by Lottie Lucas
“Oh, right.” She cradles the cup between her palms, motioning towards the living room doorway with her head. “Do you think they’re all right in there?”
“Don’t worry about it. Freddie’s really good with kids. Oscar will be absolutely fine.”
“It wasn’t Oscar I was worried about,” she says drily.
As if on cue, there’s a yelp from next door. Whether it came from man or child, I honestly couldn’t say. I half wonder if we should go and check, but Heather doesn’t stir a muscle. She just carries on sipping her coffee serenely.
Casper stretches in his basket, blinking indignantly at the sudden disturbance.
“Are you sure he doesn’t look just the tiniest bit peaky?” I try again, hopefully.
“Clara, if you want to call your vet, just call him,” Heather says with uncharacteristic impatience. “There’s no need to develop a case of Munchausen by proxy over it. He gave you his number, didn’t he?”
“Yes, but …”
“And told you to call him?”
“And told me to call him if Casper showed any signs of going downhill,” I correct her. “That’s not the same thing.”
Heather emits something which can only be described as a harrumph. “Yeah, right. Because it’s your cat he’s really interested in.”
I reach for a biscuit, shaking my head. “You’ll have to give me a moment to respond to that. I’m still getting over the fact that you just harrumphed at me. I didn’t know people really did that.”
“They do when there’s a valid reason for it,” she says pertly. “What are you so worried about, anyway?”
I pause, the biscuit hovering halfway to my lips.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Even to my own ears, it’s a pathetic-sounding denial.
“You know what I mean.” I watch in astonishment as she selects a biscuit and proceeds to dunk it forcefully into her coffee. I’ve never seen her do that before. She really must be rattled with me. “Let’s face it, you’ve hardly lived the life of a nun, Clara.”
My head shoots up. “Thanks a lot!”
“You know what I mean. It’s not like you’ve never played the dating game before. You know when a guy’s flirting with you. You know how to read between the lines. So what’s the real problem here?”
I stuff a biscuit in my mouth, playing for time. The truth is that I know exactly what the problem is. Unfortunately, it seems Heather does too.
“You’re overthinking it again, aren’t you?” she says sternly, putting her cup down on the table with a thud. “Look, Clara, it’s not as if you have to marry the man. You promised me that you were going to take things more steadily; well, here’s a chance to practise. You go out once, see how it goes. If nothing comes of it, then fine. Chalk it up to experience and move on.”
She pushes the card across the table till it’s resting next to my hand. “Call him. What’s the worst that can happen?”
I look up at the ceiling. Where do I start?
“Rejection. Abject humiliation. A waste of a good bra …”
She smiles. “Nothing new, then.”
I’m not even going to pretend to be affronted. After all, she does have something of a point there.
“All right, then.” I hold up my hands. “As usual, you’re right. I bow to your better judgement.”
“I should start charging by the hour for this,” she mutters into her cup. “I’d make an absolute fortune.”
Chapter 11
“All right,” I say to Casper as I plump the sofa cushions for about the third time in as many minutes. “Now, you remember the plan?”
He looks up at me with a bored expression.
“No running up the curtains. No leaping off furniture. And certainly no bringing in of dead animals. Just try to look … subdued, okay?”
He hops up onto the sofa, flattening the cushion I’ve just plumped so carefully. I narrow my eyes at him.
“Seeing as I require your co-operation in this, I’ll let that go.” I point a finger. “But only if you hold up your end of the bargain. I’m relying on you here.”
He just yawns, needling the cushion with his claws. I regard him dubiously. “You’re not exactly filling me with confidence.”
In retrospect, putting my fate in the paws of a raging sociopath wasn’t perhaps the wisest move I’ve ever made. But in the end I didn’t give myself much of a choice. As soon as I heard Josh’s voice on the other end of the phone, all of Heather’s prudent advice just whooshed straight out of my head, replaced with a kind of woolly panic. I totally froze up. So when he asked if Casper was all right …
I said no.
