SRU The Lust Charm
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Second Time's A Charm free porn video
Grace
He’d said the views were stunning and he was right. Only an hour up the trail, Grace had a picture-postcard vista spread before her. Majestic, jagged peaks, a patchwork of forest and meadow green, the still water of Llyn Elsi, sunlight dancing on its glassy surface. It was beautiful, tranquil yet wild. An unspoiled wilderness on civilization’s doorstep, accessed via walking trails even a novice hiker could tackle.
But he’d also been right about the weather. The air was stirred by a sudden chill breeze and ominous dark clouds gathered in the west. Grace peered along the trail, zig-zagging upward, promising even better views. It was tempting to go on but dressed only in shorts and T-shirt, with nothing waterproof in her pack, she thought it wise to turn back.
*
It had been a spur of the moment decision. Suffocating in London, Grace had to get away. She’d found Snowdonia during an internet search for the best views in Britain and chose it for its convenience – less than four hours from Euston Station, according to National Rail Enquiries. She bought a ticket online then dug out her festival camping gear, a few essentials, and set out.
It wasn’t until the train approached Watford Gap that Grace thought about Jason. She should have left a note. Stricken with guilt, she typed a text: Gone away to get my head together. See you soon. Then she switched her phone off to avoid seeing his reply.
She bought a guide book to Snowdonia at Llandunno Junction station before boarding the connection to Betwys-y-Coed. The two-carriage train was busy but not packed unlike the South London trains she took to work or the Underground, which were always heaving. From her window seat, she admired the views. London parks were pretty but the noise and bustle of the city were ever present. Not so here. This sparsely populated, craggy landscape stretched for miles beneath skies of the deepest blue. Slipping on sunglasses, she drank it in.
Betws-y-Coed was smaller than she’d expected but had the look and feel of an alpine resort. The cheerful lady at the Tourist Information Office sweet-talked Grace into booking a hotel for her first night. Checked into a spacious and clean room, she was glad she’d taken the advice.
As evening approached, Grace idled along a trail towards Swallow Falls. She took her time, marveling at every sight, every sound: the babbling river, sand martins calling as they swooped for insects, the ‘mew’ of circling buzzards. A distant rumble grew steadily louder until the falls were in sight. The roar of water became deafening, the spectacle awe-inspiring. How beautiful, she thought, gazing at the frothy white water cascading over tumbled boulders like a hundred billowing bridal veils.
Suddenly emotional, Grace sank onto a bench, hot tears stinging her eyes. She switched on her phone and checked her messages. Four from Jason.
Hey, sweetheart, I got your text. What’s going on?
Where are you? I’m worried.
Grace, when you get this, call me. I phoned your work and we need to talk.
Why didn’t you tell me you’d quit your job? Are you okay?
Grace bit her lip. I’m fine, please don’t worry, she replied. Her fingers were poised to type more but she pressed send and turned the phone off. Decisions could wait.
*
Iwan
It was obvious she was unprepared. In skimpy shorts and T-shirt, not even wearing hiking boots, she wasn’t a typical client.
“Can I pitch my tent by the stream,” she asked, pointing. Her accent was southern; Home Counties, perhaps. Her clear diction suggested an expensive education and her clothes and trainers were all designer brands.
“Pitch wherever you like,” he said. “But not too close to the water. There’s a storm forecast and that innocent looking stream becomes a torrent when it rains.”
“Storm?”
“Yeah.” Iwan looked up and shielded his eyes. “Doesn’t look stormy, does it?”
“No, it’s beautiful.”
“It may be just a cloudburst, but you never know. The weather can turn nasty here, even in June.”
“Thanks for the warning.” She smiled, the warmth at odds with the sadness in her eyes. Then she pulled a wallet from her backpack but Iwan waved a hand.
“Settle up when you leave. Unless you’re only staying one night?”
The girl shook her head. “It’ll be longer than that.”
“Good.” Good? Iwan cleared his throat. “You’ll… erm, you’ll need several days to see the sights.”
“Yes. Thank you.” The girl stowed her wallet and walked away, hips swaying.
She had a lovely figure. Gym honed, Iwan thought. She lacked the defined calf muscles of seasoned outdoor enthusiasts. He hoped she wasn’t planning to walk the more challenging trails. The thought worried him.
“Hey,” he called after her. She turned, auburn hair flying. “The Acorn Trail’s got great views and it’s easy. You’ll need hiking gear for most of the others.”
