The Polly Principle by Davina Stone

Chapter 25

“Did I spoil something?”

Emma was surveying him over her coffee cup, her gaze solicitous.

Solo frowned. “Spoil something?” His brain was still numb from this morning’s interchange with Polly.

“Last night, when I turned up. You and that girl. You kind of looked pretty close. And then I got the dagger eyes from her.”

Solo shook his head, then shrugged, his fingers working round the rim of his mug of black coffee. “No.” He felt Em’s blue eyes on him; she knew him too well. “Okay, I guess we had a bit of a thing for a few weeks, but it’s over now.”

“Oh.” They both sat in heavy silence. “Nothing to do with me turning up, then.”

He gave her a lopsided smile. It felt like it was cracking a faceful of concrete. “Don’t give up easily, do you, Em?”

She placed her hand on his wrist, tentatively. “I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

He put his hand over hers and took comfort from the warmth, but there was no zing. He felt like he was talking to an old, old friend. A sister, even.

“You need to stop doing this guilt trip on yourself. Maybe you turning up was a catalyst for…” He gulped. “Me and her realising we’re not suited. So perhaps you did me a favour.”

He wanted to howl at the moon, except outside the sun was shining and it was a beautiful day with families sipping takeaway coffees while their kids ran around the playground across the street. Beyond the little strip of park, the Indian Ocean sparkled; people were happy.

“That’s hardly doing you a favour.” Her voice was sad.

Solo suppressed a heavy sigh, added a sugar to his coffee. Unlike smoking, he’d given up sugar years ago, but something had to take away the bitter taste in his mouth.

“I’m so sorry, Solo.”

“Don’t be. I’ll be fine. I’m moving on from here in a month.”

“Are you coming back to Sydney?”

He shrugged again. “I’ve got a phone interview next week with The Mayfield Hospital.”

“The one that specialises in neuropsychiatry? The one you’ve had your mind set on for years?”

“The very one.” He tried to feel positive. And for a moment a little prism of something like relief gave him a tiny burst of energy. He would dive into his career, forget about those green eyes and that tumble of dark curls and the way her lips reminded him of ripe peaches, her kisses… the way she made him laugh…

Heat burned into him.

Oh shit. He’d just spilled coffee all the way down his white T-shirt.

Emma tutted and handed him a napkin. “If you want to talk…”

He gave a tight smile, rubbed at his chest. “I’d rather not. What time is Drew expecting us to call?”

Emma tossed back a thick strand of glossy hair and looked at her watch. “In ten minutes.”

“Cool. So, fill me in, how’s he going?”

Her face lit up. Why hadn’t he realised years ago what a perfect couple they were? Or maybe he had and had just chosen not to acknowledge it. In fact, why hadn’t he realised that he and Emma were not the perfect couple? She’d looked up to him at university. After that she’d liked the fact she was dating a doctor. And him? He’d liked the fact he was dating the most beautiful girl from their cohort. The growing apart had been gradual, insidious.

“He doesn’t remember much, you know.” She pulled a face, her tone suddenly awkward. “About, you know, all the abusive calls he made. He was so out of it. A complete mess.”

“I know.”

“After you told me he was doing that I got him to give me his phone. And I probably shouldn’t have, but I erased all the messages before I gave it back. I don’t want him to remember how badly he treated you when you… after you… saved him, that night.”

“It’s okay, I get it.”

“I think it was guilt, you know, he couldn’t live with himself. About what he, what we both did to you. And then with your pop dying so suddenly, it just sent him over the edge.” She paused and Solo sensed her steeling herself. “We’re both so sorry for—you know, and he’s well enough to apologise. It’s been eating him up.”

Their eyes met and he saw the abject pain in hers. “Please stop doing this to yourself, Em,” he said gently. Reaching over the table he took both of her hands in his and held her gaze. “This stops now. Here. Do you hear me? No more guilt. I’ve thought about it a lot and I realise now we were both ready for it to end. It’s just that I was never going to face that fact. You did. You made the right choice and I don’t blame you. You love him.”

She didn’t answer.