Or, rather, I heard a voice which sounded like mine say no. It’s all still a bit fuzzy, even now.
I cast a glance at the cat in question. He looks as far from ill as you can get. In fact, he’s recovered so admirably from his operation that I’ve had a hell of a time trying to keep him inside over the past couple of days.
“How do I look?” I ask, checking my make-up in the over-mantle mirror. Honestly, you’d think I’d never had a man in the house before, the way I’m jittering around the place.
I’m not usually this nervous before … well, I suppose I can hardly call it a date. I believe that the term date would imply a willingness, or at least an awareness, between both parties. As far as Josh’s concerned, this is a professional call.
So a date that’s not a date. Which, incidentally, is really hard to dress for. My bedroom looks like a tornado’s been through it. I had just about every item of clothing I own out in a bid to achieve an I’m-just-hanging-out-at-home-but-looking-really-glamorous-while-I’m-at-it kind of vibe. God bless whoever invented jumper dresses is all I can say. They have my eternal gratitude.
Like I said, I’m never usually this nervous. As Heather so charitably put it, this isn’t exactly my first rodeo. But something’s different this time; there was a spark between us, a natural yet unexpected alchemy. I felt it in the consulting room, despite the less-than-romantic surroundings and the hindrance of a cantankerous cat watching our every move. I felt it again later, when he handed me his card and asked me to call him. And when his fingers accidentally brushed mine, electricity seemed to tingle all the way up my arm.
It’s been so long since I last felt anything of the kind that I suppose I’m almost afraid of it, somehow. Like it’s such a rare, fragile thing that it might break if I get too close.
I daren’t tell Heather any of this; she’d kill me. I’m supposed to be taking it slowly. But I can’t help how I feel, can I?
The knock on the door makes me jump, even though I’ve been expecting it for the past ten minutes. “Showtime,” I say to Casper, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Let’s do this.”
A disinterested flick of the tail is the only movement he makes.
I skid across the polished wooden floor of the hallway, almost wrenching open the front door in my haste. Already, not the finest of starts.
“Hello,” he says with a lopsided smile which makes my stomach flip. For a moment, I can only blink back at him. I’d almost forgotten how good-looking he is.
“You’re not wearing your scrubs,” I blurt out, already despairing of myself before the sentence is even finished. Really, Clara? That’s your opening line?
“I stopped in at home to change,” he says. “That’s why I’m a bit late. I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” I say shyly. It was a good choice. He might be one of the few people who can make bright green scrubs look good, but he looks even better in a shirt and jeans. Particularly when the shirt’s a soft cerulean blue which complements his golden skin tone and picks out the blond tones in his hair. He looks more like he belongs by the sea in the Californian sunshine than a residential street in Cambridge on a dim October night.
Belatedly remembering that I need to at least try and behave like a normal human being, I shake myself free of my thoughts and stand back to let him pass
. “Come on in.”
Through the doorway to the living room, I see Casper’s head pop up at the sound of a new voice. His ears are pricked and he’s staring intently at Josh. That’s not a good sign. For the first time, I start to have misgivings. I was so wrapped up in how I felt about Josh coming over that I never really stopped to think how Casper might react. What if I’ve made a terrible miscalculation? After all, behaving decently while we were at the vet’s is one thing; he might have liked Josh well enough in that setting, but what about when his territory is being invaded?
“Evening, Casper,” Josh says cheerfully, bending down to scoop him up.
I lurch forwards. “Wait, perhaps you shouldn’t—”
I break off. Casper’s already lying happily on his back in Josh’s arms, purring like an engine.
Josh glances up apologetically. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say faintly as Josh scratches Casper’s tummy. Normally, that’s something he’ll only let me and Freddie do. What is happening to my cat?
“I have to say, he doesn’t look too bad,” Josh says thoughtfully.
Bugger. I’d forgotten about that.
