Page 65 of The Next Chapter

‘I mean it, you know you like it really.’

Seb’s right. I do like it. It’s like the swearing. It might not be in my MO, but sex takes me out of my own head, just like running.

Good sex, I should say, the sort that distracts me from thoughts of dead relatives watching on.

There’s a knock at the cottage doors.

‘Shit, he’s here. What should I do?!’

‘You’ve been stirring that risotto for decades. Let the poor guy in so you can eat it.’ There’s a pause. ‘And then shag him.’

‘Seb!’

‘Er, just letting you know that I can hear your conversation,’ Noah calls from the outside.

Seb must hear enough of what Noah says to start cackling. I end the call mid-cackle and pull open the door to Noah, my face absolutely on fire.

‘We’re having risotto?’ he asks, half his mouth pulled into a smile.

‘Ohmygod, I’m so sorry that you heard that. I don’t… I never…’ I draw a blank. Whether through shame or the fact that Noah is wearing a soft grey shirt, I don’t know. His hair looks wet, and it’s pushed back for once. He has a notebook in his hand. It’s a good thing that I am mortified, otherwise there’s a chance I really would jump him.

He starts to laugh. ‘Don’t worry about it, Lily.’ He smiles a full smile now. ‘You look nice.’

He’s probably just being polite. I get that. Especially since I don’t feel nice. I feel unravelled, and as predicted, my now dry hair is frizzing up with gusto.

‘Thanks, you look…’ Edible. That’s weird that I think that, right? Luckily, I manage to stop my brain from spouting it out, settling on ‘nice’ too. It’s bland, but also less Armie Hammer.

‘Come in.’ I step aside and let him pass, only doing the shallowest of breaths as he does. I don’t want to know that he smells clean and kind of earth-like. But I can’t be held responsible if I just happen to breathe in some of his smell. We all need to breathe.

‘I hope risotto’s okay?’ I ask, going back to stirring to give me something to do. Seb’s right, this is a lot of effort for wet rice. ‘I made a salad too.’ I’m the embodiment of lame.

‘Great, thanks.’ Noah sits on the sofa. ‘I’ll eat anything.’

I’ve put a bottle of wine on the little glass coffee table that’s now back in front of the sofa since Seb isn’t here anymore. I’m suddenly very, very aware that every single thing I’ve done screams DATE instead of BUSINESS MEETING. Like at all. Oh good god, I lit a candle. I look over at him.

‘You’re panicking again,’ he says.

‘Nooooo.’ I draw it out. ‘I’m not panicking. Just, er, recalibrating. Like yes, we have wine. But we don’t have to drink it, you know, because this is about Lola and the hotel. I have water, obviously. Everyone has water. Fresh water from the spring… couldn’t be fresher. Shall we make a point of that, erm, somewhere? Or some more of that lemonade that Harper hated. We can have whatever you like.’

‘Do you always put so much thought into what you have to drink?’ he asks.

‘I feel like the answer you’re looking for is no,’ I venture. ‘But the honest answer is yes. I overthink everything. Seb calls it the millennial curse.’

Noah laughs.

‘Well, how about this. I’m not great with… people. Too complicated, you know? So, honestly, if I don’t want wine, I’ll just say so. I don’t think too much about things.’

Interesting. Very interesting.

Imagine not thinking about things.

‘But as it is—’ He’s talking pretty fast. ‘—I’d really like wine. Thanks very much. I’ll open it, if you like. You seem to have your hands full.’

I actually can’t think of a reply to what he’s saying.

Honesty sounds refreshing. It’s just obviously not something I can offer him back. No matter how honest we are, I can’t tell him who I am or why I’m here.

It takes some of the shine off the evening.