Show Me Your Lips (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 3)

Warm Welcome

He'd thrown the leather belt connecting the bags, over his shoulder. They stepped out onto the pavement, and Lauren lifted her hand with her phone to him. She pointed at his helmet; he hesitated, but then nodded and handed it to her. Lauren pressed it to herself tightly. It was her fault that he only had one working hand; and she was feeling increasingly more agitated because guilt was much more discomforting than dealing with his anger would have been. He had to scroll quite a lot, reading what she'd written. Let's face it, Lauren Harris was an over-explainer.

His shoulders jumped up a couple of times; and she understood that it was him chuckling. Was he silencing himself because he couldn't tell how loud he would be? She couldn't quite recall what he sounded like; it had all been a blur.

He then started pointing at her bullet points with his thumb; and nodding and shaking his head interchangeably. She got a 'yes' - and a grateful half-smile - to her informing him that she ordered him a SIM-free phone online and it was supposed to arrive the next day before lunch the latest. She didn't even feel bad for over-paying for the 'same day' delivery; and that was considering that she had a firm policy against any sort of additional charges for 'special' or 'premium' services.

He gave her a firm 'no' to whether he needed anything else.

Another enthusiastic nod was his response to an offer of grabbing dinner; and he apparently had no preferences or restrictions when it came to food.

Doctor said no bnb. Any motels? Air bnb?

Lauren shook her head so hard that her ears rang. "No, not in Fleckney."

Pub?

Lauren typed back that, as she'd found out while he had been getting his arm treated, every possible accommodation in the county town and the two large villages near it, was booked.

He looked down himself and exhaled an aggravated harrumph.

Need a shower. Rode for two days without.

He threw her a quick look and typed, Cant take you out like that.

Lauren stared at the words 'take' and 'out.' They had been used in regards to her previously - but never combined like that and in this context.

It was his next question - Launderette? - that had tipped the scale for her.

She tapped his upper arm and pointed towards the Hill, a sleepy street where her beloved terraced house hid behind a thick yew hedge. She splayed her hand in the air; he studied it, as if counting her fingers with his eyes, which conversely was the point; and then he gave her a questioning look from under a raised eyebrow.

She took her phone back.

I live a five minute-walk away. You're welcome to my shower and my washer! We can order some food while you wait for your washing. And I've got an extra room, and it has a sectional. I don't use it!

He read the message - and his surprised eyes flew up to her face. The colour of his irises was indeed rather brilliant.

Lauren gave it a quick thought and typed, At least until we find something better! Please? I feel terrible!

She simultaneously pronounced the words as she tapped the screen. When she showed him the mobile, he didn't read but continued staring at her face.

You don't know me, was his response.

Lauren considered repeating Frank's preposterous joke about the man's bike being a hostage; but that would disclose that they'd been discussing him behind his back.