I kissed his cheek and he kissed mine back, and just when I had hold of his lapels and was leaning up so that our lips brushed, the train pulled into the station, bringing with it a gust of wind that blew my hair around our faces. “I’m sure she will tell you everything just as soon as she is able,” I said against his lips. I didn’t think he heard me over the noise of the train, but something changed in his eyes.
His lips moved slowly against mine, playfully, teasing a kiss that never quite landed. The platform was a frenzy of movement and noise all around us, and I could only see him, only feel his gentle exhale against my lips. And then he kissed me, but it was the way he held me that made me feel the change in him. His arms completely surrounded me, pulling me in tight. One hand pushed up into my hair to hold me close even after his lips pulled free of mine. He rested his forehead to my temple and kissed my cheek before releasing me slowly—like he didn’t want to, like he might pull me back in at any second.
Lock seemed more his old self once we found our seats on the train. He pointed across me to a woman seated on the aisle just two seats ahead of us reading a book. “She is a hairdresser. Tell me when you see it.”
I might have assumed the same, just from the elaborate dye job and the critical mass of product that held the curls in her hair in a perfectly natural wave that most likely wouldn’t move in a hurricane. But then she lifted her hands to examine her nails, and I saw calluses on her thumb and forefinger. There were tiny hair fragments on her pant legs below the knee, and probably most telling, she was shod in the ugliest, most comfortable-looking Mary Janes of all time.
“Shoes,” I said, because I knew it would be the one thing he wouldn’t notice. By his immediate glance toward them, I was right. “No one who spends that much time on her hair wears such soulless shoes unless she’s on her feet all day.”
He didn’t comment, but I watched the corners of his mouth twitch before he gestured behind us with his head. “The gentleman behind us teaches chemistry.”
“Chalky, cracked fingers? Too easy.”
I watched as his gaze flitted from person to person in our car, sizing up and dismissing each in turn until finally he pointed at a girl who was crying in the back corner of our train car. “So, tell me about that one if you crave a challenge.”
“What’s so challenging about a girl crying on a train? It could be anything.”
“Exactly. Girls cry over everything.” He obviously didn’t see my expression or he’d have stopped talking. “She could’ve broken a nail for all we know. . . . Or perhaps it is something serious,” he added, only after he glanced at me.
I made sure to enunciate when I spoke. “You are an idiot.”
“And a Neanderthal. But you’ll have to take the blame for that. I warned you what would happen if you rewarded me.”
I tried very hard not to smile, but my mind betrayed me by replaying the moments around his warning over and over, until it was inevitable. “Damn.”
“Given up so soon?” He went back to studying our crying girl, his steepled fingers tapping against his lips. I joined in, never expecting to almost instantly discover her secret—a secret I was sure Lock wouldn’t have deduced were I to lay out the clues before him and wait until the end of time for him to see it.
I quietly cleared my throat and turned to look out at the passing landscape.
“You have given up,” he accused.
“I haven’t.”
“You don’t know the answer already.”
“Tell me when you see it,” I said, still staring out the window. Though I could see his brow furrow in my periphery.
He tried valiantly, my Lock, but he never did note the pale hue of her face, the way her bra appeared two sizes too small, or even the way her hand kept resting across her stomach just before a fresh wave of tears fell from her eyes. I never told him either. When he got twitchy and frustrated, I did give him a hint.
“She hasn’t broken a nail,” I whispered.
Chapter 17
The first thing I noticed when we stepped out of Brighton station was the smell. Even blocks from the beach, I could smell the ocean and hear the gulls. It was tempting to stay and ignore the chore of travel to a tiny village like Piddinghoe, especially after we realized we’d missed the bus to Newhaven by minutes, which meant another train ride northeast to Lewes, followed by a bus back south to Piddinghoe, and then a walk into the village. I tried to get Lock to stay in Brighton, which seemed the most obvious place to waste a few hours, but he followed me back onto the train, mumbling something about the loneliness of beach towns.
I spent most of our trip talking up the glory of Lewes, not that I knew much about the place. Still, I was able to distract him from following me on to Piddinghoe with a carrot in the form of an Herb Walk flyer that promised a tour around the Railway Land Local Nature Reserve with an herbalist.
“Come with me.” His eyes were bright with all the possibilities, though they immediately shadowed a bit when I shook my head.
“I’ve an errand to run. I’ll call your mobile when I’m back.”
“Back from where?” He was barely restraining his smile over my slipup.
“When I’m done.”