A Wee Something to Wet Your Thrapple*

* to wet your thrapple – to have a taste of something

An extract from Festival Fireworks before the blog tour which starts next week:

Andrew turned to her and took hold of her hands.

‘I want to thank you for arranging an absolutely fabulous party and to apologise for my bad-temper, my bad behaviour, and anything else bad about me that you don’t like.’

Jill stared at him, open-mouthed. He was apologising to her? Mr. Bossy Big-boots was actually saying sorry? 

He must have seen her shock. ‘I really do mean it. It was one of the best parties we’ve ever had, and there were some interesting and hopefully lucrative contacts made. Some people will owe you a great vote of thanks.’

Jill nodded, still shocked. ‘Sam,’ she said. ‘He said he might get a contract from tonight.’

‘Exactly. And it’s all thanks to you.’ 

‘Not entirely. You made up the guest list, I just did what you asked. Well, after a fashion,’ she added, remembering the fiasco about the venue.

‘But the party wouldn’t have been so relaxed, and people wouldn’t have mixed so well if we’d had it where you booked it originally.’

‘Then, thank your neighbours. They really got things going.’

Andrew smiled at her. ‘You’re determined not to take any credit for it, are you? But I’m thanking you… like this.’

He pulled her towards him and bent his mouth to hers. Jill closed her eyes as his lips met hers. They were warm and sweet tasting, soft and tender, and kissed just the way she liked being kissed. She sighed gently and let herself draw even closer into his arms. Their kiss deepened, their mouths opened to each other, their bodies fitted themselves into each other, adjusting till closeness and warmth were satisfied. Heaven could not be any more perfect. 

Their lips parted, their eyes opened, and they looked at each other in a new way; a new recognition taking over from the old. Mr. Bossy was gone, Mr. MacCallum-Blair was gone, only Andrew was left. Her Andrew. Jill smiled up at him and moved to kiss him again.

A loud buzz sounded.

Andrew drew apart from her. ‘Who can be wanting in at this time of the night?’ he said. He walked into the hall, flipped the switch on the entry phone, and said sharply, ‘Yes?’ into the speaker. 

‘Police,’ came the tinny reply.

Festival Fireworkds

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