***

When the alarm reached her sleeping mind, her first thought was that her flu must be back. She felt hot, couldn't move, and she always woke up before her alarm - and why would she even be in bed in the middle of a day? And then she remembered. She opened her eyes and looked at the man in front of her. He was frowning, and scrunching his nose, bothered by the alarm - and then he shifted, trying to bury himself into her, with irritated grumbling. He rubbed his nose to her neck, and she recognised these slow lush movements of his. The tone of the noise in his throat changed, and then his hips pressed into hers. Her body reacted - first with lust, and then resistance - and she shivered unpleasantly. He kept trying to press tighter into her - and suddenly there was no bed under her. She gasped, and her buttocks, and then her shoulder blades met the floor. She yelped, from the pain that echoed in her spine.

"Bollocks, what–" he muttered, and opened his eyes. "Vi, what are you–"

"You pushed me off the bed," Viola pointed out, grabbed to the edge of the desk, and pulled herself up.

"Oh sorry," he said, groaned, and rolled on his back. "We're in my sleeper."

"We are," she said with a chuckle.

She pulled her mobile out of her handbag and turned off the alarm. He yawned and stretched in all his massive length. He threw his arms above his head, grunted, and arched his back. Rhys Holyoake, she suddenly remembered, did everything with gusto, if circumstances allowed. He enjoyed his food, his sleep, lazy lie-ins, and busy days with equal amounts of enthusiasm - if he wasn't stressed or rushed. Clearly, at the moment he felt neither. Viola turned away from him and looked down at her mobile. Yola had sent her three texts, and Viola could guess their content quite easily. No doubt, someone would have informed Yolanda of the kiss at the bake by now. And of course, she would have made certain conclusions regarding Rhys and Viola leaving together.

"What's up?" he asked quietly behind her, and she turned and gave him a small smile.

She wondered if he could tell the difference between her sincere smiles, which were endlessly rare, and this plastic one she was so good at.

By now, everyone who had paid attention and was at least a bit interested would assume they'd been sleeping together. It didn't brother Viola, she'd known it would happen when she'd chosen to kiss him in front of the whole county. What worried her was that she suspected he shared such expectations.

"Should we head to the river?" she said, and tucked her phone back into the handbag.

"Vi, what's wrong?" he asked.

She looked at him over her shoulder, and saw that he'd stretched his hand to her, inviting her to come back to bed.

She wanted to. Heaven above, so much! Except, all she wanted was to hug, and curl into him, and feel warm and safe. She felt no hunger, no desire. All Viola suddenly felt was tired. She wasn't sure she had energy to deal with the complicated, taxing, emotionally loaded question of having sex with her ex-husband.

She could pretend to be deaf. Just as Fiona had mentioned, it was a skill all Holyoakes were most proficient at - and it would be almost entertaining to turn the tables.

Except, they had tried this sort of relationship, hadn't they? The one without any communication, without voicing one's needs and fears, the one that had failed miserably ten years ago.

Viola sighed, leaned her back against the desk, and gave him a soft look.

"I'm worried that you– I'm not worried, that's not the right word," she said and shook her head. "I love what we have right now. I've just had the best sleep I've had in years. And the bake was fun. And I want to go skating."

She threw him a look and saw that he clearly couldn't understand what she was talking about. He wasn't scoffing or pressing his lips in a thin disgruntled line, though. He just lay on the bed, his hand still outstretched towards her.

"I want to sit with you on the bed and eat our pudding," Viola said firmly. "But I don't want to have sex with you. Not yet. Not– now."

Emotions splashed in his eyes, he pulled his hand back - and Viola held her breath. The Rhys of ten years ago would grit his teeth, glare at her, then pretend he needed something in his phone, and wouldn't talk to her for three days after a statement like that.

"Alright," he said softly and shifted closer to the wall, sitting up, making space for her. "Whatever you want, love."

Viola gave him a shocked look, and he chuckled.

"Just like that?" she asked. "Just 'alright?'"

"What's with the tone of surprise?" he asked and clicked his tongue. "I'm not an animal. I can enjoy a strawberry cupcake with a woman without expecting her to shag me afterwards." Viola gave him a sardonic look, and he laughed. "C'mon, love, surely even I'm not that bad."

