Chapter Thirteen

Izzy

We go to see a new psychological thriller at the cinema in Kerikeri. I don’t mention Rosie, and neither does Hal. Instead, we immerse ourselves for a couple of hours in the movie, and by the time we come out, the frown has gone from his forehead, and he’s back to his normal self.

I knew that incident in the veterinary center would have affected him badly. For a start, like most men, he dislikes public displays of emotion, and the sound of Rosie’s shrieks would have made him shudder. He would also have been embarrassed that his place of work was being affected by his personal life. His love for the Ark is deep-rooted and sincere, and Rosie’s an idiot to think making a scene in front of his colleagues and customers was going to win him over.

I feel bad for Rosie, as she was my friend and I don’t like seeing anyone hurting, but she was wrong to cheat on Hal, and she should have taken the breakup with more grace. After saying that, though, I think I’d throw a tantrum if I had Hal and then was stupid enough to lose him.

I think about that as we walk out into the balmy evening air. I’m on the verge of having him. We’re dating. And with that comes the risk of losing him. What if, after a few dates, he peeks behind the curtain and realizes there’s nothing of interest behind it, just dull old Izzy. I can’t imagine I’m going to be entertaining enough to keep him. The thought of him getting bored with me, giving me that smile he gives when he’s trying to be nice to someone but inside he’s desperately thinking of ways to escape… Oh my God, I think I’d die.

I give myself a mental slap as we walk slowly along the high street. I’ll do nothing of the sort. The absolute last thing I’m going to do is turn into Rosie. If we decide it’s not going to work, I’ll accept it and move on. I’m a grown-up, for Christ’s sake; I will not ruin our friendship over this.

It’s an experiment, I decide. We’re going to go on a few dates and have some fun, I get to go out with a gorgeous guy and have a few sexy kisses, and then we’ll go back to being friends and things will return to normal.

“Penny for them,” Hal says, and I glance up to see him studying me.

I shrug. “Just thinking about work.”

He raises his eyebrows. “You’re not thinking about me? I’m slacking.” He stops and, right there in the high street, turns me to face him, pulls me into his arms, and lowers his lips to mine.

I inhale, my lips parting, and he sweeps his tongue into my mouth, and in the space of seconds my body’s superheating, my blood turning to lava, my heart banging as if there’s a blacksmith inside me hammering on an anvil while the bellows fan the flames.

Mmm… he’s so good at this. I rest my hands on his chest, then slide them up to cup his face. The pads of my fingers rasp on his bristles. I like that. I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him back, loving how his arms tighten around me, and the murmur he gives deep in his throat. I turn him on. That will never cease to amaze me.

A car passes us on the road and bibs its horn, and someone cheers out of the window, and we break apart, laughing. Hal takes my hand. “Come on. Let’s go get a drink.”

We go into Frienz, a trendy wine bar, and order a glass of wine each and a platter of nibbles as neither of us has eaten, and we take our wine to a table out in the garden, finding a seat side by side on a bench. There are lemon and mandarin trees dotted around, and in the middle a huge jacaranda arches over the lawn, scattering lilac-colored petals onto the grass.

It’s hot, and Hal’s wearing long khaki shorts and a white short-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned at the neck. I’m wearing cut-downs and a long-sleeved black T-shirt with silver swirls on it. Hal reaches out a finger and traces one of them down my left arm. It makes me tingle all over.

“I’m so sorry about today,” he says eventually.

I have a sip of wine. I asked for Sauvignon and he got me a glass of the most expensive wine on the list. I can taste gooseberries and passionfruit—it’s amazing. I like having a rich boyfriend.

“It’s not your fault at all,” I tell him. “Rosie made a fool of herself, and she only has herself to blame.”

“Even so. I’m sorry she took it out on you. I was going to come and help but Stefan told me not to.”

“It was the right decision. It was all an act to show you how upset she was, and it would have been worse if you’d come out. When she looked around and saw everyone staring at her, she finally realized what a fool she’d been.” I stopped then, conscious that even though he’s broken up with her, he might resent me calling his ex a fool.

But he just nods, his mouth a thin line, and looks into his glass. “I should have finished it months ago. I wish I had. She might have gotten over it better. Like ripping off a Band-Aid. Instead I dragged it out and made her think she had a chance.”

I run my finger around the top of the glass. “Rosie told me you hadn’t slept together in months.”

“That’s true. Like I said, things hadn’t been good for a long time. We argued a lot. The atmosphere wasn’t conducive to… you know.”

I sip my wine, my eyes on his, and his lips curve up. “What?” he asks.

“I just can’t imagine you going without sex for that long.”

He gives a wry smile. “You’d be surprised.”

“Yeah, but you’re so…” I search for the right word and can’t think of one.

“Horny?” he suggests.

“Kinda, yeah. On any normal day you’ve got ten thousand volts running through you. No wonder the tips of your hair have been lighting up lately if you haven’t… you know. If there aren’t any passengers disembarking, I’d imagine the train is getting a bit crowded.”

That makes him laugh. “I didn’t say there hadn’t been any disembarking. I can get the passengers out on my own, with a little encouragement.”

Whoa, Jesus. I hadn’t even considered that. I stare at him as images flit through my mind of him unzipping his jeans, pushing down his boxers, and taking himself in hand. Giving long slow strokes that gradually turn quicker until he… Holy fuck.

His smile turns impish. “Oh…” He moves an inch toward me on the bench, his arm now brushing mine, and leans a little closer. “You like the thought of me doing that?”

“No! I mean yes. I mean…”

“It’s all right, Izzy. You don’t think I daydream about you sliding your hand into your panties at night and pleasuring yourself while you think of me?”

