Sweetly Isolated (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 1)

Cosmopolitan on Ice

She didn't want to go. To be precise, she didn't want to get up, and get dressed, and to leave her cottage - with Holyoake inside. It would make more sense if they were still in bed, she always seemed to struggle with untangling out of his bearhug - the man was so warm and smelled so nice! - but at the moment they were mannerly eating lunch, he was reading something on his phone, and there was a significant distance between their bodies. And yet...

The man needed to work, she reminded herself. And she had a date. A date you wanted, Tina. With the man of your dreams. No, seriously! Dr. Edwin Montjoy was exactly what Tina had always looked for in men: he was decent, considerate, soft-spoken, charmingly old-fashioned, and intellectual. Liv had done some digging and had sent Tina a detailed email. The man was almost too good to be true: no criminal record, not even a speeding ticket; one long committed relationship in the past, the chick dumped him for a richer man; he taught and was generally loved by his students, and respected by his colleagues. Liv's social media search had shown that his only hobby was participating in pub quizzes in the local establishments, such as The Oak and the Shield in Fleckney Woulds. In her email Liv said that in her opinion Dr. Montjoy was exactly the man Tina needed. 'Someone transparent, stable, reliable, unambitious, and safe,' she wrote. Tina assumed that in Liv's eyes he was the perfect man to support Tina's writing, which was what Liv mostly cared about. Except, there was now an issue with Tina's writing.

"I'll go get dressed," Tina muttered and got up.

Holyoake looked up from the screen. A sudden thought flashed through Tina's mind. 

Ask me to stay.

Ask me to stay with you. It doesn't matter that you'll be gone in four days. It doesn't matter that it's different between us. I'm not asking you for more. Just tell me to stay. She realised she was begging in her mind. Come up with something. Tell me I have to bake more biscuits for you. You think I haven't noticed, but I know you've been nicking them from the tin. Ask me to stay. Pretend it matters to you. Just out of some misplaced possessiveness. Just because you don't want to share my attention. Or just simply question it... and I'll stay.

"Have fun," he said lightly and looked down at his screen again.

Tina exhaled, put her mug in the sink, and walked out of the kitchen.

***

"Good afternoon," Edwin greeted her, and she smiled at him.

Now that the mycologist stood in front of her - on the other side of the street - her temporary soppy madness was gone. Good, Tina, because one worries for your sanity! What was this melodrama just now? And to think of it, say, if Holyoake threw a jealous fit, wouldn't you have told him it was none of his business? Exactly.

"Hello, Edwin." She gave him a small wave, and he laughed softly.

"You look lovely as always, Tina."

She did put a tad of effort into her appearance today: a bit of eyeliner, a cute hat with a pompom, and a shorter tailored jacket. She wasn't particularly fond of her looks, but she had long slender legs. And an exceptional arse, according to John Grabby Hands Holyoake. Shut. Up!

"Thank you, Edwin."

"How's your back? I've been concerned for you," he said with an appropriately worried look.

"Oh, much better. I'm back to my usual flexible self."

As proven by that time on the kitchen table last night. What's the name of that position again? The Mermaid? Shut. Up. Shut. Uppity. Up.

"You do seem in a better mood as well. Has something fortunate happened?" he asked.

Tina threw him a look from the corner of her eye. Blimey, how is this possible to be single for twenty-nine years - minus the two and a half years with August - and then to have two absolutely gorgeous men in one's life?! Look at this one! He's like Jeremy Irons in The French Lieutenant's Woman, except for the dishevelled locks and facial hair. And at home she had– Nothing. You don't 'have' anything at home. You're shagging a man worthy of the wildest fantasies that you now decided to write, for some reason - but there's no 'having' anything involved.