She looked at her feet then grinned. “Acorn?”
“That way.” He pointed. “It’s marked.”
With a nod, she set off again.
Iwan watched. She was pretty. Or was attractive a better word for a woman her age? He guessed she was in her thirties, though he couldn’t decide between early or late. She was obviously a city girl – fashionably cut hair, whitened teeth, and carefully applied make-up. He wondered what she was doing here, alone, at his campsite. Whatever the reason, he was glad of it. He liked her.
*
The first rumble of thunder put Iwan on edge. The girl… Had she gone up the trail he’d suggested? If so, was she back? The storm had hit early and it was bad. Rain splashed the windows, fat droplets getting steadily bigger. Peering out, he could just spot a tent near the stream but couldn’t tell if it was occupied. Iwan frowned. Pulling on a coat, he set out to check.
The tent had to belong to her. A single skinned, pop-up effort, it was as unsuitable as the girl’s clothing. He doubted it would keep out a light shower, let alone the current downpour. “Hello? You there?” he shouted but heard nothing except the crack of thunder overhead followed by a blinding flash.
Iwan looked around; no sign of the girl. The rain was pouring down and thunder grumbled constantly. If she didn’t have waterproof clothing, she’d be drenched. Come on, where are you? Increasingly worried, he strode towards the Acorn Trail, boots squelching on the wet ground.
Thankfully, he didn’t have to look far. He spotted her in the woodland just beyond the campsite – coppery hair, T-shirt, shorts. No waterproofs. “Hey,” he shouted, running, “you okay?”
Her shorts were black with mud and her slender legs spattered a mixture of black and red. She held up muddy hands. “I slipped,” she said, shrugging. “Silly, aren’t I?”
Auburn hair stuck to her face and Iwan couldn’t tell if the water in her eyes was rain or tears. Without asking permission, he hoisted her into his arms. She was light as a feather, no weight at all for him. But she was shivering badly, the T-shirt clinging to her skin, hard nipples visible through the soaked fabric. He tore his gaze away and kept his eyes on the path as he carried her to her tent.
Iwan lowered her gently. “That tent’s not suitable for camping here. Has it leaked?” He was sure it had. He watched her unzip the flap. Water poured out. “That’s not good.”
“Oh, hell…” The girl examined her sodden sleeping bag, her expression changing to one of disbelief when she clawed through her backpack. “Everything’s wet.”
“I thought as much,” said Iwan. “Gather everything up; you can stay at the house.”
“No, really, I’m okay.”
“Come to the house. Please. You’re soaked and you’re hurt.” He nodded at her knees.
The girl looked defeated. Sighing, she rolled up the sleeping bag. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
Iwan hefted her bag onto his shoulder and headed home, Grace following. The other tents in the field were zipped-up tight, their occupants out or sheltering from the deluge. No-one stirred as Iwan trudged past. At the door, Grace faltered.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked.
“Yes, I am. I came out specifically to check on you.”
“Oh?”
“The trainers, your clothes… I figured your tent wouldn’t be great.”
“You were right.”
He shrugged. “Oh, well. Dry clothes and hot soup sound good to you?”
She nodded, wet strands of hair falling over her face. She pushed them back. “I’m Grace, by the way.”
“Iwan.” He offered his hand.
“Nice to meet you, Iwan,” she said grasping it.
Iwan’s gaze met Grace’s deep brown eyes. Beautiful eyes. His skin flushed hot and, stamping his feet, he fumbled with the door key and led the way inside.
*
Grace
It was so silly: a patch of wet grass on a flat stretch of track. Down she’d gone, gashing her knees. Soaked through, muddied and bleeding, she’d staggered to her feet and carried on.
She’d been halfway to the campsite when the rain became a deluge. The ground was slick but she’d felt sure-footed. Falling took her by surprise. It shook her up. Back on her feet, she’d almost reached the head of the trail when she tumbled again. Winded, she sat in the mud, catching her breath. It was then that she heard a shout and saw a figure advancing towards her.
“Hey, you okay?”
“I slipped. Silly, aren’t I?”
She recognized the campsite owner. He was dressed in a green waterproof coat and sturdy boots that gripped the slippery rocks as he ran towards her. To her surprise, he scooped her into his arms and a combination of embarrassment and delight stole all protests from her tongue. He didn’t falter under her weight, wonderfully taut muscles flexing as he carried her. Her heart fluttered. Jason could never have carried her like this. He kept fit pounding treadmills but he lacked strength.
