A Taste of Home by Heidi Swain (the beginning after the end read novel TXT) 📕

T-shirt clung to his chest. The outfit obviously wasn’t easy to get off when he was so hot. As in temperature, I reminded myself as I looked anywhere but at his taut muscles straining to free themselves from their leather confines.

‘Me neither,’ I told him. ‘It turns out we hadn’t been quite as clever, or as quiet, as we thought we had over the last couple of days.’

I didn’t mention that Grandad had heard us arguing because I didn’t want to bring that particular topic back up again, but I did rush to grab the pile of papers, including my list, which the air blowing through the house had whipped up.

‘And he’d worked out why the curtains were being kept shut,’ I added, thinking of the other clever deductions Grandad had made which would have rivalled Hercule Poirot himself.

‘The canny old bugger,’ Eliot tutted. ‘And why is it so breezy in here?’

‘Because I’ve opened some windows,’ I told him, securing the papers with an empty mug.

‘Bill won’t be used to this sudden change in temperature,’ Eliot pointed out, making my desire to freshen things up a bit feel rather reckless. ‘It was hot in the hospital and I’ve tried to replicate that here and bring it down gradually.’

‘Damn. I’m so sorry,’ I said. ‘I didn’t think about that.’

I really needed to leave the caring side of things to Eliot. He was the expert, after all.

‘I take it you’re another fresh air fiend?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ I admitted. ‘I suppose I am a bit. Though not at the cost of Grandad’s health of course.’

Eliot looked at me and smiled. It wasn’t quite the reaction I expected, given how hot and bothered he was.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘It’s nice to hear you call him Grandad,’ he softly said.

He was right. It was a little strange, but it felt good too.

‘You aren’t cross about what’s happened then?’ I asked him.

‘Of course, I’m not,’ he said, laying a hand on my shoulder and making my heart skip.

I wilted with relief. At least, I think it was relief.

‘If anything,’ he said, letting out a breath, ‘it’s a weight off my mind, and I bet you feel the same, don’t you? Bill working it all out has saved us a whole lot of heartache.’

‘Yes,’ I said, lowering my voice to a barely audible whisper. ‘It is a relief that he knows, but I’m still dreading telling him about Mum. That’s going to have to happen sooner rather than later now, isn’t it?’

Eliot gave my shoulder a squeeze.

‘Yeah,’ he said, running his other hand through his hair. ‘I suppose it is. That’s one conversation…’

‘Eliot!’ called Grandad, cutting him off.

‘Yes, Bill,’ Eliot called back.

‘Can I have a word please lad?’

Eliot looked at me and grimaced.

‘I’m going to be in the doghouse,’ he said. ‘I bet I’m going to get an earful for not letting on about you.’

‘Shall I come in with you?’ I offered.

The last thing I wanted was for Grandad to blame Eliot for anything. After all, I was a grown woman and had I really wanted to, I could have left on Saturday rather than given in to his and Louise’s coaxing.

‘Best not,’ he said, standing tall. ‘Better if I face the music alone.’

I paced about the kitchen, unable to listen in on what was being said because the doors were closed, but there were no raised voices. I was certain I would have been able to hear if either of them was shouting.

I kept purposefully busy and was hanging out the washing when Eliot came back out of the house. He was already wearing his leathers again and obviously in a hurry.

‘Oh crikey,’ I said, throwing the handful of pegs back into the basket. ‘He hasn’t banished you, has he?’

‘No,’ Eliot laughed. ‘Nothing like that. And you can stop fretting because he didn’t tell me off. Well, not quite. He was very understanding, given the circumstances. He’s aware of how poorly he was and that if we’d said anything sooner, he wouldn’t have been able to make head or tail of it.’

‘That’s a relief then, but where are you off to in such a rush?’

‘Vicky just called. There’s not enough staff to do the rounds today, so I’m going to help out.’

‘But you’re on holiday,’ I pointed out.

‘I’m not really though, am I?’ he said, nodding back to the house. ‘I was already looking after Bill.’

‘But who’s going to look after him now?’ I panicked, thinking again of Saturday even though I knew Grandad was much better. ‘I don’t know what to do with him.’

‘You’ll be fine,’ Eliot said, climbing astride the bike in one swift and smooth movement. It was rather arousing but I tried to focus on the matter in hand. ‘Bill’s well on the mend and you’re my trainee remember,’ he added, waggling his eyebrows.

‘Don’t tease,’ I flushed. ‘It’s hardly the moment.’

‘Well,’ he mercilessly carried on, ‘Bill did say that you were keen to point out that our relationship was purely professional.’

‘Did he?’ I said, turning red again.

‘Which is a shame,’ Eliot said, his eyes meeting mine and causing my heart to judder, ‘because I thought there was a bit of a spark between us.’

‘Did you?’ I squeaked.

‘I did,’ he huskily said, making me tingle. ‘I still do.’

I self-consciously scuffed at the ground with the toe of my plimsoll and felt about thirteen. I’d sensed he’d felt something that first time he’d clapped eyes on me and it was a thrill to know my spark was reciprocated. Perhaps we might, as Grandad had put it, become an item at some point in the future.

‘But you were right, Fliss,’ Eliot then burst my loved-up bubble by saying. ‘Given the circumstances, what with me being Bill’s carer and you having only just arrived, we should keep things on a professional footing. It wouldn’t do any good to start something up when you’ve still got so much to discover and deal with, would it?’

‘I suppose not,’ I reluctantly agreed.

I imagined my fiery sparkler being shoved into a bucket