Snatching up a spare bit of paper, I wrote out a quick accompanying note to go with my gift.
Hey neighbour,
For any trouble I’ve caused you.
Thanks and sorry, Giovanna
PS Dark chocolate and rum cake: contains eggs, milk and gluten; doesn’t contain nuts.
It felt almost dishonest signing off with my full name like that, like I was pretending to be someone I wasn’t, but it would’ve felt even weirder to sign off as Gio when that wasn’t how Theo knew me. Gio may have been the one to go to that party with Dec, but it was Giovanna who’d left with the Nod Next-Door and thus got the gossip mill of AHC turning.
Neatly folding the paper, I picked up the plate and his freshly washed tea towel, and headed across the corridor, glad to hear metalcore banging away at an incongruously low volume from inside Theo’s flat. It would’ve been decidedly anticlimactic had he been out.
Careful to avoid those damn brochures this time, I set down the present, arranged the note in front of it and then tapped lightly on his door. Feeling a bit like a kid doing a knock and run, I hurried back into my flat then leant against the door and blew out a relieved breath. My offering felt like an appeasement to whatever forces had been conspiring to make the past five days such a shambles. I only hoped it would do the trick.
I was just beginning to eye the mess I’d made in my kitchen and wonder, as I did every time I found myself facing a mountain of washing up, when my professional training would kick in and I’d learn to clean up as I went along, when a loud rap sounded on the door I was still pressed against.
Jumping in surprise, I clapped a hand to my pounding heart and spun around. Opening the door cautiously revealed Theo standing there holding my cake in one hand, my note in the other. He was in his traditional suit uniform, although his jacket was missing and the sleeves of his light blue shirt were rolled up to his elbows. His blond hair was rumpled, his sea-green eyes tired and yet, for one stunned moment, I was fairly sure I’d never seen anyone more attractive in my entire life.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Want some cake?’
*
His neighbour was a mess. Flour was smeared across the overwhelming man’s shirt she wore, her cheeks were red and shiny, the spot where she’d bumped her head was an ugly, mottled greeny brown, and he was fairly sure that some of the batter intended for his cake had ended up in the whorl of her right ear. She was, in short, the most welcome sight he’d seen all week.
‘Oh.’ She smiled tentatively, her teeth catching for a moment against the pink of her lips. ‘The cake doesn’t have any strings attached, it’s a–’ she paused then finished awkwardly, ‘–string-free recipe, I swear. You’re not obligated to share it with me, or anything.’
He’d been so tightly wound in the last few days he almost didn’t recognise the feeling as his shoulders relaxed slightly. It was the first time in a long time that someone had so outwardly and honestly told him that he wasn’t obligated to them.
‘I didn’t think I was.’
She hesitated for the briefest moment and then her smile widened and she beamed, her brown eyes bright. ‘Well, in that case,’ she said cheerfully, ‘I’ll get some plates.’
She left the door open for him and he crossed the threshold, taking in the jolly disarray that her flat was in and finding that he wasn’t surprised by the mess. He could imagine her whirlwinding through this space, was watching her doing it now, in fact and there was something comforting in the disarray. His deadlines wouldn’t find room here to worry at him; the missed calls on his phone, headhunter Harry Anderson’s much too tempting offer, and those damn invitations that kept arriving were crowded out by piles of scattered books.
It smelt like Giovanna, too, that sweet, vanilla scent that he recognised from the other night. It was strangely intimate, and he found that he was avoiding looking at the bed in the corner with its rumpled white sheets as that, too, felt like a glimpse into something more personal than he should be allowed.
Maybe it was a bad idea to have knocked on her door; he couldn’t think of anyone else he knew so little whose place he’d practically invited himself over to, but there was something about Giovanna, a warmth and unabashed honesty, that encouraged familiarity long before he’d usually offer it.
You’re overthinking it, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Ari’s piped up in his head. You were given cake, you’re sharing cake, that’s all.
He wasn’t convinced that that was ‘all’, but he’d allow himself to use it as an excuse for now.
7
Yes, my kitchen was a mess, the rest of the flat no better, but I had a secret weapon that I believed put my slovenly habits into much better perspective. I had the cutest cake plates.
I cleared the random detritus off one of the three chairs clustered around my tiny circular dining table and gestured for a still stiffly standing Theo to take a seat as I hightailed it to the kitchen. Standing on my tip-toes to reach into a high cupboard, I retrieved two of the plates I’d inherited from Aggie. They were delicate and thin, hand-painted with a cornucopia of flowers and tiny bees supping at the incredibly detailed pollen centres.
Balancing the plates carefully in one hand, I grabbed a knife and two cake forks from a drawer and joined my neighbour at the table.