“You and Drew. You’re okay?” He felt her hands flutter in his. Solo pressed on firmly, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I want you both to be happy. With each other. There’s no ill will, Em, that’s long gone.”

She gave a shallow laugh. “You barely showed ill will in the first place. It would have been easier if you’d shouted at me. Said horrible things. I deserved it.”

“That’s not how I operate, you of all people should know that.”

Except with Polly, a voice muttered inside of him. Polly could make him mad, make him hurl barbs of anger and rage. He had this morning. In fact, he had sworn before he stormed off, a blind, frustrated string of words. Not at her, not directly, he would never do that, but at the fucking hopeless situation. He hadn’t looked back, just taken off on his bike, fighting the urge to weep like a kid.

Because deep down, intuition told him she was lying through her pretty white teeth.

But that didn’t make the pain of rejection any easier.

He brought himself back to the present with a jolt. Heard Emma’s phone ding with a message. “Drew’s ready,” she said.

Solo stood up. Crumpled his coffee-stained napkin. “Okay, let’s go.”

A few minutes later, standing on the sand, the phone rang. Emma answered.

She looked at him over the top of her sunglasses, her eyes huge. “Here he is,” and she handed Solo the phone.

And then there was Drew on the screen.

The Drew he remembered. That big grin slicing his handsome features. His deep resonant voice full of warmth. “Solo, mate. How’ve you been?”

And it was like nothing had ever come between them. They were ten years old again, in the back paddock, down by the dam, playing with the old rowing boat. Taking two days’ supply of food and their swags and sailing it down the river. Tinkering in Pop’s shed, rounding up the sheep in the back of the ute. So many great memories flooded back.

Solo grinned. “Good to see you looking better, mate.”

How long they talked, he wasn’t sure afterwards. They discussed Drew’s new health regime; exercise and therapy and healthy eating and avoiding the media. And Solo’s life in Perth. Solo couldn’t bring himself to mention Polly.

Finally, Drew said, “I want to go back to the farm. Pop’s farm.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. For a while. If you agree. Maybe six months. I need to be in nature, away from the limelight.”

“I see.” It made sense for Drew to go back to the place he was happiest to recuperate. And the farm was surviving under management; there wouldn’t be major maintenance to do. It would put off the awful decision to sell.

Drew’s face on the screen was hopeful. “So, what d’you say? You have to agree, it’s half yours.”

Solo frowned. “You won’t feel too isolated?”

“Em will be there, between jobs, and I guess I was thinking we’d keep the manager on for another six months, and I can lend a hand. Then decide, you know, if we keep or sell. The physical work will do me good.”

“That makes sense.” Solo nodded. “I’m in no hurry to sell.”

Drew grinned, his face relieved. “Maybe you’ll make a farmer of me yet, eh?”

“I can think of worse things.”

“Me too.” A moment’s silence, then Drew said, “I want to thank you for saving me. That night. I don’t remember much, I was out of my head, you know, with the psychosis, but you always believed in me when I didn’t. That there was someone good inside the fucking hellhole I was drowning in.”

Solo controlled his features; inside he felt like a dam was about to burst.

But it was Drew’s voice that broke. “I’m so sorry mate, for what I put you through. I don’t know how you even want to talk to me.”

Somehow Solo got the words out, though his voice shook. “Because you’re my brother. As near as it fucking gets. And I love you, mate. Simple as that.”

On the small screen he could see Drew swipe at his eyes with the back of his hand. “Love you too, mate. See you when I get out of this place, right?”

“Yeah, see you very soon.”

When the phone went to screensaver, Solo gave it back to Emma.

She pocketed it. “All good,” she said lightly, but he saw her lower lip tremble.

“All good,” he replied. He went over to the wall and leaned over it, looking out to the blue of the horizon. “Em,” he said as she joined him, “I think I would like to talk about that girl. I don’t want solutions, or advice. I just want to get it off my chest.”

“Tell me about her,” she said softly.

Solo hauled in a breath. “Her name’s Polly and she’s driving me completely fucking crazy…”

* * *

It was the Wednesday after Carts’party and Solo had been avoiding her. And no surprise, really.