“Er, yes … amazing how they can suddenly pick up, isn’t it?” I manage in a strained voice.
“Quite,” he says. His tone is perfectly serious but his eyes are glittering with amusement. “Having said that, I’d perhaps better stick around for a while. Just in case he relapses, you know?”
My heart flutters in my chest. This is definitely not standard procedure.
“Oh, yes,” I say breathlessly. Then, striving for a more normal voice, “Would you like a drink?”
“I think it could be more serious than that,” he says mildly. “Have you had dinner yet?”
That’s an unexpected question if ever there was one.
“No, I haven’t.”
As if I could eat with the prospect of him turning up on my doorstep. I’d forgotten how slimming a crush could be.
“We’d better fix that, then. How about I cook something for you?” He turns to look at me and laughs. “You don’t have to look so worried, you know. I can cook.”
“I don’t have a lot in,” I say hesitantly, watching as he begins to rummage around in the cupboards. I hope he doesn’t come across anything too out of date.
“I’m sure we can manage.” He extracts a tin of olives from the top shelf. “It’s amazing what you can do with store cupboard ingredients.”
“It’s usually better stocked.” I feel the need to defend my domestic capabilities. “But it’s all been somewhat chaotic around here lately. My brother turned up out of the blue about a week ago and …”
Hang on, come to think of it, where is Freddie? I didn’t hear him go out, but then I haven’t noticed him thundering about upstairs either. Surreptitiously, I back towards the doorway, poking my head out into the hall. His coat’s not on the rack. And his shoes, normally kicked haphazardly across the mat, are conspicuous by their absence. I breathe a sigh of relief as I move back to my original position in the centre of the kitchen. That could have been uncomfortable.
“And then, of course, there’s Casper,” I continue easily, hoping Josh won’t notice the pause. “He’s been keeping me on my toes.”
As though summoned by the sound of his name, Casper comes trotting into the room. I reach down to stroke his head but he bypasses me completely, winding around Josh’s legs instead.
“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath. He’d do well to remember who feeds him.
Josh drizzles oil into a pan and adds some finely chopped onions.
“I seem to have taken over your kitchen,” he says sheepishly when he catches me looking. “Sorry. You get used to cooking at rapid speed when you work the hours I do.”
“No, honestly … it’s nice.” I’m still a bit dazed at the sight of him making himself at home so confidently. It’s like he’s been here a hundred times.
Belatedly becoming aware that I’m staring, I open the fridge and survey the contents. There was a newly opened bottle of wine in here yesterday which I’m hoping Freddie hasn’t got to in the interim. “So, where were you before? Before you came to Cambridge, I mean?”
I feel I should know something more about the man standing in my kitchen than simply that he’s dashingly handsome.
“London.” He tosses the onions in the pan with a flick of the wrist. “A huge practice. I didn’t like it much. Everything always had to be rushed. I prefer to take the time to understand my patients.”
He calls them patients. That’s so sweet. It’s almost enough to give me a warm glow. Although, of course, that could just be the wine.
“Animals aren’t like people,” he’s saying now. “They can’t just tell you what’s wrong. Not in so many words, at least. You have to be patient, coax it out of them in other ways. Learn to speak their language. Of course—” he casts a meaningful look down at Casper, who’s rubbing against his shin lovingly “—some are more voluble than others.”
“Oh, really?” I wander over to the oven on the pretence of stirring the sauce. In truth, I just want to be nearer to Josh. Somehow, he just seems to draw me closer like a magnet. I can’t stay away. “And what is he saying right now?”
He leans back against the kitchen counter, surveying me over the rim of his wineglass. “He says that he likes his new vet very much.”
“Does he now?” A little thrill runs through me, and I bite my lip. I wonder if it’s a concerning sign that he’s such an accomplished flirt. He always knows how to say exactly the right thing. “And what else does he have to say?”
“That he wants his dinner.”
