Wales?”
He tipped his head to the side and lifted a brow. “Once in a while.”
“I’ll be finished soon. We should do something to celebrate.”
“You could do me?”
She chuckled and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She’d spent the last week banging out “An American in Wales and in Love…with Wales,” her article for Rachel. A simple, lighthearted piece about the village with some fun shots from Karaoke night: David grabbing his package, Flo boobs-over-ass, Steve with his belly out—belly button fluff and all—and Dylan singing his solo and looking all kinds of sexy and oddly wholesome in his white shirt and black pants.
She put her proposal together and attached all her images, including one of Rose Farm for Rachel to see.
She added the Carousal Café pic last minute and hit send. “There. Done.”
The all-annoying preparing-to-send circle popped up and spiraled around.
Stupid dial-up internet.
Dylan trundled into the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee, and brought it over to where she sat at the table. He glanced over her shoulder. “You finished already?”
She nodded and took the drink. “Hmm, thanks.”
He leaned in closer and studied the screen. “You’re sending her pages from your book, too?”
“No.”
“You are.” He pointed at the attachments listed in the email as the dial up struggled to send it out. “ Before the Rain , that’s your book, right?”
“Darn it. Oh well, Rachel will either ignore the pages or read them and get a good kick out of being the first.”
He kissed her nape and ran a hand down her arm. “When do I get to read?”
Leaning back and pressed against him, she sighed. “I’ll send you a signed copy when it’s published.”
“Better send one for Aunty Betty, too.”
“I’m not so sure she’ll appreciate anything from me. How is she? I miss our yoga and morning tea.”
“She’s on the warpath, as it happens. She knows we’re together.” He curled his hands around her shoulders and gave a squeeze.
“Oh, my stars, we’re not together…not together-together.”
“That’s hard to explain when I’m with you more than I’m home.”
“True.”
“Rhiannon thinks it’s great, though. I haven’t been on at her to feed the sheep or to clean out the horses. I haven’t needed to, because she’s been doing it all on her own steam. She said at breakfast yesterday that she wishes I could be this happy all the time.”
Nuzzling her head against him, she teased, “Aw, I make you happy?”
He nodded. “Trust me, it’s better Aunty Betty thinks we’re in love. It’s quite nice, so it goes. I’m usually getting nagged about getting over Nessa and getting on with my life. I haven’t heard her name since karaoke night.”
“I can’t help but feel bad, though. Betty obviously didn’t want us together. I’m not good enough for you.”
“Is that what you think?”
She nodded.
“She just doesn’t want either of us to get hurt. She’s a total forward thinker, and she’s focused on the day you leave rather than seeing me happy today.”
“I can understand that.”
“And she thinks your career choice is, and I quote, ‘artsy-fartsy and unrealistic.’”
“Seriously? Not once did she say any of that to me.”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
Standing, she rounded her shoulders. “You think it, too.”
“Not even. Following your dream is a brave thing to do, Zoe. Don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Aw.
The laptop alerted her to mail sent status.
“Well, wish me luck.” She took a gulp of coffee.
He yanked her in close and planted his mouth to hers. “No luck needed.”
Kisses so deep, so raw, she gave herself over to him with full abandonment. Foreplay had become an unnecessary game they didn’t need to play, and they’d both become talented at speed-stripping. Random sex seemed to be their thing. One minute they were friends, and the next they were like starved lovers who’d been
He tipped his head to the side and lifted a brow. “Once in a while.”
“I’ll be finished soon. We should do something to celebrate.”
“You could do me?”
She chuckled and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She’d spent the last week banging out “An American in Wales and in Love…with Wales,” her article for Rachel. A simple, lighthearted piece about the village with some fun shots from Karaoke night: David grabbing his package, Flo boobs-over-ass, Steve with his belly out—belly button fluff and all—and Dylan singing his solo and looking all kinds of sexy and oddly wholesome in his white shirt and black pants.
She put her proposal together and attached all her images, including one of Rose Farm for Rachel to see.
She added the Carousal Café pic last minute and hit send. “There. Done.”
The all-annoying preparing-to-send circle popped up and spiraled around.
Stupid dial-up internet.
Dylan trundled into the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee, and brought it over to where she sat at the table. He glanced over her shoulder. “You finished already?”
She nodded and took the drink. “Hmm, thanks.”
He leaned in closer and studied the screen. “You’re sending her pages from your book, too?”
“No.”
“You are.” He pointed at the attachments listed in the email as the dial up struggled to send it out. “ Before the Rain , that’s your book, right?”
“Darn it. Oh well, Rachel will either ignore the pages or read them and get a good kick out of being the first.”
He kissed her nape and ran a hand down her arm. “When do I get to read?”
Leaning back and pressed against him, she sighed. “I’ll send you a signed copy when it’s published.”
“Better send one for Aunty Betty, too.”
“I’m not so sure she’ll appreciate anything from me. How is she? I miss our yoga and morning tea.”
“She’s on the warpath, as it happens. She knows we’re together.” He curled his hands around her shoulders and gave a squeeze.
“Oh, my stars, we’re not together…not together-together.”
“That’s hard to explain when I’m with you more than I’m home.”
“True.”
“Rhiannon thinks it’s great, though. I haven’t been on at her to feed the sheep or to clean out the horses. I haven’t needed to, because she’s been doing it all on her own steam. She said at breakfast yesterday that she wishes I could be this happy all the time.”
Nuzzling her head against him, she teased, “Aw, I make you happy?”
He nodded. “Trust me, it’s better Aunty Betty thinks we’re in love. It’s quite nice, so it goes. I’m usually getting nagged about getting over Nessa and getting on with my life. I haven’t heard her name since karaoke night.”
“I can’t help but feel bad, though. Betty obviously didn’t want us together. I’m not good enough for you.”
“Is that what you think?”
She nodded.
“She just doesn’t want either of us to get hurt. She’s a total forward thinker, and she’s focused on the day you leave rather than seeing me happy today.”
“I can understand that.”
“And she thinks your career choice is, and I quote, ‘artsy-fartsy and unrealistic.’”
“Seriously? Not once did she say any of that to me.”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
Standing, she rounded her shoulders. “You think it, too.”
“Not even. Following your dream is a brave thing to do, Zoe. Don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Aw.
The laptop alerted her to mail sent status.
“Well, wish me luck.” She took a gulp of coffee.
He yanked her in close and planted his mouth to hers. “No luck needed.”
Kisses so deep, so raw, she gave herself over to him with full abandonment. Foreplay had become an unnecessary game they didn’t need to play, and they’d both become talented at speed-stripping. Random sex seemed to be their thing. One minute they were friends, and the next they were like starved lovers who’d been
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