Coming Around Again (9 page)

Her mother-in-law threw up her hands in dismay. “I
didn’t know what to say to you!”

“Sorry?”

“I thought he was making a mistake!” Alwine
blurted. They were both silent for a moment. The older woman took a large gulp
of her hot chocolate and choked. “Goodness, how much alcohol did you put in
this?”

“Only a little bit,” Stella said petulantly.

Alwine placed her mug down and pushed it into the
middle of the table. “I’m sorry, Stella. I thought you had your own family to
support you and the last person you’d want to hear from is me. I’ve never heard
him say a cross word about you. Even when I saw him and the twins before we
arrived in London, he said that he wished you were there.”

Stella pressed her fingers to her eyes, in the hope
it would stop her body from having such an instant and depressing reaction to
her mother-in-law’s words. “I have a divorce petition that says otherwise.”

Alwine reached across the bar and caught Stella’s
hand. “You will always be part of my family. And whatever he says, I know Niels
will always love you.”

“Thank you.” Stella’s voice cracked on the last
word. “Would you like another hot chocolate?”

“Yes, please. Without the hot chocolate this time.”

Dear Ms. Strøm,

Please find enclosed your Decree Absolute. This now brings your marriage
to a formal end. If you so wish, you may now revert to your maiden name,
Danquah…

She’d known the letter had been waiting for her. The boys were upstairs,
finally asleep, and she had the time to sit with it alone in her living room.
The wine tasted sour on her tongue, as the document that ended ten years of her
life lay on her coffee table, burned into her brain.

Her doorbell rang and she sprang to answer it, not even stopping to
think who it could be. It didn’t surprise her that Niels stood on the other
side of the door.

“Can I come in?”

“Still your house, so why not?” she retorted.

Standing to the side, she allowed him inside and watched him shrug his
cardigan from his shoulders. On anyone else, the garment would have looked
affected and far too metrosexual. But it suited him. Gave him a casual elegance
she would ultimately miss.

“What are you drinking?” he asked lightly, folding the cardigan onto the
arm of the sofa.

“That Cab Sav you were saving.”

“My fifteen-year red?”

“Yup.”

He sent her a devilish smile. “I should add that to my assets.”

“You don’t have many left,” she warned him. “Been drinking my way
through most of it.” She disappeared into the kitchen and reached for a glass
for him, her hand shaking. Unsure what emotion caused the trembling in her
limbs, she took several breaths before returning to the living room. Niels, sprawled
across the sofa, sat up slightly to take the glass from her and poured the ruby
rich liquid in a generous helping.

“Hmmm. Could have done with another twelve months, but it is delicious.”

He raised his glass, and now he was seated comfortably in her place.
Stella took the armchair and touched her glass to his. “To the end of an era.”

She couldn’t bring herself to speak. The anger that bubbled up inside
her threatened to fill the whole room. How could he be so blasé about their
marriage? All the work they’d put into their relationship? The times they’d
stayed up until the sun rose talking about their plans for the future? Those
plans were all now in ruins. Everything spoiled. Because he chose it to be this
way. And she hadn’t done anything to change his mind.

“Do you remember when we moved in here?”

Stella took a sip of wine before she answered him. “I believe we
conceived the twins in the spot you’re sitting. Cold floor, though. We hadn’t
unwrapped the sofa.”

Niels laughed. “I’m glad we got rid of that. Fucking awful.”

“You picked it.”

“Under duress.”

“You still picked it. And here we are, still living with the
consequences of your choices.”

They were silent, as Stella cursed herself for giving so much away in so
few words. “What would you change?” he asked quietly.

I wouldn’t divorce you for a start, you blockhead!
“Regrets and wine are never a good thing.”

“I didn’t think it’d turn up so fast. I thought my solicitor would hold
it…”

“Haven’t you moved on already?” she asked.

“To what?” His eyebrows were practically knotted in confusion. “I’m not
getting married again, if that’s what you think.”

Relief forced her breath from her body in a whoosh. “Okay, then.”

