Carving out a Future by Wendel Jem

Author:Wendel, Jem
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Larking About Press
Published: 2024-03-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 23

Harlen

So, I am able to spend some time in the company of Duncan without making a fool of myself. I can meet with him and not throw myself at him or say something that pushes him further away. Now that I’m over the first hurdle, I can see him with a sense of equilibrium.

That’s bullshit.

If I believe that, then why am I standing outside Duncan’s cottage one evening, just staring at the door?

I don’t know what I want from him, I just know that I can’t stay away. I thought that by agreeing to have lunch with him, doing something normal and on neutral territory, I could quench the yearning inside of me. But if anything, it’s made it worse. I knock on the solid wooden door.

He opens it looking like an absolute vision, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. Fucking sweatpants. I don’t think I have any defences against that sight.

“Harlen, is everything alright?” He frowns and looks past me as if he might see the answers there, or if maybe I’m not alone.

“Is that coffee still on offer?” I manage. Duncan regards me for a brief second.

“Sure.” He stands back to let me pass him in the narrow hallway. He smells citrusy and clean, with a hint of something richer underneath, sandalwood maybe. My senses are reeling slightly, and I use them as my excuse for blurting out.

“I haven’t been drinking, if that’s what you think.”

He shuts the door and holds up his hands.

“I didn’t say anything.”

I realise that I’ve gone on the attack already. I take a deep breath to calm myself. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. I’m not ready for this, for being this close to him, alone, especially in goddamn sweatpants. Maybe only public meetings—in the daytime—for a few months first, and I won’t lose it the moment he stands so close to me. Now I’m here, though, I can at least try to have a coffee, instead of running away.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble.

Duncan nods an acknowledgement and heads towards the kitchen. He fills the kettle and turns round, leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms.

“I am curious as to why you’re here, though. Not that I’m not pleased to see you. I am—very pleased. But what is it you want, Harlen?”

I resist the urge to take the two steps I would need to close the gap between us. To press myself against him, push him back against the units, and suck bruises onto his skin. I fist my hands to keep them by my side and will myself to stay still.

“Coffee.” What on earth did I say that for?

He smirks slightly. So he’s not going to make this easy for me then. I can’t blame him.

“You don’t have coffee at home?”

“No, and the shop’s shut,” is my smart-arse answer.

I can see the light dancing in his eyes, and he smiles as he finishes making the coffee.

This time, instead of trying to hand me the mug, he sets it down on the counter next to me and leans in a little before saying, “Here’s your coffee.

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