Page 7 of Strawberry Moon

His eyes widen, and there’s an unmistakable heat in them that makes my heart pound.

He comes closer and my breathing picks up when I feel his warmth.

His scent weaves around me like magic, and I suppress a groan as he bends close.

He brushes his nose against my cheek, his breath hot on my skin.

I shudder and my eyes drift closed as he fills my senses.

He drops a kiss on my cheek, and I open my eyes to see him stepping back.

“That’s it ?” I say, outraged.

He starts to laugh. “You should be more precise with your wording.”

“I knew you were tricky,” I say gloomily as I turn back into the room.

He laughs. “I’m going to get dressed and then feed my mum’s dinner to the dogs. As far as you know, we ate it.”

“Tricky,” I say again.

He takes his clothes and leaves the room. I head towards the bathroom but pause when I see the book on the bed. It’s lying there looking innocent, as if it really is just a dry historical book instead of being the catalyst for chaos.

“This is working,” I breathe and pat it. “Well done , Fiona and Jared.”

A little voice at the back of my mind perks up, asking if what I just did was manipulative. I shove my conscience back behind a big mental door and put a few padlocks on it to keep the fucker quiet.

I push my plate away with a sigh. “That tiramisu was lovely.”

Harry smiles. “I wasn’t sure if you’d fit it in.”

I wink at him. “If you need to fit something big in a tiny space then I’m your man.”

He chokes on the drink he’s sipping, and I laugh at him. Then I stretch out my hand towards him. I’m gratified by how speedily he takes it, and the way his fingers fold over mine as if keeping treasure safe.

“It’s been a wonderful evening,” I say softly.

He brought me to an Italian restaurant in a little village near his family home. It’s small and cosy with candles flickering in glass bowls and music playing low. The clientele is mainly couples—understandable, as the atmosphere is definitely geared towards romance.

We’d talked and laughed all the way through the meal, our heads close together.

The surprising thing to me is how easy it is.

My first dates with other men have always been marked by nerves, fumbling conversations, and clumsiness.

None of that has happened tonight. Oh, I’ve had butterflies every time he’s touched my hand or leant closer or laughed, but they’re the good kind of butterflies, and we haven’t stopped talking all night.

He's an intriguing mix of wisdom and snark, but the latter is softened by his innate kindness. It shows in the way he spoke to the staff and the way he dealt with a mistake on our order. He never loses his temper, and his sweet smile is the reward if you’re the same.

At the same time, he seems to enjoy my sharp nature.

I’ve always tried hard to be worthy of him, but it’s occurred to me tonight that maybe I don’t have to try so hard. Maybe, just maybe, he likes me for my personality rather than in spite of it.

He signals for the bill, and after paying it, he smiles at me. “Fancy a walk?”

I nod, and saying our thanks, we head out.

The village is very pretty with flowers everywhere and a little church with a steeple that seems to lean drunkenly.

The high street is empty at this time of the night, and we wander along, peering into shop windows.

At some point, his hand finds mine. I glance over at him to find he’s gazing ahead, but there’s a smile on his lips.

I squeeze his hand and edge closer. “If this was an episode of Midsomer Murders , you’d probably have drunk poison whisky by now and I’d have been bludgeoned to death with an ornate candlestick.”

He snorts. “Why is it always a candlestick? Whatever happened to a good old-fashioned stick?”

“You have no imagination. You could never be a writer on that show.”

“I’m sure it can’t be that difficult to drum up those ridiculous murders.”

“You might think that, but in the episode I watched yesterday, a girl was run over by a car and then injected with liquid nicotine.”

He laughs, and I savour the sound. “Wouldn’t just one of those methods have done the trick?”

“They had to give John Nettles something to do. Poor man.”

We’ve passed the last shop and are standing at the end of the street. Ahead of us are fields, the lights of the village behind. We gaze at the sky, and then, in synch, we both draw in a startled breath.

“What is that ?” I breathe.

