Never Say Forever

“I hope you run fast.”

“Why?” he asks with a quizzical smile.

“I don’t like the idea of you being caught. You know, I could hang my coat from these nipples,” I whisper as he pulls me in for a kiss, unable to resist tweaking one as I slide my already chilled hands between us.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he says, wagging an admonishing finger.

“Spoilsport.” His smile turns wolfish.

“How do I look?” I turn my head over my shoulder, making sure Lulu is still chatting to the morning doorman, whose name I don’t know. I’m not fishing for compliments but asking about my lipstick after Carson had kissed me more than was appropriate for a morning goodbye.

“Well, your eyes are glistening, and your cheeks are a pretty pink.”

“Ah, but which cheeks?”

“Naughty girl.” He towers over me, making me feel all kinds of dainty and girly and giggly as I find myself blinking up into his mock-admonishing expression.

“That’s a very serious face, Mr Hayes,” I purr.

“I just can’t believe my good fortune, Ms Fee.” This man kills me with sweetness and orgasms in quick succession. “I was just thinking you look beautiful this morning. Much too attractive.” His eyes flick over me hungrily. “The sum of these parts too well put together.”

“Too attractive?” I can feel my eyebrows creeping up my face as I struggle to hold in my amusement. “You’d prefer me to look like something the cat dragged in?”

“Yes. That’s what I’m thinking.” He grasps the lapels of my jacket, pulling me in for one last press of his lips. “A little tousled and well ridden might keep the competition away. You know what that means?” I shake my head even though my body seems to get it. “I’ll just have to try a little harder tomorrow.”

A tiny explosion of delight spreads from my chest to my face.

“Practise tonight?”

“I’ll bring dinner.”

This man only gets better and better.

“Do you think we should tell Rose?” I ask suddenly. “Maybe call her tonight? Tell her over the phone?”

“Your call.” He shrugs as if the question doesn’t matter to him at all. And just like that, the last tiny threads of anxiety snap. I wasn’t really worried that he fancied her still, was I? At any rate, I’m not now.

“No. I think we should tell her together when she’s here next month.”

“Sounds good to me. I should bring earplugs because there will be screaming.”

“At you or at me?” I ask sweetly.

“She’ll go full girly mode. Glue our names together. You know, like a portmanteau.”

“You’re so full of it.” I narrow my eyes playfully. “Feeon. The cool kids call that a ship.”

“Whatever, it has a terrible ring to it.” He bops his finger against my nose before turning and holding out his arms. “Hey, Lu.”

Lulu’s eyes light up, then she fist bumps the doorman before launching herself into Carson’s arms. “Be good for your mommy?”

“Yep!”

“And learn all the things today at school.” She gives an affirmative nod before pressing a kiss to his cheek. “That’s my princess,” he says, setting her feet to the ground.

My happy little Lulu turns before swinging back to face him again.

“Uncle Car? If I’m a princess, what does that make Mommy?”

His smiles spread slowly, rich and sweet and reminding me of spilled honey.

“Why, that’s easy. She’s the queen of my heart.”

I’m first into the office this morning, which makes a change. Who would’ve thought the positive effect Carson has on my life would extend to my timekeeping? Not that the issue was wholly mine to begin with, but he certainly incentivises waking earlier in the morning. Waking before a certain little girl. Also, an extra pair of hands is very welcome in our morning quest to get to school on time. And Lulu really is a much nicer child to be around when she’s not plonked in front of a bowl of cereal or a slice of toast, it turns out. But it’s more than that because Carson just seems to have a way with Lulu. The man could charm birds from the trees. The female ones, at least. His appeal probably transcends the barrier of species.

“You’re far too happy for a Wednesday morning.”

I’m sorting out my desk drawer when Beth walks into the office, her smile taking any sting, perceived or otherwise, from her words. I won’t say we’re getting along any better, but we do make an effort. We’re professionals, after all. We also just happen to be different people with a different sense of what’s acceptable. Live and let live, I guess. And people who throws stones should avoid living in glass houses.

“It’s halfway to the weekend,” I reply cheerfully.

“And that’s why you were humming a Taylor Swift song when I came in?”

“Was I?” I run a few bars through my head. Story checks out, Fluffing hell! “It seems I was.” I can’t hold onto my smile, the goofy thing feeling like it’s taking over half of my face.