The Lover's Children novel Chapter 84

GEORGIE

“How are you this morning?”

My smile blooms, all unbidden. “I’m good.”

He strokes my cheek. “I’m pleased to hear that.” His mouth opens, covering mine, and he teases my lips apart. After a moment, he pulls back, sucking at his lips. “You’re minty.”

Heat pools in my cheeks. “I… used some of your mouthwash… All that coffee last night. And the garlic… I hope you don’t…”

He pecks a kiss onto my forehead. “Good point. Should have thought of it myself.” Throwing back the sheets again, he rolls out of bed and strides through to the bathroom, giving me a grandstand view of his naked rear.

Great ass…

And shoulders…

He’s tall and straight, not overly muscular, with a lean, well-defined physique. Long thighs meet sculpted buttocks, a slight dimple over each by the base of his spine…

My covert examination of my…

…Lover…

… is interrupted as he vanishes into the bathroom, closing the door behind.

Still dreamy, I lie, listening to the muffled sounds of gargling and running water. He re-emerges after a few minutes, sliding in alongside me again. One arm around my waist, the other at my shoulders, he pulls me close. “I was thinking, it's a lovely morning. Why don't we go out to eat? There’s a cafe I know down by the harbour that does a breakfast buffet. Coffee and pain au chocolat down by the water. We could spend the day together…” He pauses, brow creasing. “Or am I making assumptions? Do you need to be anywhere else?”

“No, I don’t need to be anywhere else. And I’d love to spend the day with you.”

His forehead smooths again, the crease settling at the corners of his eyes instead. “Good. That’s settled. But first…” His hold on me tightens and he eases my ankles apart with one foot. “On your back, Georgie. I’ve not finished from last night yet.”

*****

The silver of the morning has gilded to golden sunshine by the time Borje releases me, the pair of us sated, panting and, if not exhausted, at least ready for…

“Coffee!” he announces. “Come on.” With a laugh, he rolls me across the sheets, so I have to grab the mattress not to tumble over the edge.… “Out of bed.” And I’m laughing too. Sweaty, hot, my hair a mad tumble, he hauls me up and shoves me ahead of himself into the bathroom. Later, showered, dressed and driving, there seems no reason not to keep up the rather silly smile that keeps swooping over my face. Still, Borje wears a matching silly smile as he takes my hand while we stroll to his harbour cafe through June sunshine.

It’s rather beyond breakfast time by the time we arrive at our table, so we settle for calling it brunch. The buffet offers much more than the coffee and pastries promised. A jug of freshly squeezed orange juice sits beside the small espresso pot. Berries and yoghurt, butter and strawberry conserve, join mixed breads, still steaming from the oven. A platter of cheese and ham is garnished with arugula, watercress and huge, fat slices of tomato. Sweet and piquant enough to set my teeth dancing a fandango, they’re a world away from the chill, savourless taste I expected.

Borje chuckles at my reaction. “They have a market garden, and they grow the salad themselves,” he comments. “You get real tomatoes rather than the speed-grown supermarket version.”

A light breeze catches his fine hair, flicking it over his face. Repeatedly, he flicks it back, I think unconsciously. Without meaning to, I find myself smoothing a hand over him to settle the blow-away. He seems startled, momentarily pulling away, but the expression softens to a smile as he relaxes again.

His eyes pass over my shoulder, the smile fading. “Oh, God…” He moves close, his voice lowering as he speaks behind his hand. “Turn your face away from the street. Look in toward the cafe.”

Despite myself, I cast a furtive glance along the road. “What’s wrong?”

“Someone I don’t want to talk to. Maybe she won’t…”

“Hello, Borje…” The voice is harsh, penetrating and smacks of its owner being determined to be heard regardless of opinion. “… Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fuck!” He groans. “Great. Just what I need.”

I talk sidelong, trying not to move my lips. “Who is she?”

“Marcie,” he mutters. “Commonly known as Marcie the Mouth.”

“Not a friend of yours, then?”

“No. I can’t stand the woman.”

Marcie is an obvious, and unsubtle, bottle-blonde, her hair all but rigid under layers of lacquer. Her face heavily over-made, I’d guess she’s in her fifties, but it’s hard to tell. Her skin has that leathery quality that comes from too much time either sunbathing or on the tanning tables. Her brows are over-plucked and perhaps she’s conscious of being quite short, because she totters towards us in spiked heels she’s not truly mastered. Flinging out her arms, “Borje. It’s lovely to see you. It’s been so long.”

Shoe-horning his smile back in place, Borje stands to greet her as she bears down. He accepts the hug, but his fingers barely touch her shoulders as he delivers an air-kiss, well offside of one cheek. “Marcie, yes, it’s been a while.”

There’s something in his manner. Not just masked dislike, but…

But what?

Is he nervous?

What on earth would he be nervous of?

Then I award myself an internal kick. Obviously, Marcie is an old flame. And he thinks I might react badly. I’ve given him enough reason to think I might fly off the handle for no good reason.

So, I stand with him, offering my hand. “Marcie, is it? It’s lovely to meet Borje’s friends.”

She rakes me with her eye, one lined-in brow arching. “Yesss…?”