Libby reached over and kissed Jess on the cheek, told her she loved her and then resisted the urge to groan loudly as she stood up. She took the dress from the boot of the car and started to walk towards the house in time to see Ant open the door – looking fresh as a daisy (a very manly daisy, of course) and grinning at her.
‘I'd advise you not to inhale too close to me,’ she said. ‘I’m not at my most fragrant.’
‘I like your T-shirt,’ he said, glancing at The Ivy Inn logo. She was suddenly acutely aware that she wasn’t wearing a bra, and felt the need to cross her arms. ‘Pretty sure that wasn’t what you were wearing when I left you,’ he said.
‘Long story,’ she said with a grimace, ‘but it can wait until I’m clean, sat at the table and sipping some lovely red wine. Would you mind if I jump in the shower?’
‘Actually, I would,’ he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. Her heart sank. Please let him not want to have sex – not now anyway, she thought. ‘Because I have run you a big bubble bath and I've poured a glass of wine. I’ve even been a good metrosexual and lit some candles for you because I thought you might like them. So, if madam would like to climb into the tub, I'm sure I could help you relax.’
She was so grateful, she could cry, and climbed the stairs wearily, stripped off, pulled the bandana from her hair and slipped beneath the bubbles in the claw foot tub. The soft warmth of the water made her muscles start to relax and she exhaled loudly as she closed her eyes and inhaled the musky scent of the bath oils Ant had used.
She smiled at him when he pushed the door to the bathroom open and walked in carrying two glasses of wine – handing one to her and sipping from the other as he perched on the chair beside the bath. This room was one of Libby’s favourites. It was luxurious and at least double the size of her bedroom, never mind her bathroom. The height of the house on the hill allowed Ant privacy enough to install clear glass windows so Libby could stare out at the evening sky while she let her troubles melt away.
‘Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes – do you think that’s enough time to get yourself suitably relaxed,’ Ant spoke, cutting through her thoughts.
‘Hmmm,’ she purred contentedly as she sipped from her wine glass. ‘It just might.’
He stood up and moved closer to her. ‘I might not be the best at mopping floors and scrubbing windows, but if you hand me that soft sponge, I'll help soap you down?’
In her newly relaxed state, Libby found it easy to acquiesce to his wishes so she sat forward, pulling her knees to her chest as he knelt beside the bath and sponged her back, before tenderly washing her hair. She groaned with pleasure as he massaged the shampoo into her scalp. She could get used to this – to feeling pampered and cherished. The fact that he didn’t even try to cop a feel once during the process earned him extra brownie points.
By the time she was dried and dressed in the very pretty floaty summer dress Jess had given her, her dark hair brushed, tousled and hanging damp around her shoulders, she felt like a new woman.
Libby padded into the kitchen, where the aroma of cooking smells made her tummy gurgle in anticipation.
‘I hope you're hungry,’ Ant said, putting food enough for four on the table.
‘I told Jess you always cook too much and invited her to join us,’ Libby quipped as she sat down and watched Ant refill her glass.
‘She didn't want to stay?’ Ant asked.
‘Didn't want to be a gooseberry.’
‘Hmmm,’ Ant answered. ‘Probably a good thing. I prefer when it's just the two of us.’
He smiled as he served up dinner – but was unusually quiet while he ate. If she had been less tired, Libby might have asked what was on his mind, but she was so exhausted that her brain was struggling to form coherent sentences – plus, she was so hungry she didn’t want to stop eating. Not even for a few seconds. She simply wanted her dinner and an early night – which she hoped didn’t clash with Ant’s plans too much.
As it happened, when she said she really just needed to sleep, he nodded that he understood and wished her sweet dreams. It felt strange to climb the stairs to his bedroom on her own – stranger still to curl into his king-sized bed without him. She was sure, however, that being a light sleeper, she would wake when he came up to bed and they could at least indulge in some light spooning.
She was shocked, therefore, to find the sun was streaming in through the windows when she woke.
Libby turned over to see Ant, fast asleep and snoring softly, in the bed with her. Even in his sleep, he had the look of an Adonis about him, dark lashes brushing his gently sun-kissed cheeks, a five o’clock shadow giving his strong features an even more manly look. She took a moment to enjoy just looking at him, before she turned back over and grabbed her phone from the bedside table. It was shortly after seven and if she was to be at Ivy Lane in time for the spark and the plumber to arrive, she didn’t have too much time to waste. Especially as she still didn’t have her car and needed to rely on Ant to drop her home before she could go to the shop.
Shifting in the bed, trying not to wake Ant as she did so, Libby sat up and looked out the floor-to-ceiling windows, which provided an enviable vista of the beach and the water of Lough Foyle gently lapping at the shores. She could already feel it was going to be a warm one and that before the morning was out, the beach would be busy with walkers and families on day trips. She might have felt envious of them if she didn’t have the shop to go and work on.
Quietly, Libby padded down the stairs into Ant’s open-plan kitchen and living area, pulling open the French doors which led to the well-tended (by a gardener) garden outside. She put a pot of coffee on – and decided she would take Ant some breakfast in bed. It was the least she could do after being such poor company last night.
First, though, she wanted to take a minute just to breathe in the crisp early-morning air, smell the salty tang of the nearby sea, let the warmth of the sun beat down on her face and touch base with what mattered to her most. Those simple pleasures.
Grandad would have loved it here, Libby thought, with a regretful sigh. He loved walking along the beach, or building sandcastles with her. They’d collect stones and bring them home to make artwork, using plaster to stick them to the outside of jam jars or photo frames. The bigger shells he would hold to her ear and ask if she could hear the sea. Then they’d read The Little Mermaid together. Again. She still had the very book they would read, with its cute Ladybird logo on the front. It was one of her most treasured possessions. Just thinking about it brought a lump to her throat.
Libby wondered if she would ever be able to think of him again without feeling a huge sense of loss. It had been two years. Surely it should have gotten easier.
She inhaled deeply again, and vowed she would not cry – not today. Not this weekend. Not when she was working so hard towards achieving their dream.
‘Books will always be your friend, Libby,’ he’d said. ‘They will transport you to a thousand different worlds. Different times. Mythical creatures, magical monsters, good and evil, scary and funny. There’s no situation so bad that a book can’t help you feel better, even if just for a little while.’
Libby wasn’t so sure she believed that – no book in the world had helped her when he was ill, no book provided comfort when he had died. But she wanted to believe it. She really did.