There were indeed strawberry cupcakes in the square boxes she'd taken out of the fridge for them, and she sat down on the bed cross-legged and pulled the treat out of the container. Rhys by then was half-done with his. He once again would taste of strawberries, she thought. She scooped a bit of the frosting with her left index finger and licked it off. The flavour was fresh, not too sweet, and she took a small bite.

"Vi, I know you think I'm being daft, but seriously, why don't you just tell me the rules?" he said and licked his lips. "Tell me what you want. We're dating, I reckon, but–" He shrugged and lowered his hand with his treat onto his lap. "But... you're saying you won't sleep with me."

"Rhys, I do remember who I'm dealing with," she said quietly. "I know how much you hate any sort of... vagueness. I meant exactly what I said. I just don't think I'm ready to sleep with you right this moment. It could change tonight, it could take longer. I doubt it wouldn't change at all."

He furrowed his eyebrows, his eyes lowered to the cupcake in his hand.

"It's not straightforward for me," she continued explaining, hoping he listened and could actually hear her. "I'm attracted to you. I'm excited to spend time with you. I kissed you myself, and I'm hoping we'll kiss a lot more now. But sex is different - for me. I need you to respect it."

"I respect it," he said, emphasizing the word. "I just don't understand it. Why? What's different about it?"

She once again felt annoyance rise - and then she saw he was simply asking. 'With me, what you see is what you get,' isn't it what he always says?

"Rhys, it's quite a heavy conversation, and I don't want to have it right now," she said calmly, and met his eyes. "We woke up together, and suddenly there was this... pressure. The question was in the air," she said with a joyless chuckle. "And I– I don't want to think about it, to explain it, to argue about it. I just– don't want to bother with the question of sex at this very moment. It's complicated, and we will have this conversation, but not on a lovely Festival day, when I'm enjoying a strawberry cupcake, and we're going to go skating."

She glanced at him again, from her treat, and saw that he was frowning. Viola sighed.

"Alright," he said in a low voice. "We will just– leave it for now. Just tell me one thing, so I know what I'm dealing with here. Has– something happened?"

She stared at him confused. "What do you mean?"

"Did something happen to you? Between you and your husband... or with some other man? Is that what it's about?" he pronounced with difficulty. "Because when we were married, you didn't have any– problems with sex, so I assumed–" He trailed away and gave her a questioning look.

She understood then - and exhaled and shook her head with a warm smile.

"No, love, nothing happened to me," she said, put down her cupcake, and shifted closer to him on the bed. "It's nothing that grave, or traumatic. But thank you for asking. It's more about my body image and my eating disorder." She picked up his hand and intertwined their fingers. "Just be patient with me, please. Let me get there on my own terms."

"Of course, Vi," he said readily, and gently squeezed her hand. "That's what I'm saying. Just tell me what we're doing."

"We're going skating," she said and leaned in closer. "And we're kissing in public. We're going to have dinner on Monday. And apparently we eat and nap together comfortably." She quickly kissed his cheek. "And it's wonderful."

"You said there's 'pressure,'" he murmured and turned his head slightly, almost brushing his lips to hers. "I don't want you to feel pressured... but you also said 'kissing' and 'sleeping together,'" he drew out and gave her a small cheeky smirk. "You'll have to outline those boundaries you've mentioned for me, love. I don't want to get carried away and arse it up."

She could see worry hiding under his flirting - and she felt a wave of appreciation for him wash over her. He'd identified the problem and was looking for the most efficient strategies. It felt lovely to be his 'project.' It simply meant he cared.

"I said 'napping,' but I see your point," she said with a small laugh. "I'm not asking you to restrain yourself in any way. I like it that you– want me." She tucked one of his heavy, silky curls behind his ear. He tilted his head and pressed his cheek into her palm. "I just might ask you to slow down at some point. And we can talk about it some time later."

"Sure," he said and covered her hand with his, and rubbed his jaw to her palm. His beard sent the already familiar exciting shivers down her spine. "Finish your cupcake. Let's go, I'll teach you to skate."