He leaned over and took her free hand. “You are the only woman I have
ever committed myself to… No matter how long that lasted, you are. You’re the
mother of my two beautiful sons, and for that I will always love you.”

She squeezed his fingers briefly before uncurling her feet from
underneath her and standing up. “Are you sure you can drive?”

“It’s barely one glass,” he replied, understanding her need for him to
go. “Let me look in on the boys and I’ll get going.”

“Okay.”

He leapt up the stairs and Stella bent double, forcing the sobs back
into her body.
Go, go, go,
she begged him.
Don’t see me like this.
Don’t see me weak for you.
She heard the tell-tale squeak of the
floorboards at the top of the stairs. It forced her to pull herself together.
Turning back into the living room, she took a huge gulp of wine and nearly
choked.
Stupid man
.

He strolled back into the living room and tugged on the cardigan. “So,
I’ll see you Friday night?”

Oh yes. It’s his weekend with the
twins.
“You may as well just collect them from school.
We’re doing an event at the salon.”

With a nod, he folded his arms and stared down at his shoes. Stella
shoved her hands into the back pockets of her jeans and looked away. For a
moment, she watched cars passing sporadically down the street. She didn’t
notice him approach, so focused on the cars outside, it was a shock when his
arms slid around her torso, pulling her into an embrace.

“Can we try to be friends?”

The break in his voice clean cut away her resolve. “Oh my God, Niels, I
can’t be your friend. It’s like a fucking demotion.”

He chuckled, tucking her more tightly against him. “Not really. But can
we try? For the boys?” She gave a listless nod and he released her. His eyes
were rimmed in red, searching through her own. He gently cupped her face and
traced the lightest, sweetest kiss goodbye over her lips.

“I’ll see you.”

She brushed him away and sniffed. “Yeah, see you.” Sitting down, she
didn’t watch him go, only cradled the glass of wine until the door closed
gently. Crying would do her no good, she resolved. Drinking her way through the
rest of the bottle of wine really would.

Ooh,
Silence of the Lambs
was listed on her Freeview. If anything
would distract her, blood, gore, and Anthony Hopkins would definitely do it.

***

Two years before marriage

“I can’t do it, I’ll hurt him!”

Stella raised her eyebrows over the pile of towels in her hands. “Hurt
who?”

Her manager turned to her, hands against his artfully thin beard.
“There’s a gentleman outside who wants a traditional shave. I can’t do it. Look
at my hands, Stel!”

He held them out to her and they were indeed vibrating like he held a
pneumatic drill. “Oh, God. I’ll do it.”

She handed him the towels and made her way to the reception. “Thank you
darling!” her manager called after her. “You’ll thank me later!”

Hmm. As if she didn’t have a timesheet to complete, orders to fill, and
a supply coordinator to shout at.

For all her manager’s flouncing and declarations, he really did have no
idea how to deal with anything. The panic mode for every single possible
scenario wore thin the closer she came to leaving her job in order to set up
her own salon.
Class Cuts
had its day. Stella wanted to move on and
upward.

Forcing a smile to her face, she walked into the reception and said,
“Traditional shave?”

Dressed in a simple but sharply tailored shirt and trousers, a man
stepped forward, answering with an ever-so-slightly accented voice, “That would
be for me.”

Stella blinked once. No. He still stood there. In all his blond glory.
She blinked again. Her brain had not conjured him. “Umm…”

“Stella!” her manager called from the treatment area. “Chair’s free!”

She breathed in deeply, once, inhaling the salon’s strange mix of blow
dried hair, nail varnish, and aromatherapy oils. “This way, please.”

Tall, blond, and future baby-daddy followed her to a set of chairs
reserved for men’s cuts and treatments. “May I take your jacket?” Stella asked,
nodding to his blazer, resting neatly over one hefty forearm.

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

She cradled the expensive, satiny blazer in her palms for a moment, then
hung it inside the wooden cloakroom to the right of the treatment zone. The
strange sensation of both déjà vu and near-uncontrollable lust both pummelled
her inside out, as she gathered an apron for her new client. It turned even
stranger when she whipped the apron around her client and he said, in his
deliciously commanding voice, “Is this odd for you? Reaching up to dress
someone?”