The moon is huge and full and the most beautiful pink colour. It’s like the pink gin my mum loves. The pale orb rides high in the sky, bathing the fields in light, and even as I watch, a bat flits across it.

“It’s a strawberry moon,” Harry whispers. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one so bright.”

“What is a strawberry moon?”

“It happens every year. In some cultures, it’s seen as a symbol of love and prosperity and a time to savour life’s sweetness. Like the first strawberries. Others see it as…”

I edge closer. “See it as what?”

He turns to me, the moonlight highlighting the sharp angles of his face. “It was believed that the strawberry moon could bring a change to a relationship, making it more meaningful.”

I wait a few beats and then screw up my courage and say quietly but firmly, “I would like that to happen with us, Harry.”

Silence fills the space between us, and my bravery slowly seeps away like the air in a popped balloon. “Oh,” I say quietly and go to move away.

His hand stops me. “Wait,” he says urgently. “I’m sorry. I was trying to find the right words.”

“For what?” I look longingly back in the direction of where we left the car. My biggest wish right now is to be home and away from this.

He tugs me. “Let’s walk. Please.”

I nod reluctantly and fall in at his side as we start walking again.

“My conscience is arguing with me at the moment.”

“ Conscience ?” I say, stopping dead and putting my hand on his arm to stay him. “What on earth would you need that for?”

“Cradle robbing,” he offers in a dry voice.

I roll my eyes. “Hardly. You’re only fifteen years older than me.”

“ Only ?” he groans. “That’s a lot of years, Clem.

” He strokes my hand, looking down at my fingers as if he’s never seen any before.

“I like you very much,” he finally says.

My spirits rise, but I repress them. There’s more to come.

“But the thing is, I’m your boss.” He’s still staring down as if he can’t meet my eyes.

“We have two strikes against dating—I’m in a position of authority over you and I’m old enough to know better. ”

I tear my hand away and pace a few steps. Then I spin around. “So what?” I hold out my hands. “Who the fuck cares?”

“ I care.” The words are firm and stop my rant. “I care a great deal about you, Clem.”

“You do?” I whisper.

He nods, the breeze blowing his hair around his beautiful face. “Enough to say I want everything for you.”

“But what if that’s you ?”

He huffs. “A bookshop owner who can’t hold down a relationship to save his life?”

“To be perfectly frank, if I’d been dating the men you’ve picked I’d have opted for death,” I snap. “There must be better conversationalists in the graveyard than Tony, who started every sentence with, ‘Not to be rude but…’”

A ghost of a smile flickers at the corner of his mouth and then his face resumes its troubled expression. “I think you should look for a younger man. Someone who’s lively and lovely like you.”

His words are firm, and I can already see him gathering the metaphorical bricks to start building a wall between us. I want to throw myself at him and kiss him, but I know that won’t work, and I rack my brains for what to do next.

A scene from the book comes to mind, and before I can stop myself, I take two steps towards him and then wobble. “Oh,” I cry.

“What is it?” he says instantly, reaching for me. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

“ Sweetheart ,” I breathe. That fucking book should be given a Booker Prize and Jared and Fiona should be knighted. “You called me sweetheart.”

He ignores me and, taking my weight, he helps me to the side of the path. “What happened?”

“What?”

“You seemed to hurt yourself.”

“Did I? Oh yes. I caught my ankle.”

He looks behind me. “On what?”

“Erm.” I think hard. Fiona’s accident in the book was completely real.

His eyebrow slowly rises.

I say quickly, “Erm a raccoon.”

“In Norfolk ?”

“Maybe it’s escaped from a zoo,” I say crossly, feeling defensive of the imaginary animal.

“I thought you’d seen a fox.”

“Yes, that would have made much more sense,” I say grimly. I try a groan. “Ooh it’s a bit painful.”

I think I now have the answer to why I never got any major roles in the school plays. It’s because I suck at acting. It’s alright my mum bigging me up and saying I reminded her of a young Jamie Bell, but even he would struggle in this situation.