She’d like to pretend she was avoiding him, but the truth was, Polly only had to walk into the room and he’d get up and leave. He studiously avoided her gaze in meetings. When she sidled up to him at the vending machine and said hi, he said a stony “hi” and sauntered off.

Yes, sauntered.

She wouldn’t have minded if he’d stormed off all huffy. But this casual indifference was like a paper cut; it hurt so much more than it should.

And then Judith had come up behind her and bought a bar of Toblerone and said, “It’s no good, I have to tell you or I’m going to burst,” and her eyes were so shiny bright and happy it made Polly’s gut jack-knife.

She knew what Judith was going to say but she asked anyway, “What? Tell me?” in her brightest, best, interested voice.

Judith leaned in and whispered close to her ear, “Carts kissed me. At the end of the party.”

Polly had the uncharitable urge to say in a St Trinian’s-style voice, “Bully for you,” with a jolly air punch for extra emphasis. She didn’t, of course. She smiled and made sure her eyes crinkled up and her cheeks bunched and said, “That’s wonderful. If it’s what you wanted, which it looks like it was.”

“Oh yes.” Judith was blushing. “He’s got a lovely kiss. And he said he really likes me and did I want to go out for dinner.”

“And you’re going to accept?”

“Should I?”

Polly popped her eyes. “Whyever not?”

“It’s so soon after—you know—only a few weeks, really.”

“But you’re keen on him, right?”

“Oh yes, he’s dreamy.”

“Dreamy” and “Carts” hadn’t ever occupied the same thought bubble in Polly’s mind. Instead, her gaze snagged on Solo’s broad shoulders disappearing into the doctor’s office and her heart twanged violently like a breaking violin string.

She’d blown it. She’d thought on Saturday she’d triumphed, but now her little kingdom of self-righteous victory was crumbling. More accurately, it had gone completely bankrupt.

“Look, Jude,” she said with sudden feeling. “If you feel good about this, grab it with both hands, enjoy it, be open to where it will take you.” Lousy hypocrite.

Jude beamed. “You’re right, Poll. You are so wise when it comes to relationships.”

Polly nearly choked. She looked at the bar of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut in her hand; she’d only bought it so she’d be able to go up to Solo, and that had backfired. What had she expected, that he’d drop his packet of salt and vinegar chips and fall at her feet, beg her to reconsider?

Judith patted Polly’s arm and skipped off.

Polly stared morosely after her and threw the chocolate bar in the bin.

The rest of the week passed in a haze of misery. She spent the weekend eating cookie-dough ice-cream out of the tub and watching re-runs of Sex and the City. By the middle of the next week she felt like someone had gutted her with a fishing knife.

In bed at night she played over what she’d said. She kept her old journal on the bedside table, and every night re-read her entries about Danny, and Dad, and all that past stuff to stiffen her resolve.

And then on Tuesday she slammed into a brick wall.

Okay, metaphorically speaking. She’d walked into the tea room and Ben was talking to Solo. Her ears pricked up when she heard the word “interview”. Busying herself making a coffee, she hummed to pretend she wasn’t interested, then realised she couldn’t eavesdrop with her own inane, off-key version of “Baby, You’re Dead To Me” in her ears, so she stopped and listened, stirring her cup.

“So, what time is the interview?” This from Ben.

“Three pm,” Solo replied, “via Skype.”

“Does Pritchard know to leave you alone?”

“Yes. I’ve told him I won’t be available on the ward for an hour.”

“I’m sure he understands you’ve got to look after your career.”

“Yeah.” A pause, Polly’s ears pricked. “Though he’s had a talk with me about something that’s coming up here at the hospital. Part of a psychiatry first-response team in ED.”

By now Polly was sure she resembled Dumbo. Gigantic ears flapping in the breeze. She went and got milk out of the fridge. Very, very slowly.

Ben said, “God, it’d be great if you stayed, the patients love you. Would you consider it?”

There was a long loud silence, the air buzzing with electric current. Polly plonked the carton on the bench and milk slopped everywhere.

“I don’t think so.” Solo’s voice was clipped and hard. “Nothing for me here in Perth.”

