Page 66 of The Next Chapter

Still, I can’t openly admit to not wanting to be honest either. He’d run a mile.

‘Okay, honesty. I like that.’ I just keeping talking as Noah moves to the kitchen drawer by my hip to get the corkscrew. ‘I read this thing once, about radical candour. Basically, it’s where you just say it as it is. Seb sent it to me, I think. I liked it in principle, but I find it hard, you know, practically.’

Can you over-stir a risotto? I’ve sped up despite the persistent arm ache.

‘You want people to like you,’ he says simply, like it’s not my whole reason for being, my worst and best quality all rolled into one.

‘I really do,’ I admit. He’s looking at me again and my breath catches in my throat. ‘This is nearly ready.’ Chances are, I’m about to stir this rice into oblivion. Noah pops the cork out of the wine.

I ladle the chicken and mushroom risotto into two bowls and get the side salads I’ve already chopped out of the fridge.

‘This looks amazing. Thanks for cooking for me,’ Noah says as I spread it all out on the coffee table.

‘Oh, it’s nothing, honestly. You showed me the secret pool,’ I reply, arm ache long forgotten.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever had so many vegetables on one plate.’

I realize here that he’s taking the piss.

‘Let me guess, you live off cheeseburgers and look like that. What a cliché.’

That makes him laugh.

‘Look like what?’ he asks.

‘You know.’ I take a prim mouthful of risotto. Seb was wrong, it’s definitely not soggy rice.

‘Cheeseburgers are delicious, though,’ he finishes. Now isn’t the time to get into the correlation between red meat and incidences of bowel cancer.

Keen to move the conversation away from Noah’s looks or my slight obsession with keeping everyone around me alive, I think of some of the pre-prepared questions I thought up earlier.

I started doing this after Mum died, when I became acutely aware that awkward silences had become especially awkward. Enter stage left, preconceived talking points. They’ve been a lifesaver on many a Bumble date.

‘Do you know what you’ll be working on next?’ I ask Noah. ‘After the stint in Scotland, I mean. Or is that not how it works? Do you not get to plan?’

Noah swallows. We’re twisted so that our knees are pointing towards each other.

‘Sort of,’ he answers. ‘You can’t plan too far in advance. Normally how it works is that I get commissioned a couple of months ahead. So, I know I have a month in Italy after Skye, working on a piece for Intrepid. After that it’s a bit up in the air. I don’t like to plan too far ahead, I like the unpredictability of not knowing where I’ll be in six months.’

Sounds like my actual living nightmare. Still, I can’t say that so instead I say, ‘Wow, Italy sounds amazing. I’ve always wanted to go.’

Noah has a drink of the wine. ‘So why don’t you?’

He makes it sound so simple.

‘I’m more of a home body. My ex said I was hard work on holiday.’

‘Fair enough. Though for the record, you don’t seem hard work to me.’

‘That’s because you’ve only known me, like, three days.’ I laugh. ‘And Colin was all right. He could be hard work as well, so we were probably too similar. Did you never want to settle down and stay in one place?’

This was not one of my pre-arranged questions. Stick to the script, brain.

‘Sometimes,’ he admits. ‘There are a lot of travel influencers now so commissions can be harder to come by. I pitched for the one on Skye, though don’t tell Lola that.’

‘Seb says that Instagram will be the end of us all,’ I tell him.

Noah laughs. ‘I’ve been offered a steady gig with the Guardian, actually.’ He keeps his eyes on the rice. ‘I’d still get to travel, but shorter trips. It’s one of the things I’m thinking about for after Italy. I don’t like the thought of staying in one place.’ He is still zeroing in on that rice. ‘I’m used to moving around a lot. But it’s fine. I like my job. It would be good, though, being closer to Lola. I could help more.’