“It’s not my norm, no,” she answered, tying the apron at his neck and
coaxing him with a firm hand toward the soft leather chair. Husband material
turned into concrete, refusing to be guided.

“You must be approximately five foot ten.” He turned around, practically
hovering over her, curving over her space. Did she mind? Not in hell did she
mind, but one had to maintain professionalism.

“Spot on. Take a seat, please.”

With steamed towels softening the hairs on his face, Stella set about
mixing the shaving foam and sharpening the razor. With his eyes closed, her
almost-lover asked, “How long do I stay like this?”

“Until I say you’re ready.”

“Ahh, a woman who likes to be in control.”

“Is there any other kind?”

“Not for me,” he said, and Stella nearly dropped the razor on the floor.
Bold. As. Bloody. Brass. “This isn’t your salon?”

“No.”

“I’ve been in your company for less than five minutes, and I can tell
you’re not long for this employment.”

“And what are you? Psychic?”

He opened one blue eye and she watched the towels shift around a grin.
“I can tell.”

“And what do you do?”

“Alternative energies. Contracts with various businesses to establish
wind farms, solar panels…”

“This country doesn’t get enough sun.”

“That’s the misconception. We have a finite amount of fuel in this
world. We need to think of more natural energy resources.”

“How very freedom fighter-y.”

Stella nudged his knees apart and removed the towels. He looked flushed
and if possible, more sexual. As if they’d just finished an exuberant round of
lovemaking and his face glowed post-orgasm.

Stop
, she told herself.
Client.

Placing the damp towels out of the way, she lathered his face with the
organic foam. Her own creation that not a single client had a reaction to. Yet.

“That smells incredible,” he murmured.

“All about the organic.”

“So you’re into natural resources as well.”

She gave a mild shrug. “Only because you can’t be too careful about what
you put in your body.”

His eyes flicked over her, head to toe. “I would highly agree with you.”
She would end up cutting him if he didn’t stop flirting with her. “What’s your
name?”

“I’m Stella. And you are…”

“Enamoured.”

Stella reached for the razor and flipped a towel over her shoulder. “You
should behave. I’m a woman with a sharp blade near your face.”

A twinkle of mischief brightened his eyes. “Only makes it more exciting.
Go to it, I will be silent as you work.”

Shaving him gave her the best opportunity to admire his skin, the angles
of his face, and the arch of his brows. They made him look disbelieving. A
sarcastic Bond from the pages of Ian Fleming. Oh, hell. Fetishisation of her
clients was never, ever a good idea. But the warmth of his slow, even breaths,
the silk strands of his hair beneath her fingertips as she moved him where she
needed to get to his face. The Adam’s apple, strong and defined in his throat,
begged to be kissed, just like his firm lips. She didn’t appreciate thin lips
on a man, but this man’s lips spoke only of
l’amour
.

“Done,” she claimed, her voice high and reedy. Quickly, she smoothed
away the traces of foam from his skin and rolled two cotton wool pads soaked in
toning balm over his baby-soft face. Finally, she pressed a sweet-scented
moisturiser all over his shaved cheeks and jawline and stroked her thumbs over
his neck. Stepping back, Stella pretended to clean up as he admired himself.

“Excellent. You are exceedingly clever.”

The compliment warmed her more than any reference to her hair or body
would have done. “Thank you.”

He removed the protective apron and again, towered over her. “Now do I
pay you?”

“With?” she asked, laughter bubbling in her throat. “No, you pay at
reception.”

“I’d like to take you out,” he said softly, not taking his eyes from her
mouth. “Say thank you properly.”

“No need.”

“Really?” His challenge came gentle and yet fiercely. “A tip would be
insufficient, for the woman who will one day rule the shaving world.”

“But dinner wouldn’t be?”

“Dinner it is, then.”

“Wait, I didn’t…”

He gently framed her jaw with a single palm. “Allow me to guide you.
Only this once. It won’t hurt to let someone else take the wheel.”