She couldn’t help herself, she turned around. Two silver lasers bore into her. All she could do was stare at him helplessly.

Solo flicked his gaze away. Face blotching madly, Polly turned and focused on scrubbing at the milk on the bench.

“Hey there, Poll, come and sit with us,” said Ben cheerfully.

Solo got up, washed his mug and walked out without another word.

Ben’s features creased into a perplexed frown. “What’s bitten him?”

Polly shrugged. “Interview nerves, maybe.” Utter misery coiled into her stomach. “What’s the job?” she forced out.

“The Mayfield neuropsych hospital in Sydney. A senior registrar position.”

“Oh, nice,” said Polly, and tried to pretend her heart hadn’t just made a really loud cracking noise.

Things didn’t improve over the rest of the day.

By the end of it, she’d decided she had two choices. 1) Grovel and tell Solo she missed him like fucking crazy and would he please come back into her bed. (Further than that, she refused to let her thoughts go.)

2) Forget him and go and party. Hard.

She sat in her office and let the choices percolate while she should have been writing up a family therapy session. The first option made a ball of terror barrel up her throat; the second made her feel numb and flat. She’d just decided numb and flat was preferable to death by fear when her phone trilled.

It was Dad.

“Polly, love.” His voice was chirpy on the other end. “Me and Mim are up in town, we wondered if we could catch up for a bite?”

“Oh, yes.” Party hard was clearly out. And strangely, she felt relieved. “Sure.”

Later that evening, Polly sat with Mim and Ted in a small Italian restaurant she frequented when Dad came to the city. Ted was a man of habit: home-cooked or his one favourite Italian restaurant. That was it.

They’d just finished their first course and Ted had filled their water glasses and paused.

Why did she think there was an agenda here?

Ted plonked the water jug down and rubbed his hands together. “Mim and I are in town to see someone. We’ve finally decided to get some counselling. Put things properly right between us.”

Polly hid her look of surprise. “Oh, that’s great, Dad. How come now?”

Mim fidgeted, took hold of Ted’s hand. “After the party, your dad decided he wanted to bring more intimacy, more closeness into our relationship. I’d stopped nagging a while back, sometimes you need to let people come to it in their own time. Seems like it worked.” She smiled lovingly at Ted and a pang of envy hit Polly. How wonderful it would be to find this level of closeness after so many years. To keep on trying to make things better.

Ted looked a bit coy. “Yeah, I asked Solo if he could find me some names—”

Polly’s eyes widened. “Solo!”

“Yeah, when we had that talk in the barn. Man to man. He said he’d ask around.”

The unfairness stabbed her in the chest. All her years of trying, and in one meeting, Dad had confided in and opened up to Solo. Just like the PTSD group. How come everyone trusted Solo? He wasn’t trustworthy, he was a heart-thief, or at least would be, if she’d let him.

“You could have asked me, Dad. For some names, I mean.” Damn it, she sounded huffy.

Dad shrugged. “Thing is, me and Solo—I guess we hit it off. He got it, the PTSD stuff, the problems”—he snapped his finger—“just like that, he really got it. Besides, love, you’re too close to all this stuff.”

Polly sipped some water. “Sure.”

Dad’s face took on an eager look. “So, anyway, what’s going on with you two?”

Her glass clunked hard onto the table. “Nothing. Why?”

“Aren’t you a couple yet?”

“No, Dad, no. We most definitely are not.”

“Oh.” Dad sounded crestfallen

Mim gave a little tut. “Well, you should be. We noticed the vibes between you both. Everyone reckons he adores you.” Polly glanced over. Mim had her smug, Mim-knows-best look on her face. “He’s a keeper, that one.”

“He’s not a keeper.” Under the table she dug her nails into her thighs. “He’s heading back to Sydney.”

“That’s a real shame,” Mim said, and made another clucking sound with her tongue. “Honey, you’ll miss the boat if you go on like this.”

Polly’s eyes smarted. She muttered, “Thanks, Mim, but I’m not interested in getting on that particular boat.”

Really, this whole conversation was pointless. because the boat had sunk. And if she had to choose a name for it, it would be the Titanic.