Her festival tent was useless. It had leaked like a sieve and her sleeping bag and clothes were soaked. So, when the man offered shelter, she wasn’t altogether surprised: she clearly couldn’t stay in her tent. But accepting his hospitality required inner debate. Although local, and highly recommended by the receptionist at the Betwys-y-Coed hotel, the campsite owner was a stranger. And even if his gesture was genuine kindness to a camper in need, agreeing to stay was an imposition.
What choice did she have? Sighing, she gave in. “I’m Grace, by the way.” If she was to spend the night at his house, she’d better introduce herself.
“Iwan.”
Of course, Iwan Parry. She remembered his name being mentioned. “Nice to meet you, Iwan.”
Iwan’s home was a picture-book Welsh farmhouse: a squat, square building, lovingly kept. Built from local stone, the Welsh slate roof glistened in the rain. The cosy interior of exposed beams, wooden floors and rough plastered walls, was perfectly charming. The mismatched furniture looked antique and she particularly liked the scrubbed wooden dining table and polished Welsh dresser. In the fireplace was a wood-burning stove, a basket of logs beside it.
“I’ll get that lit,” said Iwan. “Seems daft to use it in June but it’s a bit chilly so I’ll make an exception.”
“Thank you.” Grace rubbed her wet arms. Blood trickled down her legs.
“Actually, a bath might warm you up quicker and you need to bathe those cuts. The, erm…” Iwan’s face reddened. “The door bolts on the inside.”
“Right.” Grace put her bag down. “Up here?”
“First door on the left. There’s a clean towel hanging on the door.” He shifted awkwardly. “Shall I find you some clothes?”
“Thank you.” Grace noticed the creases at the corners of Iwan’s eyes and the slight quiver of his lip when he spoke. And she noticed his eyes – cornflower blue framed with long, dark lashes. He was older than Jason and taller, broader, yet softer spoken. A gentle giant. “Shall I…”
“Oh yes, go ahead.”
The bath was spotlessly clean and the water pressure good. As the room filled with steam, she heard a light knock on the door.
“Hope these are okay?” Iwan held out a neat pile of clothes and a small box. “Plasters,” he said. “Take what you need.” Without waiting for a reply, he stepped back and shut the door tight. Grace heard footsteps retreat downstairs.
She smiled. He was sweet. Eager to bathe, she stripped and sank gratefully into the hot water. Her knees stung but the water was soothing. She lay back, relaxed. Rain lashed the bathroom window although the storm was passing. The grumbling thunder was distant, fading. She wondered if London had seen any rain? Tuesday night… What would Jason be doing?
On a Tuesday she’d normally meet him for dinner after pounding the treadmills at her workplace gym. They favoured Italian on Tuesdays followed by drinks with friends in town. Had he done that tonight? Without her?
Reaching for her shorts, she pulled her phone from the pocket. No signal. Damn. She put the phone down and screwed her eyes shut. So what if Jason was out? She cupped water and poured it on her face. Did she really care? She honestly didn’t know.
*
Iwan
Grace reappeared half an hour later, dressed in the baggy blue T-shirt and grey jogging bottoms he’d given her. With no make-up and wet hair dripping down her back, she looked lovelier than ever.
“How’re your cuts?” Iwan asked, trying not to stare. “Anything deep?”
“No, I’ve been lucky. I’ve used a couple of plasters on my knees but they’re barely bleeding.”
“Good to know. Are you still cold? I can get a jumper.”
“No, I’m fine.” She plonked down in a leather armchair next to the wood burner. “I like real fires. It’s the smell and the noise as well as the heat.” She was smiling again – a smile that could melt icebergs.
“I made soup,” said Iwan. “Tomato and basil.”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Great. Back in a tick.”
He rushed to the kitchen and his hands shook so much he nearly spilled the soup. He took a moment to steady himself before returning to Grace with a hot tureen and bread roll on a side plate. “Would you like a drink?” he asked. “A beer, perhaps?”
She shook her head. “I don’t drink.”
“Oh right. Me neither. Well, not often. Tea, then?” Again, she declined so Iwan sat. He fidgeted, trying not to watch her eat. Every so often she looked up and his gaze met her rich brown eyes. Such beautiful eyes. A sunbeam filtered through the window and Grace turned towards it, the light setting her auburn hair aflame.
“It’s bright out again,” she said. “My tent might dry out.”
