from his perusal. “For what?” He frowns. “Surely not for the bump. It could have happened to anyone.”

“Could it? Really ? How many weddings have you been to where one of the guests ended up under the wedding car?”

His lip twitches. “Maybe not that many, but perhaps I’ve blocked them.”

“I wish I had. I also wish I could block out the memory of the vicar asking you if I had a drinking problem.”

He bites his lip, but then gives in and starts to laugh.

I yearningly gaze at his vivid, handsome face which is so full of life and kindness.

He seems almost lit up, as if something is both amusing him and pleasing him.

Well, I can put a stop to that. That smile is about to be wiped off when he realises what I’ve done.

“I assured him you didn’t,” he says solemnly.

“Thank you. Please say sorry to the bride and groom for ruining their wedding.”

“I really don’t think you did. My aunt is making noises about having us pay half for the car, as if you colliding with it somehow implies joint ownership.

But my mum texted me to say they included it in the wedding speeches and made it into a drinking game where any time anyone mentioned the word head or car they all had to take a shot.

She says the guests were half cut by the time dessert was served. ”

“I’m no longer surprised the vicar mentioned my supposed drinking problem. He’s obviously known your extended family for a long while.”

He laughs again, and I bite my lip. “I have to tell you something,” I whisper.

He stops laughing, but his eyes are twinkling as he watches me. “Oh really?”

“Yes, but can you sit down first?”

He settles down on the chair, putting his book on the mattress by my leg. “Oh dear, this sounds serious.”

Has he not guessed that I’m about to spoil everything? “It is. But first I really need to say sorry.”

“For the wedding? I’ve already told you there’s no need.”

I gulp. “For quite a lot more than the wedding actually.” I run my hand through my hair and then twine my fingers together, so I stop fidgeting. “You see, I did something really bad to you.”

“Was it when you blew me this morning and grazed my cock with your teeth?”

I gape at him. “That wasn’t an accident. Some men like it.”

“Okay. I’ll take your word for it.”

“No, really, they do. I read it in a book.”

That makes him smile for some reason. “Oh really?”

“Yes, really. There are a lot of nerves on the head of your cock.”

I become aware of silence in the next cubicle and the fact that Harry is now red-faced with suppressed laughter.

“Laugh it up,” I say sourly, and he licks his lip before doing as I suggested.

My lip twitches at the infectious sound, but I can’t allow happiness because I’m about to end his.

“Harry,” I say.

He stops laughing. “Yes, sweetheart.”

“Oh, don’t call me that. I don’t deserve it.”

His face softens. “I shall call you that as much as I like. It’s what you are to me.”

I wring my hands. “But you don’t know what an awful person I am and what I’ve done.”

“Or maybe I should call you Fifi,” he says thoughtfully. “Yes, that might be more appropriate.”

I stop my hand-wringing and stare at him. “Fifi? What the hell?”

He raises an eyebrow. “It’s a shortened version of Fiona.” He looks down at the bed and I follow his gaze to the book lying there. I freeze when I note the title. Torridly Yours.

“Oh.”

He sits back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “Yes, oh. My dad popped it in the bag, because he thought you might like something to read while we waited. I had no idea that Edward Gibbon wrote such flowery prose. I quickly realised I wasn’t reading about the collapse of the mighty Roman empire but rather the jettisoning of Fiona’s morals.

” He raises a hand to his mouth. “I was so shocked.”

My eyes narrow. “You don’t look shocked. You actually look like you’re trying not to laugh.” He raises an eyebrow, and I swallow. “I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “I’d like to say it was my grandad’s idea. In fact, I am saying that. It was all his idea.”

“What was, Fifi?”

“Do not call me that.” I sigh. “But I went along with his stupid idea, and I can tell you that the next time he has a plan, I’m emigrating to Australia.”

“I can’t have that.” I watch as he lowers his hand. His eyes are still dancing and full of so much feeling. “I can’t have you far away from me, Clem. Not ever.”

I stare at him. “When I suggested that I be your fake boyfriend, it was designed to make you see that I could be your real boyfriend and for you to finally see me.” I swallow as he bends close to hear me. I can smell his cologne and have to clench my fists to stop myself from reaching for him.

“You failed,” he says softly.

My heart breaks at the absolute finality in his voice.

But then he takes my hand and says, “You failed because I have always seen you, Clemo Pascoe.”

“What?”

He gives me a smile that is simply radiant.

“I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you.

I was in the shop trying to change that till roll while waiting for a phone call from the estate agent.

I’d taken one look at the shop and decided to cut my losses and sell the bloody place.

And then you banged in. Your hair was messed up by the wind and you were wearing tight jeans and a Christmas jumper that said, Who are you calling a ho-ho-ho?

You glowed in that winter light, and I had never seen anyone so beautiful. ”

“Go—” I stop and clear my throat, my heart hammering. “Go on.”

“Thank you. Are you sure you want to hear more?”

I glare at him. “Positive,” I say with gritted teeth.

His mischievous smile fades as he sits down on the bed. His body feels warm against me, and I note the long muscles of his legs outlined by the trousers’ grey fabric.