My cheeks turn volcanic in seconds. I can’t answer, though, because the waiter’s brought over our platter. I wait until he’s placed it before us and retreated before I mumble, “Jesus.” He’s implying he’s thinking of me when he does it. That’s such an incredible turn-on. I think I’m going to melt.

Hal chooses a spring roll from the plate and crunches it, looking most amused. “Your face is a picture,” he tells me.

“My brain’s like scrambled eggs.” I also choose a spring roll. He ordered the vegetarian platter for me. He’s such a sweetie. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

“Of course I do. Because you do it to me, too.”

This is a new thing for me, knowing that a man wants me, that he’s fantasizing about having sex with me. And for a man like Hal to do so is rich buttercream icing on the top of the moist, delicious carrot cake.

His amusement is replaced by a look of fondness, and he bumps my shoulder with his. “You’re a strange girl, Isabel Fitzgerald. You’re such a woman of the world in so many ways. You’re confident, self-possessed, knowledgeable. I think you could be dropped into any social situation and feel comfortable. You’re good with men and women, as well as animals. You exude competence and calmness. I can’t imagine anything making you flustered.”

Only you, I think.

“And yet,” he continues, “there’s something naive about you, too. I don’t mean that in a derogatory sense. I mean a… freshness, I suppose. An innocence. Everyone else in the world has to share intimate details of their love lives with other people, and on social media. But you never do that. I know you’ve had relationships, but I don’t know anything about them. I like that, in a way. Being with you is like going on a Kiwi OE across South America. I have no idea what wonders I’m going to see.”

I choose a piece of deep-fried camembert, dip it in the cranberry sauce, and take a bite. “It could be all crocodiles and candiru,” I say, naming the fish that’s supposed to swim up a man’s penis and devour him from the inside out.

He snorts and eats a dolmade—a vine leaf stuffed with rice. “Have you ever been in love?” he asks.

I pause, my hand hovering over the plate, as I think about Eoin. Even now, years later, it hurts to remember what happened. He ruined me for other men. Made me fear relationships. I don’t want him to have that power over me when I’m sure I haven’t entered his thoughts once since then. I don’t want him to spoil what I have with Hal.

“No,” I say, picking up a tiny quiche. It’s a lie. Not because of Eoin, but because I’ve been in love with Hal for years. I’ve tried to pretend it’s not true, but I can acknowledge it now. Not that I’m about to admit it to him. “How many times have you been in love?” I ask him, popping the quiche in my mouth.

“Once.” He has a mouthful of wine.

I’m surprised. “Rosie’s the only girl you’ve ever loved?”

“Not Rosie. I know it seems cruel to say it now, but I don’t think I was ever in love with her. I wanted her.” It’s a bald statement, so I know it’s true. “But the glow wore off quickly.”

“So, who then?” I think about the women who’ve passed through his life. He’s not had many long-term relationships. “Clara?” He went out with her for six months while we were at uni.

“Nope.”

“Kim?” Another six-monther.

“Nope.”

I’m puzzled now. I can’t think of anyone he’s gone gooey over.

He places a sun-dried tomato on top of a piece of cheese, then puts it on a cracker and crunches it, looking amused. “You’re terrible at these guessing games.”

I remember our conversation in the break room. Izzy… it’s you. “You’re kidding me.”

He swallows and has a mouthful of wine, watching my reaction, enjoying it, I think. “No.”

“You’re…” I can’t even say it.

“In love with you. Yes.” He gives me a look that says, Jeez, you’re hard work. “Why are you so shocked?”

“Because…” I don’t know.

He wipes his fingers on a serviette, then turns in the seat to face me, placing an arm on the back of the bench around me. “I can see I’m going to have to spell things out for you in our relationship. I’ve loved you for years, you crazy girl.”

“As a friend.”

“Yes, as a friend.” He lifts a hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “I tried not to think of you in any other way because I thought I couldn’t have you. I thought it wasn’t meant to be, and I’ve thrown myself into the Ark, and tried to put those feelings aside. But we’re together every day. I watch you work, watch you talking to people, walking around the place, and then when we’re not together I can’t stop thinking about you. I imagine taking you in my arms and kissing you. Stripping off your clothes and taking you to bed.” His eyes are hot. “Every night I imagine how it would feel to have you beneath me, to watch you come.”

My brain’s turned to mush again. I’m conscious I’m staring at him, my jaw dropped, hardly breathing.

“It’s not just that, though,” he says. “I like being with you. Listening to you talk about your day. Watching you laugh. I get a strange feeling in the pit of my stomach when I don’t expect to see you, and you walk in. Is that love, Izzy? Because if it’s not, I don’t know what is.”

I can’t believe any man would feel that way about me, least of all Hal. I feel as if I’ve won the lottery.

He slides a hand to cup my head and leans closer. There are other people around, sitting at the tables, eating and drinking, but at that moment I don’t care.

“I’m crazy about you,” he says again. Then he kisses me.

I close my eyes as his lips move across mine. He said, “I’m going to have to spell things out for you in our relationship.” We’re having a relationship. He fantasizes about making love to me. I feel his tongue slide against mine, feel the bang of my heart, the tightening of my nipples in my bra, and my head spins. If this continues, he’ll want to take me to bed. Kissing is one thing, having sex is a whole other ball game.

I know he’s not going to be the type of guy who turns out the lights and keeps on his pj’s and socks. He won’t stay in missionary, thrust himself to a climax, then roll over and go to sleep. He’s going to like having sex in every position, in every room in the house, and it’s going to be sweaty, dirty sex, loud and hot.

Oh holy Jesus. If I make it to tomorrow without having a coronary, it’s going to be a miracle.