To my amazement, Harry lifts me up. I flail and let out an inarticulate grunt until I realise he’s positioned me on top of a waist-high stone wall.

“Stay there,” he instructs, his voice rich with that air of quiet command that will never be unattractive. My cock stirs hopefully. “Let me have a look at your ankle.”

“It’s fine,” I say, tugging at him. “There’s really no need.” I tug harder and he falls against me, landing between my parted legs. We look into each other’s eyes. It’s very quiet now. I hear the grass rustling in the nearby field, his hurried breaths, and blood pounding in my ears.

I trace my hands up his chest, still holding his gaze. His eyes grow heavy-lidded as I reach his face and cup that strong chin. “Can I?” I whisper.

He swallows hard before nodding, and I don’t give him time to rethink that statement.

I kiss him. Our lips rest against each other for a long beat, as though neither of us can believe we’re finally doing this.

Then I lick over his lower lip, feeling the slight indention of his teeth where he’s bitten it.

It’s his nervous tell and never fails to make me warm with affection.

“Clem,” he breathes, and finally takes my mouth in a kiss that’s a world away from the one I gave him.

His lips are soft against mine, and the whole world trails away in a mix of stars and a pink moon, as his tongue twines with mine, and his hands rise to cup my face.

He tilts my head at a better angle, so the kiss goes deep, and he eats at my mouth with a growl in the back of his throat that echoes the moan in mine.

He pulls away, and I grumble.

He has that wild look in his eyes again as he says, “God, I knew it would be like this.”

I start to question this astonishing statement, but then he kisses me again and the thought slips away.

His shoulders are wide and strong under my hands, and I twine my legs around him, relishing how the low wall puts me at the right angle for my cock to rub against his.

We’re both hard, and I stop to hiss with pleasure.

Then confusion reigns. Something blows in my ear—something that’s much, much bigger than Harry. Then it emits a low groan so eerie that if Harry weren’t holding me, I’d be levitating from the wall.

My scream chokes off as I promptly fall off the wall, pulling Harry with me. My ankle turns when I land awkwardly, but I ignore the pain.

“What the fuck is that ?” My voice sounds a bit too much like my Auntie Tamsin’s parrot—the one that’s inclined to make farting noises if you don’t feed him quickly enough. “It’s a monster . Fucking hell.”

“Clem, it’s okay,” Harry says loudly, grabbing my shoulders. “Look. It’s a cow .”

I pause. “It’s a what?” I say faintly.

“A cow.”

I look to my side and find a black and white cow sticking its head over the fence. It’s chewing grass, or maybe another silly human. I don’t know, and I’m not going near enough to find out. It’s watching me placidly, as if I didn’t just break the sound barrier with my screech.

“See it’s fine. Just a cow. A little one too.” Harry’s voice shakes, and I look at him suspiciously.

His face is contorted into what some might think is genuine concern, but I know him too well.

I sigh. “Go on,” I say.

He bursts into laughter, falling against the wall and laughing until tears run down his face. I watch him affectionately, fighting a smile of my own. Then I try to step towards him and hiss.

“My bloody ankle,” I grit out.

His laughter stops and he leaps forwards. “Oh, I forgot. You’ve probably just turned it. Lean on me.”

“I think I should probably take the pain,” I say honestly.

I might deserve it. Guilt is already stirring at how I just manipulated the situation with him.

I don’t need my conscience to tell me it was wrong despite the results being so spectacular.

I wonder if Fiona ever felt guilty between her sighs.

He stops walking. “What?”

“Karma is a very powerful thing,” I tell him. He nods but his expression is confused. I look back towards the cow. “It’ll get you too, bovine cockblocker,” I call, and we limp down the road towards the car with Harry’s laughter loud on the air.

My ankle does hurt, but karma may have done me a favour. I savour every inch of our walk as I lean on his hard, warm body. I also manage to push the guilt away. For now.