anchored to the floor. And there wasn’t even a fair trade-off with Adam. He knew everything about me, and I had missed even the most obvious things about him.
I turned my head back, but focused on one of the buttons on his shirt instead of looking him in the face. ‘Do you think we’re doing the right thing?’ I asked. ‘Whatever is going on between us could spell the end of our friendship.’
He held my chin softly between thumb and forefinger and tipped my face up. ‘We’ve run from this for long enough, Coreen. I’ve loved being your friend, but I’ve finally admitted to myself that I want more, and I can’t keep pretending that I don’t. Don’t ask me to go back.’
The force of his honesty sent me searching for that nice, safe button to fix my gaze on again. My instinct was to gloss over this difficult topic by doing any one of the hundred things I usually did in similar situations—like blowing a kiss and sashaying mysteriously away without answering—but I found myself disarmed. In the literal sense. The only thing I had left in my arsenal was candour.
I took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know if I’m ready for this.’
He stepped forward and closed his arms around me. Even in his dull grey vicar’s suit he smelled amazing. I pressed my cheek against him. The shirt button was so close now I went cross-eyed trying to keep it sharp and in focus.
‘You won’t know unless you try, and I think you’re ready for more than you give yourself credit for.’
My eyes started to ache and the button became blurry.
‘How do you know? And how come you know when I don’t know it myself?’ I knew I sounded a bit sulky, but I couldn’t help myself.
He leaned forward and kissed me. His lips were warm and soft and teasing. I made a noise that was suspiciously like a purr.
‘Not fair,’ I said, but I smiled at the same time.
I arched the top of my back so I could look at him. He wasn’t smiling, but looking grave. ‘When you started mooning over old Nicholas, I knew it wasn’t just another fleeting crush. I knew this time it was different for you.’
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Oh? Did you?’
‘Yes, I did. And I decided it was time to explore whatever has been simmering under the surface between us for years. That thing we’ve always pretended wasn’t there. I realised I didn’t want you to want Nicholas. I wanted you to want me.’ One corner of his mouth twisted a little. ‘That’s why I agreed to come on this weekend with you. I had to do something to make that happen.’
I gave him a disbelieving look. ‘So you’re telling me you had a plan while I had none?’
‘Sort of.’ And then he grinned at me. That caught-you-out-this-time grin I knew so well.
Even though my upper arms were pinned under his more muscular ones, I wiggled a hand free and thumped him on the chest. ‘Insufferable big-head!’
‘Minx!’ he whispered, then shut me up with another heart-stopping kiss. When he drew away he was chuckling under his breath. ‘I think the plan worked out rather well, don’t you?’
I laughed too at first, but then I started to feel uncomfortable. As much as I was beginning to enjoy the added sizzle to our old banter, I didn’t like the idea of being a pawn moved around in someone else’s game. I pushed my way out his arms and walked away.
‘Don’t play games with me,’ I said over my shoulder.
Adam fell into step beside me, but I kept looking straight ahead. ‘I’m not playing games with you. What I feel for you is real—and I don’t think you’re in any position to lecture me on game-playing, anyway.’
I spun around to face him. ‘That was different! I didn’t… They never meant…’ I couldn’t finish that sentence. Couldn’t tell him this was on a completely different level to my little bag of tricks. What I did was harmless fun. The games Adam was playing could really get someone hurt.
‘This isn’t going to work! We’re already fighting.’
He gave me a sharp look. ‘Don’t do this, Coreen. It can work…’
I shook my head and started backing away. ‘This is all too much. Twenty-four hours ago we were just good friends—best friends!—and now you’re asking me to decide my whole future. You’re asking too much!’
Adam shook his head. ‘I’m not asking for eternity! Just a chance.’
I could feel the tears collecting behind my eyes and I squashed my face up to deny them exit. ‘It’s already poisoning our friendship! And I need that from you. You’re the one person in my life I can—’
Trust.
Go on, Coreen. Say the word. It’s only a tiny one. It can’t be that hard.
I gulped. The tears were trying to find an alternative escape route—up my throat and down the back of my nose. I shook my head again, more vigorously this time.
‘I’m not sure this is what I want,’ was all I managed to mumble.
He tried to reach for me, but I stumbled further backwards, watching his jaw harden as I did so.
‘And I can’t keep pretending friendship is enough for me any more. I’ve lied to myself, and to you, for too long.’ His stare was fierce, then he puffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair before looking at me again.
‘Maybe this has been too hot and fast and heavy. Maybe we do need to slow down.’ He shoved his hands in his pockets. ‘You want space? You’ve got it.’ As he spoke his voice softened and the irritation melted away. That was harder to deal with, to be honest. He looked into my eyes. ‘You know where I stand. Take some time to think about this—not just react to it—and when you know what you want, come and find me.’
He turned and walked off, his shoulders bunched, head low.
Me? I did what any self-respecting drama queen would do in my shoes. I ran in the opposite direction and didn’t stop until I was out in the sunshine again and the unhealthy silence of the woods was far behind me.
We gathered at three in the drawing room. I didn’t sit with Adam.
He didn’t sulk, as I would have done. He talked with the other murder-mystery guests, and engaged in the proceedings, but every now and then he’d look at me and I’d feel heavy inside. There was no condemnation or accusation in his eyes, no sense of pressure. It only made me feel worse, because I really felt like throwing a wobbly to shake the awful lethargy that had settled on me, and I had nothing whatsoever to use as a justifiable trigger.
The shabby detective was back, and he laid the case out for us, summarising his interviews and our own interrogations of each other. Each clue had been clearly tagged and laid on the long cherrywood coffee table in the centre of the room.
I listened with one ear, but inside my head I was involved in a similar process. Sorting. Labelling. Remembering. My memory seemed determined to dredge up all sorts of strange little details. I didn’t even recall storing them away, but there they