“Not tonight. The sun’s already setting. Stay here, the spare room’s always made up. Actually, I just need to…” Rising, he dashed to the stairs and charged out of sight. He found another clean towel and folded it neatly on the spare room bed, then opened the window a crack to air the room. He wiped his hand over the dusty sill. “All ready for you,” he called, rushing back.
Grace was standing at the living room window. “Look at that,” she said. Through the rain-dotted glass, the Western horizon glowed red-orange, as fiery as her hair. Pink and mauve streaks chased the embers while fast encroaching indigo captured the East.
“Beautiful,” said Iwan, joining her. Without thinking, he slid his arm around Grace’s shoulder. She turned, wide-eyed, and there was a moment – a brief breath of time – when it felt right to kiss her.
Grace drew away. “I should…” She pointed upstairs. “It’s been a long day.”
“Oh, yes. An early night.” Iwan nodded. “Lots of rest, good idea. I’ll take your bag.” He led the way upstairs and deposited her backpack inside the doorway. “There’s a drying rack in your room. Feel free to use it.”
“I will, thank you.”
“Goodnight, then.”
“Night.”
“Sleep well.”
Iwan waited ’till she shut the door then trotted downstairs. Busily tidying up, he heard Grace moving around upstairs, the ancient floorboards creaking. He liked hearing her, liked how it felt knowing she was there.
He picked up a photograph from the mantelpiece. He gazed at the laughing face of Eva. “Oh, Eva,” he whispered. Iwan studied the photograph and traced a finger over Eva’s cheek. Then the floorboards creaked again and, looking up, he smiled.
*
Grace
Grace was both confused and excited. Sleeping in the house of a man she’d just met hadn’t been part of her plan. But she couldn’t deny that it thrilled her. He was lovely, attractive. She was drawn to him by feelings she couldn’t explain. Was it instinct, a primal urge?
“Crazy,” she muttered, shaking her head. “I’m going mad.”
She spread her damp clothes on the drying rack then, restless, wandered to the window. The sky, free of light pollution, was the clearest she’d ever seen. A billion stars dazzled her and a full moon lit the mountains in curiously haunting monochrome shades. Somewhere close, an owl hooted and Grace saw fluttering in a nearby tree. She watched, fascinated. How different to London.
London. She’d had enough of London. The constant bustle, stress, Jason… She paced the room, picking up an empty wine bottle from the nightstand. She thumbed the candle stump stuffed in the neck, melted wax tumbling over the glass like the frothy water of Swallow Falls. “Alcohol,” she murmured. She wasn’t sick of London per se and Jason hadn’t done anything wrong; alcohol was the problem. Who knew giving it up would change her life so dramatically?
She did it for a bet. A colleague had successfully completed dry January and while boasting of her victory, had bet Grace and Jason they couldn’t give up drinking for a week, let alone a month. She was right in Jason’s case, but Grace had persevered.
The front door opened then clicked shut. Putting the bottle down, Grace saw Iwan heading towards the campsite shower block with a bucket and mop. She watched him go inside. Thoughts drifting, she raised her gaze to the stars.
Sobriety confused Grace: no cravings, no sweats or tremors. None of the horrors she’d thought she’d suffer. She gave up alcohol easily but being sober affected her in a different way. It opened her eyes. She suddenly noticed how much her social life revolved around drinking. All her friends drank, Jason being the worst. He drank all night, every night. And, when he’d had a few, he became loud and obnoxious.
Without alcohol to smudge the edges, Grace saw her life differently and the new reality shocked her. Sober nights out with drunken friends bored her to tears and Jason’s behaviour was irritating, boring. His drunken jokes weren’t funny or original, she’d heard them all before. And the quick tongue in the mouth and finger up her pussy that he considered foreplay, didn’t arouse her. How had it ever?
With evenings no longer a fun release, Grace’s whole life changed. She began to loathe her mindless office job and the hateful gym she’d frequented for years. Boring. Tedious. Dull.
The final straw had been her boss’ fiftieth birthday bash. Trapped in a room full of inebriated colleagues, she’d snapped. She felt like screaming. She had to escape. Leaving Jason behind, she took the tube home and had her resignation written and emailed before he staggered in. She booked her ticket to Wales the following morning, as soon as Jason had left for work. She ran away – didn’t work her notice, pack all her belongings, or say goodbye.
Guilt prickled Grace’s conscience but excitement fizzed, dizzying as champagne. She never thought she’d be brave enough to make such a bold move. But she had. “And look at that,” she whispered, gazing out. “Amazing.”
