Page 72 of The Next Chapter

‘Did not need to know that. But yes, we’re done. You’re still going to check on Elton for me today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Make sure he’s only having the dry food. You know what Mr Cains is like.’

‘Got that.’

‘And you promise to try those patches I got you?’

‘I promise, dear.’

‘And you got the draft of the opening for Lola’s book that I sent?’

‘I did. And exhausting as this is, I have some thoughts about the book I need to share. Will the Wi-Fi there hold for a Zoom meeting, do you think?’

‘I reckon so. Harper managed to play Spotify for three hours yesterday.’

‘Good, I’ll set one up. Keep me posted on how you’re getting on up there. Call anytime.’

‘I will, thank you.’

‘But not before 7am again or I’ll block your number.’

‘Fine. Bye, Seb.’

‘Morning.’ I twist around to find Noah in the doorway of the bedroom. Mercifully, he’s put his boxers back on, because even him shirtless is a lot for this early.

I flail and drop my phone.

‘Morning.’ There’s a very good chance I look like a startled deer. My eyes, already on the big side, are wide and fixed very determinedly on Noah’s face. Even though I fear that after last night, this is something of a moot point.

I clutch my dressing gown ever tighter.

‘Coffee?’ Noah asks, walking past me, seemingly oblivious to my particular brand of startled panic.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, stopping before me to plant a kiss on the top of my head. Maybe not so oblivious, then. I should have Googled the etiquette thing over calling Seb. He was useless. And I really didn’t think that morning head kisses were within the parameters of a fling. But then what the hell do I know? I decide to follow Noah’s lead.

‘Yeah, I bought my own. It’s in the top cupboard.’

Noah moves around the kitchen, filling up the percolator and boiling the kettle. I watch him with the kind of rapt attention normally reserved for children and zoo animals.

‘Milk and sugar, right?’ he asks, no doubt remembering the coffee that I drank at his cottage two days ago.

Trying to maintain a semblance of control, I add my own milk and half a spoon of sugar and then breathe it in, hoping that I at least look like the cool, calm and collected person I aim to be.

‘So should we revisit our plans for the hotel or…?’ Noah lets the sentence hang.

I mean, first of all, how the fuck is it only Tuesday? I feel like I’ve lived several lifetimes already on Skye. And secondly, it’s almost ridiculous to think that I’d bail on a plan. Plans are life.

‘Yes, definitely.’ I start talking at pace. ‘Let’s recap. We have a three-pronged plan of attack.’ I don’t even stumble over all the p’s. ‘Step one, we do what we can around the place to help Lola out. Step two, I live the guest experience and report back, and step three, we make your article as amazing as possible. As a subsidiary of step two, a step two b, if you will, I’ll look to consider a new marketing plan for Lola. Something with some real wow factor. I did an MA in marketing a couple of years ago. Just for fun.’

Noah appears momentarily lost for words. Seb does say that I get a little giddy when I’m forming a plan.

But this is excellent. I’m going to be busy. So busy. There’ll actually be no time at all to carry on this little ill-advised tryst. I’ll hardly have time to write Lola’s memoirs and keep on top of my other work with it all. It’s brilliant. What I’ll need is a robust weekly timetable.

‘Er, Lily, is everything okay?’

It’s only then I realize how flustered I’ve become.