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

Spill the Beans

Tell him that would be mental. Tell him something smooth and sophisticated. Tell him something that doesn't make you look like an insecure cow who hasn't had any 'business' in three years and who's never actually enjoyed it that much, except for maybe her first few times with her boyfriend before August?

"Yes, that's what I mean," she whispered. "Maybe, if I stop thinking about it all the time, I'll be able to write."

Oh my god, how are you a twenty-nine-year old woman and not an Australian cane toad, the world's daftest animal?

His unreadable expression wavered, and his eyebrows jumped up.

"Sure, laugh at me," she muttered and sighed.

"I wasn't laughing at you," he said.

"You were. Internally. I know your internal laugh," she grumbled. "Your eyebrows do this thing, and your lips– and there's this expression in your eyes... I can tell."

"Do you now?" he murmured softly and pressed his lips to her cheek. "It's nice to know you are thinking about it all the time," he whispered into her ear.

The ear immediately started to burn. He caught the earlobe between his lips, and Tina jumped up.

"What are you– Are we– What? Now?!" she gasped, and he chuckled quietly.

"I'm a man, Clementine," he murmured, and his lips slid on her cheekbone. "You don't have to ask twice."

"I wasn't asking! I mean, I was, but– it's just sort of– right away!"

Oh god, how's he doing this?! He was still holding her the same considerate comforting way, and he'd just kissed her a couple times - and she was already tingling head to toe.

He laughed and slightly moved away to look into her face.

"Would you like a twenty-four hour warning?" he purred.

"I'd like a lunch and a cuppa first," she blurted out.

She was still shaking, but it was only 50% nervous exhaustion and low blood sugar at this stage. The other 50% was all him. He smiled, shook his head, and then kissed her. Oh, this is new. This - is a new kind of kiss. She couldn't call it any other way but 'tender,' and she could feel a small smile tremble on his lips. Tina quickly turned into a puddle of adoration and melted into him.

"Alright, let's feed you first," he said and took her off his lap.

Tina swayed, and he had to support her. His palm felt warm against her shoulder. He got up, and she took his chair. A few minutes later the kitchen filled with the delicious smell of chicken, frying bell peppers and onion, paprika, chilli powder, cumin, and oregano.

"What are we having?" Tina asked.

Her teeth were chattering, and he looked at her over his shoulder.

"Chicken fajitas. They'll be just a few minutes." He looked her over. "It's a feedback loop, your parasympathetic nervous system is in the rest-and-digest state," he said. "Wait, I'll be right back."

He left for the lounge and came back with her afghan. He threw it over her shoulders.

"I'll make you a cuppa to warm up," he said, and Tina looked up at him from her cocoon.

"You seem to know what you're doing," she mumbled.

"My brother is ex-military. PTSD," he said curtly.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Tina squeaked. "Now I feel even sillier. I've thrown a benny, and–"

"Don't," he said and put a mug in front of her. "Writing is important to you, I understand. I wouldn't enjoy someone barging in and ruining my life's work either."