A door banged and Grace saw Iwan returning to the house. She listened to him clattering around outside before the front door opened and closed again. Iwan moved around downstairs then the stairs creaked. She heard him walk past her room then a door closed quietly further along the landing. More creaking of floorboards, a cupboard opening, squeaking bedsprings, then quiet. So quiet. Grace could hear her own breathing. What was Iwan doing? Was he asleep already? It wasn’t late but maybe he was an early riser? Hikers were.
Creeping to the bedroom door, she held her breath. Listened. Was he lying in bed, naked, perhaps? Or was his muscular body bathed in moonlight as he lay on top of his covers? Grace flapped her T-shirt, feeling a flush of heat. Was he thinking about her? Was he stroking his cock, getting hard while picturing her, nipples poking her soaking wet T-shirt? She’d seen him looking and… Wait. Movement: soft footfalls, a door opening, more footsteps. Her heart raced when they stopped outside her door.
“Grace, you okay?”
She drew breath before answering. “Yes. Can’t sleep. Am I disturbing you?”
“A bit.”
“Sorry.” She fluffed her hair then opened the door. “Hi.”
He’d changed; white vest and boxer shorts. She gawped at his broad shoulders. God, he’s gorgeous… It was instinct to grab him and kiss him, pure instinct. But it wasn’t like her to be spontaneous, and Grace felt as though she was watching herself on film. Guilt pricked her conscience but lust drove her on. She’d never cheated on Jason but her attraction to Iwan was too strong to ignore. She kissed him with passion, loving his flexed muscles, musky scent, and soft mouth.
Lost in the moment, she grasped Iwan’s crotch. Her fingers closed around a semi-hard cock within his thin cotton boxers.
“See? You’re disturbing me,” he said. His lips touched hers as he spoke, breath hot on her skin. Her heart fluttered like the owl in the tree.
Still holding his cock, she trailed her free hand over his torso, grasped his wrist, and dragged him inside the bedroom. She pushed him against the wall and kissed him hard, probing his mouth with her tongue. She felt him quiver, heard a sigh. Smirking, she pushed him away.
“Clothes,” she said. She watched his puzzled expression melt into a smile as she tore off her T-shirt and shimmed out of her panties. “Your turn.”
Iwan shed his clothes with hurried abandon and lay back on the bed, hands beneath his head. “Well?” he said. “You like?”
“I do indeed.”
His thighs were far larger than they’d looked in shorts. He had a slight paunch – but that was mostly hidden behind his impressive erection. What a cock; thick and long. Grace eyed him greedily. Sex-starved, she dived on him, attacking his abdomen with ravenous kisses. She worked downward, the scent of pre-cum her homing beacon. Looking him in the eyes, she slipped his cock into her mouth.
Incredible. Delicious. Mouth filled with hot flesh pulsing against her tongue, Grace closed her lips and sucked. He tasted divine and as she slurped, a needy throb pulsed deep inside her pussy. Her brazen, sluttish actions thrilled her to the core and slick juices seeped from her depths fueling her need to fuck.
Catching her breath, she locked eyes with Iwan and held his gaze while she straddled him. Fiery locks spilled over her shoulders as she leaned to kiss him. She pressed her mouth hard against his while carefully positioning her pussy above his cock. She lowered her pelvis until his swollen head popped slickly between her labia and entered her.
Ohh… She tightened around him. Screw Jason. That relationship was over. She wanted this gentle giant of a man. She wanted to fuck. With a soft moan, she slowly impaled herself, taking him deep. Shit, that’s good!
Iwan moaned, hips writhing gently. Hands on his torso, Grace slid along his cock then, thrusting, swallowed him again. She ground down hard, groaning with pleasure. Iwan’s cock filled her – the tip hit her cervix and his girth stretched her sensitive walls. He felt right, like the missing piece in a puzzle she’d been desperate to complete. With him buried inside, she rocked her hips back and forth, gripping his cock with her pelvic muscles. Heat built in her core, her thrusts – becoming faster, harder – stoking it into an inferno. God, he feels good. Oh, yes!
She rode him wildly until spasms jolted her, stealing all control. Panting with excitement, Grace arched her spine. An orgasm tore through her, wave after wave as tempestuous as the storm. Loving every second, she threw back her head, red hair flying. “Ah, yes… yes!”
As the tremors ebbed, Grace spotted Iwan grinning. “What?” she said.
“Oh, nothing.”
Grace wiped her forehead and drew a deep breath.
