Page 40 of Break the Ice

‘Well, I try.’

He runs a hand through his hair and finishes his Cup Noodles, looking into the fire. I can’t quite read him. There is a thread of goodness about him but I feel I’ve only scratched the surface. I want to know more of his stories. So I get out a very cheap bottle of some Irish liqueur I also picked up from Lidl. This might help. ‘You good, Americano?’

He looks at the bottle. ‘Are we drinking?’

‘It’s festive, it’s the rules. Plus this is chocolate-flavoured. I’ve got mouthwash that’s got more alcohol in it than this,’ I tell him, pouring him a small glass. ‘It’ll keep you warm. Just have a shot.’

He nods, takes the glass, then gets up and takes off his hoodie. It gets tangled on his t-shirt and I see a toned sliver of stomach and a glimmer of a garden path. Why is he undressing? I’m not sure I care, but at least I’ll get my trackies back.

‘OK, I don’t think I’ve ever said this out loud before but…’ He stretches his arms above his chest. ‘But I think I might be ready for my bubble bath now.’ He does a happy, amusing little tap dance.

‘I’ll follow you in there in a bit.’ He stands there for a moment, looking at me, while I ruffle out my curls. Oh. ‘I mean, after you’re done.’

He nods, blushing slightly. ‘Yeah, I know what you meant.’ He looks at me for a moment before going into the bathroom. I hear the sound of the water filling the tub and then a few minutes later, him stepping into the bath, and the relieved moan he makes as he gets in. I smile. But I also picture him in my mind. I bet he’s a toe dipper, an organised bather. I think about the curve of his biceps holding on to the edge of the bath, his thighs covered in bubbles, the way I imagine he’d run both hands through his hair before lying back. I shouldn’t be doing that. Maybe this bloody Irish liqueur is stronger than I thought.

EIGHTEEN

JOSHUA

I think I may have ticked something off my bucket list that I didn’t realise was on there, and that’s to have a long bath in a freestanding copper bathtub. I don’t know why but it makes me feel like a cowboy after a long day on the ranch, herding my cattle, when really all I’d done is driven for half a day, visited two supermarkets and been to the pub. I think there is something very nostalgic about taking a bath too. I feel like a big kid working the shampoo into my scalp and making my hair look like a giant shark’s fin. I’m glad there’s a lock on the door because, if Phoebe saw me doing this, she’d give me that look she gives me when I’m taking pictures of my chips or being amazed by the variety of cheese on offer in the supermarket.

‘ARE YOU NEARLY DONE?’ her voice sounds through the door.

‘YEP!’

There was a moment before between us when I thought she meant she wanted to follow me into the bathtub. Of course, she didn’t. It’s quite a small bathtub too – I don’t think it was built for two – we’d have been sitting at opposite ends, hugging our knees. But then I think back to her sitting in the back of my car in just her bra— No. What a way to complicate a road trip. I rinse out my hair, then step out, drain the bath, clean it and start it filling again for its next occupant. Gosh, even the towels are good. They’re fluffy and smell like jasmine. I dry myself and then wrap one around my waist.

I’ve not planned this right. My clean clothes are out by the bedroom. I am not decent for her to see me. I open the door and pop my head around, but as I do, she pushes it open fully to let herself in, wearing just a camisole top, panties and socks.

‘Oooh, what’s that smell? Is that vanilla?’ she says, going to the side of the bath and taking in the fragrance. ‘You started it for me, thanks!’ She squeezes another long squirt of bubble bath in the tub and then turns to me, quickly looking me up and down. I think those are little hearts printed on her panties.

‘Is that a tattoo?’ she asks me, staring at my shoulder. ‘Is that Tweety Pie?’

I blush. ‘Spring break in Cabo one year. I can go crazy when the situation dictates.’

She nods, raising an eyebrow, her gaze resting on my torso. I meanwhile am looking away, trying to be polite.

‘Oh, give over. It’s a small space. There’s no room for modesty here. Are you worried a gal might not cope? I might come across all faint at the sight of your naked chest in the flesh?’ she says, her accent veering into what she must think is Southern as she fans herself.

I shrug. ‘I’m just being a gentleman.’

She shakes her head. ‘I put your pants near the burner so they’re nice and toasty when you put them on,’ she tells me.

I smile, surprised by the gesture. She’s got some pyjamas tucked under her arm. ‘Thank you. You look like you’re getting ready for bed?’

‘I’m just getting comfy,’ she says, looking at her phone. ‘It’s coming up to seven. I checked online and roads are still blocked.’

I look through to the living area. I see wrapping paper on the table, and evidence of all the gifts we’ve bought over the course of the day.

‘Given we have some time, I can crack on with those,’ she says. ‘We can put a film on. There’s a Firestick. I have Netflix. We can watch some trashy Christmas rom-com.’

I nod, taking in the set-up. She’s even made hot chocolate.

‘Or if that’s not cerebral enough for you then we can play Scrabble. I found it in one of the cupboards,’ she says.

‘But it’s Christmas Eve,’ I say, watching her as she swirls the water around in the bath. Don’t look at her legs.

I can see she’s doing her absolute best not to tease me. ‘Did you need to hang out your stocking? Leave some cookies and milk out for the big guy?’