Polly gulped in great mouthfuls of air. “I think I’ll skip the next course. I’m not very hungry for some reason.”

Dad and Mim gave each other a knowing look. A look that said, what a shame.

Shame on them, Polly thought. Shame on them for bringing it up.

* * *

That night was even worsethan the previous ones as she tossed and turned and played through Dad and Mim’s pitying looks. Sleep evaded her. She wound herself into knots in the sheets, and when she did finally fall into a doze, she dreamed of nose kisses and dynamic hot sex and silver eyes bathing her in love.

So when a message alert beeped at 6 a.m. on Thursday morning, Polly dived for her phone like one possessed.

Her heart dropped when she saw it wasn’t him.

Alice: Are you awake?

Polly: Yes

The phone rang immediately. Alice’s voice was breathless. “You’re in love with him.”

“What the fuck?” Polly sat bolt upright, all her bones aching from lack of sleep, rubbing at her sore eyes.

“This doctor guy. Solo. You’re in love. I know it. From everything you’ve said. The fact you’ve called me every day for the past week and a half, making up all this nonsense about independence so you can tell me how much you’re not interested in him.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Polly huffed, kicking off the knotted sheet. “I told you, it’s just sex.”

“That is a fiendish lie and you know it.”

Polly pushed back her mess of curls and couldn’t help a tiny smile. God, she missed Alice’s turn of phrase.

“I thought it from the moment you mentioned him. Your voice was different.”

“Different what way?”

“Like you had suddenly been struck by awe. And delight. And fairy dust. And merman sperm!”

“Merman sperm!”

“Only joking.”

Despite herself, Polly laughed and groped for her dressing gown. “You are so ridiculous.”

“I am not ridiculous. You are. Stubborn as a mule, blind as a bat, and any other animal analogies you choose. You need to tell him. Before it’s too late and he takes that job in Sydney.”

“It’s already too late. He’s leaving.”

“Oh no.” Alice sounded horrified, which made the knife in Polly’s heart dig in harder. “No, you have to go and tell him now!”

“Are you crazy? You know what time it is here, right? It’s 6 a.m.!”

“I don’t care. You love him. He loves you. I know it. Don’t miss out, Polly. You deserve to be happy more than anyone I know.”

“I—I—” But her voice trailed off and her fingers curled tight around the phone. Could Alice, her beloved friend, her soul sister, be right?

And suddenly something, some great big dam inside Polly burst, and all the feelings came tumbling out. She couldn’t seem to speak, a strange little mewl came out of her mouth.

“Did you say something?” Alice’s voice queried down the line.

Polly opened her mouth. Still no words. She thought about Solo leaving, flying off on that plane in less than four weeks, back to Sydney without her; she remembered their sizzling chemistry, their talks, their shared laughter. The way he held her, the way he made such a beautiful symphony of love to her.

The way he kissed the tip of her nose.

And she knew she’d never felt this way before. Would never feel it again. For anyone.

“Oh god.” It burst out of her lips. “Shit. Oh, Munchkin. You’re right. You’re so right. I do. I love the stupid, horrible, beautiful guy.”

“I knew it!” Alice’s voice held a note of triumph. “Even Aaron worked it out.”

Polly batted away the tear that had squeezed out of her eye. “Jesus, if Aaron spotted it, I must be running around with a love banner on my forehead.”

“Yep,” said Alice. “The message gamma-rayed its way from the other side of the world. Now go, you silly sausage, and claim your man.”

Polly jumped up, phone still jammed to her ear as she flew to her wardrobe. “How can I ever repay you, Munchkin?”

“You have, a thousand times already, for getting me and Aaron together, you dope. Go.” And Alice hung up.

Exactly twenty-two minutes later, Polly stood outside Carts’ house, shivering. It was going to be warm later, the sun winking a hello over the rooftops, but it wasn’t now and the first thing she had found in her cupboard was a lightweight yellow cotton dress with large red poppies splashed all over it. She’d struggled with the zipper and now, in the crisp morning air, had a sense it was stuck halfway down her back. Her hair was springing in all directions and she hadn’t even bothered with a slick of lip gloss.