“You tired?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No. Just taking a moment. You?”
He shook his head.
“Good.” Smirking, Grace ogled the man beneath her: smooth skin, taut muscles, adorable smile. Very good. She shuddered excitedly and her pussy pulsed. This was going to be a long night.
*
Iwan
Grace was asleep, sunlight illuminating her pale skin, red hair swirled over her face like tongues of flame. A fiery angel. She rolled over as Iwan eased quietly from the bed and he was tempted to crawl back in and snuggle up. But the campsite was stirring; there was work to be done.
He tiptoed to his bedroom, dressed, and snuck downstairs.
“Oh, darling,” he whispered, scooping up Eva’s photograph. “D’you think it’ll be a one night stand?” His shoulders sagged. “I wish you were here, I miss you so much.”
Replacing the picture, he mooched into the kitchen and filled the kettle to make tea. His cup was half empty when a knock on the door disturbed him. A hiker, one of a party of Japanese tourists, stood on his doorstep with money in his outstretched hand.
“Good morning,” said Iwan, nodding politely. “Thank you kindly and have a safe journey.” He watched the man rejoin his group. Were they sneering? They looked like they were. He wondered if they’d heard his antics in the night. Blushing, he pocketed the cash and closed the door.
“They’re leaving early.” Grace was in the living room, packed bag by her side.
“Hikers do that,” said Iwan. He eyed Grace’s bag. “Are you off somewhere?” Grace nodded and Iwan felt a strange twinge across his chest like a strap being tightened.
“I’m going into town to make some phone calls. You don’t have signal here.”
“I do, but it’s not great.”
“Can I leave my bag?” she asked. “I don’t really want to lug it around all day.”
“Yes, of course.” Iwan breathed again. She’s coming back. “Did everything dry?”
“Not quite but I thought I should vacate your spare room.”
“You didn’t need to. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.” He hesitated. “You’re not planning to leave later, are you?” She shrugged and Iwan’s heart sank. “Right, okay.” He forced a smile. “Breakfast before you go? Coffee?” Grace shook her head. “And your knees? You’ve put new plasters on.”
“They’re fine.” Walking to him, she raised on tiptoe and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”
Iwan nodded in reply and stared blankly as she left.
*
Grace
She had no plan, or not much of one: a walk to Betwys-y-Coed, breakfast by the river, then wander to Swallow Falls again. Her soggy trainers felt spongy as she walked and her clothes were damp, but she barely noticed. Her muddled mind whirled with memories: Iwan’s breath on her neck, the softness of his lips against hers, his cock inside her.
Grace sighed. What am I doing? Confusion had driven her to dress and pack quickly as soon as she’d woken. Confusion and guilt. Jason. She had a decision to make and conversations to have. She couldn’t walk out on a partner of nine years, her only serious boyfriend, without explanation. That would be cruel, hateful, and she didn’t hate Jason. But she no longer loved him. That was clear.
She breathed in the fresh air. She’d walk first, enjoy the sunshine and scenery. It was a beautiful day. Then what? Call Jason? Or get the next train home and talk face to face? That would be kinder though the thought scared her. What could she say? Sorry, dear, I think you’re boring and I’ve met a Welshman who can fuck all night? She smiled in spite of herself.
“Fuck it,” she mumbled. She rummaged in her pocket for a coin. “I’m not going to debate this all day. Heads I go home to face the music, tails I phone Jason and take Iwan up on his offer.” She kissed the coin. “Okay, here goes…”
*
It was evening when she knocked on his door. Her eyes still stung from the tears she’d shed but when she saw him again, her smile didn’t waver.
“You came back,” he said.
She nodded. “My bag’s here, remember?”
“Oh, yes.” Iwan grimaced. “So… are you…”
“Leaving?” She pointed at her feet. “New walking boots. Expensive. Shame not to use them.” Grace watched a smile spread the laughter lines on his face. “Does your offer still stand? To stay,” she prompted. “I didn’t buy a new tent.”
“I see. Yes, it stands.”
“Good. Here.” Grace held up a coin.
“What’s that for?”
“It’s lucky.” She grinned. “The first time you flip it might not work for you. Didn’t for me. But the second time’s a charm. Well, I hope it is. Go on, you have it.”
“Okay…”
Grace inched forward. “So… can I come in?” She smiled sweetly then squealed when he swept her into his arms and carried her over the threshold.
Kaidence
- 17.12.2022
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- Category:
- Love Stories