“And then you opened your mouth,” he continues softly, his eyes fierce and bright. “And you were bright and funny and so fucking clever. And that afternoon when my agent rang, I told her I wasn’t selling.”

“Really?” I breathe.

There’s so much tenderness in his face that it makes my stomach clench. “Yes, really. And the more I got to know you, the faster and harder I fell.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?”

He grimaces. “You’re very young.”

“So? What does that mean? Don’t be discriminatory.”

He holds up a hand to stop me. “I know that now. I think I’ve really seen you this weekend—how warm and kind you are and how much you know your own mind. And I have something to confess to you too.”

“What?” I whisper.

“I went along with this whole plan you concocted, because I wanted to spend time with you.”

I gape at him. “You did what ?”

A smile plays at his mouth. “I could have gone on my own to the wedding. It wasn’t that big a deal.

But then you offered to pretend to be my boyfriend, and I jumped at the chance to spend more time with you.

I wasn’t thinking anything would happen, but I hoped.

Everything is so much more fun with you.

You lighten me up and make everything in my world colourful. ”

I stare at him, and I know my heart is in my eyes because he flushes.

He says, “I just didn’t realise that there were plans afoot which would put the writer of Game of Thrones to shame.”

“Oh, shut up,” I say as he laughs.

He sobers. “Do I think I’m too old for you? Perhaps.”

“You are not too old.”

“Let me finish, please.” He takes my hand.

“But I also realised this weekend that despite being mouthy and impulsive, you’re also decisive, focused, and fiercely protective of me.

The way I am of you. And somehow I’m what you want.

I couldn’t quite believe that even after we slept together.

And then I read this book and saw what you were up to.

So I started to believe in a couple of things. One, is that you want me.”

“Well, that’s a guarantee. Who else would I be a pretend boyfriend for?”

He growls. “No one.”

“That’s unexpectedly hot. Keep that in mind for later.” I pause and add cautiously, “And the second thing you came to believe?”

“That the author of Torridly Yours is actually a certified fucking genius.” I laugh and he carries on. “And I knew that if you were prepared to go to those lengths for me, maybe I meant something to you too.”

I swallow hard. “You mean everything . You are the best man I know,” I say steadily, staring into his face.

His eyes are very bright. “You are clever and so kind, and I want to look after you and love you for the rest of my life. And I know you’ll say it’s too soon, but I didn’t fall in love with you this weekend. That happened years ago.”

His eyes flare, and he looks impossibly beautiful. “I love you too,” he whispers.

I pull him towards me, feeling his weight against me as he kisses me, his lips full and warm and his scent weaving around me.

Finally, he breaks away, which is probably good because the people in the next cubicle are definitely still listening. I’m guessing they aren’t prepared for full sexual intercourse, however.

Keeping my hand in one of his, he picks up the book. “I’m so glad I could finally read the opus Torridly Yours .”

I wink at him. “Don’t mock it. Maybe Fiona and Jared had the right idea.”

He lifts my hand and kisses my fingers with a courtly gesture that makes me warm. “I think they did.”

I smile at him. It’s wide and so happy it fills my whole face. “Well, we did forced proximity.”

“Only someone with Stockholm Syndrome would say that as cheerfully as you just did.”

“And we did only one bed.”

“You bet we did.”

“We checked off the maiming by innocuous car accident.”

He shakes his head. “Let’s not do that again.”

“Well, because you said it, so it shall be.”

“Can we please keep that attitude?”

“Highly unlikely.” I tap my chin. “I think we’ll miss off the accidental pregnancy.”

“Was that in there? I must have missed that bit.”

“It’s part of the third-act breakup. She leaves him for a while.” I give him a cautionary glare. “I’m not leaving you, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he says solemnly.

“And we’re already in a boss-employee relationship. We’ve covered a lot in a weekend, babe.”

“You can say that again, Fifi.” I glare and he laughs. “It’s a fact. Get used to it. I want to be saying that when we’re old.” I grin at him, and his gaze turns thoughtful. “Maybe one day we won’t be boss and employer.”

“What? You want me to leave?”

He shakes his head. “Of course not, but I do want you to have everything you want, Clem. You can discount our age gap, but I will always endeavour to make sure you’re not holding back from going after what you want.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” I shake my head. “Do you think I don’t know my own mind?”

“It’s good you do because no one else wants to venture in there with you. It would scare Stephen King.” I shove him and he laughs before becoming serious. “Maybe one day you’ll own the bookshop with me.”

We meet each other’s eyes, and I can feel all the possibilities rising up between us.

I smile slowly. “Then I’m afraid there’s only one requirement left.” I hold my finger up. “It’s very serious. Ill-informed people insist it isn’t necessary, but all true romance readers know it’s essential.”

“And what is that?”

I wink. “It’s the happy every after, Harry. Can you commit to that?”

“I can,” he says immediately, and I draw him to me, kissing him like we’re on the cover of our very own book.

Move over, Fiona and Jared. There’s a new romantic couple in town.