Page 75 of Under Your Spell

‘Because you fell asleep. It was supposed to be a tender moment, but I think you’ve broken my nose,’ Theo grumbles, lifting his hand to his perfect nose and checking for damage. I eye Theo’s face, which, aside from being a bit pink (I am no lightweight no matter how many bicep curls you do), looks absolutely fine.

‘Next time just wake me up,’ I say.

‘Oh, if only I had thought of that!’ Theo smacks his palm against his forehead. ‘No, wait, I did try – very gently – to wake you up, and you growled at me.’

‘I did not!’

Theo is laughing now. ‘Yes, you did. You drooled on my T-shirt and then you growled at me, and honestly I was afraid you were going to start biting me again next, so I very chivalrously decided to carry you up to your bed.’

‘Is it chivalrous to point out when a woman has drooled on you?’ I ask, turning and climbing up the rest of the stairs, Theo behind me.

‘Imagine if you’d broken my nose, Clemmie,’ he says from over my shoulder. ‘You wouldn’t be getting any more flowers from David then.’

‘Oh! My flowers.’ I spin back. ‘I need to put them in water.’

I’m standing at the top of the stairs now, but Theo is still a step below me. Our faces are almost level, and I get to enjoy a close-up view of his amused expression. Our lips are almost level too, and that is even more distracting.

‘I put the flowers in water earlier,’ he says, and I watch his mouth form each word.

‘Oh, good.’ I lick my lips, and something flares in Theo’s gaze.

The moment stretches, heavy with promise.

I move aside so that Theo can climb the final stair, which he does, his whole body brushing up against mine.

‘Well,’ I say, and then no other words seem to happen. My heart picks up again, pounding. We haven’t talked about the kiss yet. The whole Sam thing was obviously a mood-killer, but where do we stand now? Should I invite him into my room?

Theo takes a step towards me, crowding me back against the door to my bedroom. Oh my God, my body screams. This is it!!!!

‘Goodnight, Clemmie,’ he says softly, leaning forward and brushing a kiss across my cheek, an all-too-brief moment of contact. ‘And happy birthday.’

Then he turns and walks towards his own bedroom.

‘Oh, yes. You too,’ I squeak, flustered. ‘I mean, not happy birthday to you, because it’s not. Your birthday, I mean. But goodnight to you… too.’ I think I hear Theo chuckle as he closes the door behind him, clearly no longer in any hurry to rip my clothes off.

My head crashes back against the door and I close my eyes in mortification.

Super cool, Clemmie. It looks like thirty-three is off to an auspicious start.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

For two days Theo acts as if nothing has happened. He’s not awkward or distant, if anything he’s sweeter than ever – the first morning when I come downstairs it’s to find not only the flowers David sent me in a vase, but more daisies sitting in a jam jar next to my computer. He insists on cooking dinner for me by himself, and it’s not even a complete disaster. He emails a bookshop in Alnwick and orders me a parcel full of the children’s books they recommend.

But he doesn’t say a single word about Sam or the kiss.

And that’s fine, obviously. I’m taking it all in my stride. So we shared the most earth-shattering kiss in the history of human mouths, and I unburdened my soul to him, and he seems to have forgotten all about it. So what? Big deal. I’m not going to let a little thing like that faze me. At least that’s what I tell myself when I accidentally wash my hair with bubble bath, go to the shops wearing two different shoes, and walk into the fridge when Theo unexpectedly enters the kitchen.

Totally unfazed.

In fairness, Theo has been very busy writing – I’ve heard the muffled evidence coming from behind his bedroom door, and while he’s still been a bit reticent to talk about it, I get the sense he’s leaving here with the shape of a whole album at least. I know Serena has booked him a studio in LA in a couple of weeks’ time to record and that he feels excited about it. Which is great news for me because – despite actually doing very little – everyone is delighted with me. (Except David. David considers my work to have been acceptable.)

I have plenty to keep me occupied in these last few days as well, because while Theo is busy not talking about anything that happened between us, he’s also not talking about the fact we only have two days left before we leave Northumberland. But David certainly is. David has a lot to say about it.

I think he’s looking forward to getting Theo back to himself soon, and there is a long list of stuff that needs to be packed, and another long list of arrangements that need to be made for moving furniture, equipment, and Theo himself. I seem to spend half the day fielding phone calls from David, removal companies, and the airline because Theo’s guitars need some insane insurance policy before they can be shipped back to LA.

So, after days of silence on the subject, I think I can be forgiven for the undignified squeak that escapes my lips when Theo says, very casually over dinner, ‘I think we’d better talk about what we’re going to do about us once we leave Northumberland.’

‘What we’re going to do about us?’ I manage once the squeaking has finished.