Page 46 of Kiss Me Like You Mean It

‘I mean, you’re making it pretty easy, Daisy. What the fuck is coastal casual?’

‘Right, fine, I’m overthinking it,’ I sigh. ‘So I’m okay in this?’ I gesture to the outfit I’ve been wearing today.

‘As long as you wear the boots, too,’ Nico says.

‘You like the boots?’ I ask, and I would swear that a hot spark briefly leaps in his eyes.

‘Yeah, they’re nice,’ he coughs. ‘But it’s not for me; my friend Kat has been texting me all afternoon and she’ll want to grill you about them.’

‘Oh.’ I try really hard not to care that Nico has a friend called Kat who has great taste in shoes and access to his phone number. ‘How did she—’

‘Don’t ask,’ he sighs. ‘Town full of busybodies. But actually I think you’ll really like Kat. She’s Luke’s sister. She’s coming out for drinks with us after the meeting, so you’ll get a chance to talk.’

‘Great,’ I say brightly, even though it is not actually great and I do not have a good track record for making friends. I try to remember what Tara said… I just need to relax and be myself.

I can do that.

‘In that case I’m ready to go,’ I say, feeling like Joan of Arc or Marie Antoinette as I give him a wide smile. ‘Let’s go and meet the rest of Roseport.’

Chapter Fifteen

Nico

‘You should hold hands,’ Phoebe says as we get out of the car.

I swing round to look at her. ‘What?’

‘You and Lee.’ Phoebe nods at Lee who is standing very still. ‘You’ve got to practise being married, haven’t you? And married people hold hands.’ Her tone implies that this is very obvious, and that – once more – we are deliberately sabotaging her vision. ‘They kiss too,’ she adds with devastating bluntness. ‘Maya’s parents kiss all the time.’

I think Lee’s face has lost what little colour it had, but she sounds calm when she says, ‘I wouldn’t expect there to be a lot of kissing at town meetings.’

‘Yeah,’ I say, trying to sound just as relaxed, even though now I am looking at her mouth and the possibility of kissing her flashes through my mind in cinematic detail. ‘This is practically a business meeting.’

Phoebe huffs. ‘At least hold hands,’ she demands.

I look at Lee, who shrugs and holds her hand out. My fingers wrap around hers; her skin is cool and soft.

The meeting takes place at the town hall, a pretty building opposite the church, and – surprise, surprise – today the place is packed to the rafters.

‘Yoo-hoo!’ Rita calls out and waves when Lee, Magda, Phoebe and I enter the scrum. ‘I saved us seats.’ She’s sitting right in front of the small stage, next to four empty chairs.

‘Great,’ I grunt as we make our way down the aisle between the rows of folding chairs occupied by the entire population of Roseport. They all watch Lee with avid expressions, more than one pair of eyes travelling to our clasped hands, and I sincerely hope that she’s missing all the excited whispering that springs up in her wake. Lee has always been nervous about big social events and I know she must be hating this.

Not that anyone else would guess. She glides down the aisle in her high-heeled boots, and her expression is serene. When someone reaches out and touches her arm, I’m the one who starts forward, a weird protective growl in my throat. We left Taco at home with a giant dog chew, but it appears I’ll be bringing the watchdog energy myself.

In the end it’s only Mrs Kaminski, the apple-cheeked, eighty-seven-year-old retired nursery school teacher, telling Lee that the belt tie on her fancy coat is dragging on the floor. Probably not a threat.

Lee thanks her and drops my hand, straightening her coat before removing it entirely and draping it over her arm. The crowd watch her like she’s a matador twirling her cape.

‘Thanks, Miss Rita,’ I say when we reach her, even though I’d rather not be sitting in the front row.

‘No problem,’ she winks. ‘Gotta have the best seats for the big show!’ She rummages around in her pockets before pulling out two sandwich bags full of the candy she uses as ice cream toppers. ‘Plus, I brought snacks.’

‘Yesss,’ Phoebe hisses, bundling past so that she can take the seat immediately beside Rita. ‘I’m starving.’

‘You literally just had dinner,’ I say loudly, keen to make it known that I am actually feeding my daughter. She even ate a few mouthfuls of buttered corn, which is at least nutritionally adjacent to a real green vegetable.

Phoebe treats me to a withering look. ‘But everyone knows there’s a separate kind of hunger for dessert, Dad. It’s science.’