Casper finally begins to look interested in our conversation. I hide a smile. “It’s not his dinner time yet.”
Josh shrugs. “He thought it was worth trying his luck. He says it often works. Apparently you’re a soft touch.”
Casper miaows in agreement.
“I most certainly am not.” I tilt my chin. “I’ll have you know that I have a resolve of steel.”
Is it just me, or are we suddenly very close? I can practically feel the heat radiating off his body.
“That’s a shame,” he says softly. “It wouldn’t be worth me trying my luck, then?”
I look up into his eyes. They’re an amazing shade of green in this light, and filled with something which makes my breath hitch and my pulse leap. And in that moment I know that I’ll be breaking my promise to Heather. I couldn’t go slowly right now if I tried. I’m already all in.
“I wouldn’t say that, exactly.” I close the gap between us. “I’m not completely impervious to persuasion.”
“Good. Then let me persuade you.”
And the next thing I know, his lips are on mine.
Chapter 12
I wake up slowly, as I always do, taking my time to stretch luxuriantly before my eyelids flutter open. Sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains, pooling across my blossom-patterned duvet.
I roll over onto my side, pulling the covers with me with a sigh of deepest content. I love Saturdays. No hurry to get up, no rushed breakfast, no museum. No Jeremy …
Wait, what was that? My eyes pop open as I become aware of a sound drifting up through the floorboards. I lie there, ears straining to pick up on the faint melody.
Music. Coming from my kitchen. I reach for my phone, tension coiling in my stomach: half past eight. Freddie still exists in an owl-like mixture of student and barman time. I’ve never known him to surface much before nine-thirty. So, either I have a very audacious burglar down there, or else …
Very slowly, I turn my head to look across at the pillow next to me. There’s a dent in the centre of it.
Suddenly, it’s all there, a blur of recollection jostling for space in the front of my brain. First the wine. Then the kiss. Then …
I prop myself up on my elbows as I recall that particular part. Did I really do that?
Almost of its own accord, a r
ising bubble of hysterical laughter rises to my lips and I clasp a hand across my mouth to stop it bursting out. Oh, yes, I most certainly did. And he did.
Oh, the things he did …
Ahem. On second thoughts, perhaps you don’t need to know the details. Suffice it to say, I had a very nice time.
And he’s still here.
Rolling out of bed with such enthusiasm that I almost land flat on the floor, I snatch my kimono from its hook on the back of the door, pausing only to scrutinise my appearance in the full-length mirror. I’ve never been sure what people mean when they talk about a post-sex glow; personally, I always just look rumpled and faintly exhausted. I run a hand over my hair in an attempt to reinstate some sort of control, before accepting that it’s a losing game and purposefully tousling it instead. Sexy bedhead it is, then.
I gallop down the stairs, skidding to a halt in the kitchen doorway and trying to adopt an insouciant air. As it turns out, it’s a wasted venture because he’s got his back to me as he stands at the oven. I look around in amazement; rarely does my little kitchen see such industry of a morning. Coffee brews in the cafetière, bacon sizzles in a pan on the hob and sitting on the bread board is an artisan-looking loaf, already cut into neat slices.
“Morning,” I say shyly.
He turns, and warmth flickers in the depths of his green eyes. “Morning. Do you want some breakfast?”
I wander over to pour myself some coffee, passing close by him as I do so. I kind of want to put my arms around him, but I can’t quite bring myself to be so bold. What’s the etiquette in these situations? I’ve never had a one-night stand cook me breakfast before.
Then again, I’ve never met anyone quite like Josh before. He has a way of making everything seem too easy and natural; there’s none of the usual awkwardness that comes after a spontaneous sexual encounter. It feels totally normal, somehow, that he’s here, pottering around in my kitchen. Like he’s my boyfriend, not someone I only met three days ago.
Hang on … was it really only three days ago? Okay, when I put it like that, this does all sound rather precipitate. I’m kind of beginning to see Heather’s point.