But it was too late to turn back now. She couldn’t hide her feelings anymore, from herself, from Solo. She had to take the risk or she knew she’d regret this for the rest of her days.

She tiptoed through the gate. The curtains were still closed across Solo’s bedroom window.

She picked up a handful of gravel from the succulent bed in the small patch of garden. Hurled it up at the window. A spray fell on her head. Damn, now she’d have gravel in her hair and that would be a bitch to get out.

But the tinkle on the glass told her some had hit the mark. She picked up another handful and lobbed it as the window flung wide.

Fuck, she’d just hit Solo in the face. His hand shot up as he exclaimed, “What the hell!”

“It’s me, Polly,” she hissed loudly.

Now Solo was leaning out the window. And oh, God, he was wearing nothing on top. The sight of his muscled torso made her mouth dry up.

“I need to talk to you,” she got out.

For a moment his face remained hard, his features bunched, she could see it even in the dim early morning light and her heart stalled.

Then suddenly he ducked inside.

God, what if she’d got this all wrong? It wasn’t like he’d given her a single crumb these past two weeks. Her teeth were chattering more from fear than anything as she stood waiting for him, hoping he would answer the door. Then she heard the latch draw back.

He stood on the doorstep and, sod the guy, he’d purposely left his chest bare, she knew he had. Her eyes drank in his pecs, the tiny dusting of hair on his chest, sank to the v of dark hair that descended into his pyjama pants.

She swallowed hard.

He stood back against the open door, but not before she’d caught the twitch at the corner of his beautiful mouth.

“Are you going to do more than hurl missiles at me?”

“They were meant for the window.”

He stared at her, another lip twitch, but said nothing.

“I had to do something to stop you ignoring me.”

“An early morning raid seems a bit dramatic.”

“It’s… um— because I need to… we need to… talk.”

He motioned his head for her to enter. “Come inside.”

“No, thanks.”

She had to say it now, on the doorstep, because with him half-naked like that, if she went inside, she might just pounce and then… NO, sex was not the answer. Talking was.

She had to spill it. Open up. Communicate.

She glanced up to see a small frown furrowing Solo’s brows. Hell, it made him look so sexy. Too tempting to plaster her hands all over that chest. She bit her lip, dragged in a mouthful of air.

“When you’re ready,” he said.

“Give me a moment,” she gulped out.

He stood facing her on the porch, arms crossed. The silence yawned between them. “What do you want to say, Polly?”

She didn’t dare look at him, didn’t know where to start. Her hand came up and tugged at the wonky neckline of her dress. “Could you make this a little easier for me?”

He uncrossed his arms. “Is that better?”

“That’s your idea of making it easier?”

“Open body language shows I’m listening. You should know that.”

She glanced at his face and though his expression was deadpan, she thought she saw a softening in those silver eyes, and it made a little butterfly of hope beat its wings behind her ribs. Surely he could see that her coming here at first light must mean something really, really important?

Because it did. It meant she loved this guy with all her sad, mussed-up heart.

Get it out, woman.

“I, um, the other day, when you came around and you told me… about you and that, er, Emma.” Her thumb and forefinger fiddled at the neck of her dress. She dropped her hand, tried again. “Was that the truth?”

“The truth about what?”

“The bit about you and me…”

“Which, of the many bits?”

He was going to make her grovel. Rub her nose right in the pile of poop of her own making. “The bit, um—the bit where you said…” She gulped, another collar yank. This time she realised she’d exposed a great swathe of breast. She saw his eyes drop, his jaw tighten, and the butterflies flurried into her throat. “That you were crazy about me.”

“Oh, yeah, that bit.”

His arms folded once more over his chest, bunching his pecs. Polly winced. “No, don’t, don’t cross your arms again, please. This is hard enough…”

Solo uncrossed his arms and put them behind his back, which thrust his crotch forward. Polly nearly whimpered.

God damn him.

She blurted, “So, was it true?”

The silence stretched like electric wire between them.

Finally, “Yes. Unfortunately.”

“Oh.” Her mouth snapped shut. Opened again and kind of hovered that way, speechless.

