Idiot.I shook myself and braved a few steps forward. Outside the workshop, odd and sods of materials were stacked in haphazard piles. Pallets, obviously, and some old crates, and by the door was a stack of battered sheets of aluminium. I studied them and tried to imagine what Kim might use them for. Nothing came to mind, but why would it? My creativity was limited to Photoshop and pissing around on Illustrator. I couldn’t build a bloody sandcastle.
I left them behind and wandered into the workshop. There appeared to be no one about, until a teenaged lad popped up from behind a pile of corrugated iron.
“All right, mate?”
“I’m looking for Kim,” I said. “He around?”
The boy inclined his head to the left. “He’s upstairs. Go on up.”
“Cheers.” I headed for the stairs at the back of the open-plan workshop. They led to a corridor, at the end of which I found an office, and Kim, who was on the phone.
If he was surprised to see me, he hid it well. He muttered a hasty goodbye to whoever he was talking to and treated me to a grin that set off every facet of his devilishly handsome face. “Ain’t you a sight for sore eyes? Wasn’t sure I’d see you again.”
“It’s a small town,” I said. “You’d have run into me eventually.”
“That’s what I’ve been hoping. Been kicking myself for not getting your number.”
My heart skipped a beat. I hadn’t allowed myself to wonder if I’d been in Kim’s thoughts as much as he’d been in mine. “Erm, anyway. I’m here on business, as it goes.”
“That right? Well, if you’re after that pool table you were eying up at the festival, you’re too late. I delivered it to some crazy Ukrainian bird in Newquay last night.”
A very real pang of disappointment rippled through me. There was nowhere to put Kim’s boat creation at home—the flat was rather minimalist by design—but I mourned its loss. The photos I’d taken on my phone had done the piece little justice. “Actually, I was hoping to scope you out for a bigger project. Have you got time for a coffee?”
“Coffee?” Kim pulled a face and my stomach sank. I’d sought him out because I wanted to see him again, see if the heady encounter I’d replayed in my mind—and the crazy-hot spark—had been real, but after a long, largely sleepless week, ruminating over Gaz’s harebrained barn plans, I’d set my heart on persuading Kim to come on board. His work was amazing, and I couldn’t envisage the barn without it.
My mind raced. In all the ways I’d pictured this scene playing out, it hadn’t occurred to me that Kim might refuse to hear my pitch. “Or . . . I could just quickly explain now, and—”
Kim cut me off with a deep chuckle. “Fuck that. Let’s go for an ice cream.”
Well, okay then. It was barely lunchtime, but who cared? Not me.
We left the workshop and shuffled across the road to the best ice cream shack in town. I bought the cones, and we found a quiet bench. We made small talk for a little while, skirting around the fact that he’d had me bent double with my arse in the air. Then Kim ditched our rubbish and pulled me back to the reason I’d given for tracking him down.
I filled him in, showing him photos of the barn, and then the new plans I’d sketched out to replace Gaz’s wicker fiasco.
Kim studied them, apparently thoughtful. “It’s a beautiful building.”
I snorted. “You should’ve seen it six months ago: it was falling down. Had been for years until Gaz got a bee up his arse about it.”
“Still, look at these beams. They’re gorgeous.” Kim swiped through a few more snaps. “You’re right about the wicker, though. It’s proper naff.”
“Finally, a voice of reason.”
“Yeah?” Kim grinned. “Are you the lone wolf in this?”
“Black sheep, actually. They wanted my input. Now I reckon they’re sorry they asked.”
Kim laughed and put his hand on my arm. “Families are like that. You’ll never win. Now when are we going to fuck again?”
The day after our impromptu ice-cream date, as it turned out, was when we could fuck again, though it wasn’t exactly how Kim sold his invitation for dinner at his place. Instead, he agreed to draw up some plans for the dining/lounge area of the barn, and feed me homemade curry while I looked them over. And when he asked me, with the tingle of his hand on my arm making my toes curl, it was the best offer I’d had in years.
Didn’t stop me winding myself up, though. The little time I’d spent in Kim’s company, naked and otherwise, had proved exhilarating. Hours passed in the blink of an eye, and every grin and gentle gesture—a brush of knees, a bump of shoulders—felt amazing, but alone in my flat, pacing the living room, none of it seemed real. I’d been wrong about this shit before,reallyfucking wrong, why not now?
And as I walked up the dirt track that led to the address he’d given me, I was so nervous I wanted to puke.
Dickhead.
Kim met me at the gate, and I took in the hand-painted sign with a raised eyebrow. “‘Blackbeard’s Junkyard’? That sounds like the weirdest jumble sale ever.”