You look down again, hair hiding your face, but lean into me for comfort. I hold you closer and push the hair out of your eyes and tilt your face up to me. For a moment, both of us just look in to each other’s eyes, feeling our hearts pounding faster. Nervous to move too fast too soon, I place a kiss on your forehead and hold you close again. We talk some more, just enjoying cuddling with each other, easily revealing things we wouldn’t be comfortable sharing with others, when you start caressing my leg; a sign you’re ready to go further. I look over at you, and you look at me, and I gently place my hand on your cheek. Our breathing becomes heavier, but we don’t look away. I slowly lean in and place a soft kiss on your lips. I separate from you and look at you for confirmation that that was okay. You purr in response, and I can’t help giggling at how cute you are. I lean in and give you another kiss, this time taking your bottom lip between mine and nibbling. You moan into my lips,. “It is truly a horrid morning, this mist! What is the other dog called?” “Oh, that’s Magic. You like dogs then?” “I adore them. I would like to do this one. I’ve never done animals. I think he would look grand in bronze.” I tried to imagine what Trotsky would like in a Bronze by Angela Sable. All her pieces were figure studies but were tortured somehow, both riveting and painful at the same time. She saw the look on my face. “Oh no,” she said, ”him I would do natural.” “How long have you lived in Norfolk?” ”Almost ten years now. I came here when I came to England. It reminds me a little of home.” “Where is home, if you don’t mind me asking?” “I am an Estonian, Mr Booth. What your newspapers would describe as an ‘economic migrant’.” That explained her accent and slightly odd, formal phrasing. I’ve never visited Estonia so I couldn’t say whether it the flat Norfolk coast would remind her of it, but I suppose the Baltic can be just as depressing as the North Sea in winter. “Look,“ I.
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