He squinted at her through narrowed eyes. “Is that why you’re here? To humiliate me again about confessing how I feel about you…” He paused, then added softly, “Or is there another reason?”

Polly gulped in more cool morning air. She was seriously at risk of fucking this up. She shuffled on the step, nearly lost her footing and a hand flailed. “I lied. I didn’t mean any of that stuff, about not wanting to feel anything, or be with anyone. I was… I was hurt and I was—am—shit scared… and…”

A hand appeared from behind his back, reached out and closed gently around the fingers that were still flapping around in mid-air. He stepped closer. His bare toes nudged her shoe. “I’m still listening.”

His touch was scrambling her brain. She couldn’t speak. Could barely even stand.

“Go on,” Solo said, weaving his fingers through hers.

“Okay so— the trouble is, I’m in deeper than I realised. Like seriously deep. With you, I mean. And—I—I don’t actually know what do about that, so—” She laughed and the sound jangled through the still morning air. Somewhere, a kookaburra laughed. “I did what I always do, I hit out first.”

“You sure did.” It seemed he was hitting the mark now too, his thumb-pad gently circling the soft skin of her wrist. Spasms of delight shot through her. “So, I guess I’m here to say, to ask whether… whether… you would be prepared for us to try again.”

“Ahhhhaa.” He was so close now his breath was stirring the curls at her ear and her mind was going to sink into her vagina and be subsumed. She’d better talk fast.

“I’m no good at this love business,” she blurted.

“Don’t spoil it. You were doing so well.”

“I guess, I mean, I’m willing to try, if…”

With his other hand he tilted her chin. Looked deep into her eyes. “Okay, I’m going to tell you how it is, since you’re clearly struggling here. I’ve fallen in love with you, Polly Fletcher. Which means you’re going to want to run and hide. And do everything to push me away. And you know what? I’m not going to let you. So now you’re here, pretty shoddily put together, if you don’t mind me saying, and looking like you’ve barely slept because you’re so fucking miserable without me. Just like I am without you—”

She almost wilted but his silver gaze wouldn’t let her go.

“I need you to agree that you won’t run, or hide. Not anymore.”

She breathed out on a beg. “Please don’t let me ruin this, just because I’m terrified.”

He rested his forehead against hers, whispered, “I will never let that happen.”

And then his arms came around her waist and hers snuck around his neck. For a second their noses nudged and suddenly they were kissing like they might both die if they didn’t.

When they finally came up for air, Solo growled, “I’m going to carry you up those stairs and make wild, passionate love to you.”

Polly peered over his shoulder into the house. “What about Carts?”

Solo’s beautiful eyes crinkled. “He’s not here. I think he stayed over at Judith’s.”

“Oh, the wicked girl, she said she was taking it slow.”

“Yeah, and you told me you never dated men you work with…”

With that, he picked her up, seemingly effortlessly, and carried her up the stairs.

In the bedroom, they kissed until they fell on the bed, his body hard and hungry and urgent. They needed to get naked, now. Obviously their hands agreed, as they both started a frenzied ripping at garments.

“Jeesh, what did you do to this zipper? You’ve completely mangled it,” Solo spluttered after a moment’s tugging at her dress.

Polly giggled. “I was in a hurry. I had to tell this random guy that I love him.”

Solo pulled back, eyes narrowed. “Come again.”

She bit her lip, swallowed hard and tried again. “I love him” came out on a weird, husky squeak. She gazed into those quicksilver eyes, placed her hand on his cheek, felt the muscle twitch. “I love you.”

“Oh, god, I love you too, you crazy, stubborn woman.” With a triumphant laugh, Solo tugged harder at the zipper. There was a loud ripping sound. In revenge she tugged down his pyjama pants. Soon there was nothing but the beauty of skin on skin.

“We’re going to be late for Dr Death’s Friday ward meeting,” Polly murmured, biting his neck as his body slid over hers.

“Mmm, it could look suspicious us walking in together with your dress cobbled together with safety pins.”

As she pulled him closer and planted a kiss right on the tip of his nose, Polly managed her last coherent words. “You know what, Dr J? I couldn’t give a flying fuck.”