‘You do the honours,’ I said, passing him the knife, ‘as it’s your cake.’
He took the proffered blade without hesitation and made a confident cut. I approved; I couldn’t stand it when people prevaricated and tried to pass the job of cutting a cake off onto someone else like it was a responsibility they just weren’t ready for. Theo made a series of neat incisions, cutting us both substantial slices and lifting the sticky wedges out and onto our plates without any fuss.
It was one of the sexiest things I’d ever seen.
I stared at him slack-jawed for a moment and then, flustered, practically threw a fork at him and lowered my head to concentrate on my own slice.
Honestly, less than a week out of Dec’s company and I was having slack-jawed moments around someone else? I felt a weird, guilty, churning sensation in my gut, the sort of feeling I imagined people experienced when they contemplated cheating on their partner. And yet, you couldn’t cheat when the person you were supposedly cheating on didn’t want to be with you, had never wanted to be with you, could you?
I was startled out of these confused musings by a short groan, and looked up to see Theo slowly pulling the fork from his mouth.
‘That,’ he said, swallowing then gesturing at his slice of cake with his cutlery, ‘is some seriously good cake.’
Well, that didn’t help.
‘Thanks,’ I said, quickly stuffing my mouth with another forkful of cake before I could make any more of a fool of myself. And, look, I’m not going to lie, it was seriously good cake.
‘I’m not sure what I’ve done to deserve it, though.’
For one terrified moment I thought he’d read my mind and meant he didn’t deserve my spiked moment of attraction towards him, but then I refocused and realised he meant my baking.
‘You’re being kind,’ I said ruefully. ‘I know that someone took a photo of us leaving the High-Rise on Friday night and that people at your workplace have been–’
I stopped as he blew out a sharp breath and shook his head.
‘Could we not talk about it?’ he asked. ‘This shi–’ He stopped abruptly and then amended, ‘stuff is all anyone’s talked about this week.’
I was tickled by his reticence to swear, especially if it was done to protect my delicate sensibilities, as that ship had well and truly sailed. You didn’t grow up in Jarli and have any issue with profanity.
‘It’s been as stupid as these things usually are,’ he continued heavily, ‘but none of it’s been your fault.’
I wasn’t sure that I believed him, but he clearly didn’t want to talk about it, so I followed his lead.
‘In that case, I’ll have the cake back,’ I joked and was rewarde
d by one of his little smiles, like a ray of sun peeking through a cloud.
‘Not a chance.’ As if to show how serious he was being, he lifted a forkful of cake to his mouth. There was silence as we switched our attention back to what really mattered and I was surprised, but pleased to realise that it wasn’t awkward.
I snuck little glances at him as we ate, charmed by how small my cake fork looked in his hand and by how much concentration he was putting into appreciating my baking, savouring each bite as if he’d never tasted cake before.
As I got to the point of carefully scraping up the last few crumbs on my plate, I glanced up yet again and this time saw that Theo was returning my gaze. He was looking at me so intently, in fact, that my fingers flew to my mouth, searching for the icing I felt sure must be ringing my lips, but he gestured higher up, towards my bruised forehead, and asked, ‘How’s your bump going?’
‘Coming along,’ I said lightly, trying not to think about, or subliminally remind him of the frankly ridiculous way I’d got the injury. ‘Surprisingly, it’s not actually been the most irritating part of the week.’
‘No?’ He slid his eyes from my face to the cake and I pushed it towards him in invitation. He took it, reaching for the knife to cut another sliver as he asked, ‘What takes the honours?’
I immediately wished I hadn’t said anything. What was I supposed to say? I was an absolute disaster at work this afternoon because I couldn’t stop wondering what Dec did to get kicked off your team? And why it’s such a big secret? And why you and Vanessa broke up? And I’ve been kept up at night wondering whether Dec’s suffering any fallout from that stupid party? Or enjoying the attention? Whether he’s seen his dad recently? Whether his dad’s still in the hostel we got him into a couple of months ago or back on the street? If Dec is missing me as much as I’m missing him? Or if he’s consoling himself with Nadia, Liesel or Aimee?
Needless to say, I went with the abridged version: ‘I’m struggling to sleep.’ Then I clarified, ‘I get to sleep okay, but then I wake up at midnight and stare at the ceiling for an hour. It’s getting very boring.’
I’d deliberately kept my voice light, but I wasn’t a great actress and I could tell by the way Theo was looking at me that he was unconvinced. And why wouldn’t he be? I was at the stage where I was going to have to buy carry-on for my eyebags next time I travelled.
‘I should lend you my book about the Pratt and Whitney engines,’ he said after a moment. ‘That should get you off to sleep no problem.’
Grateful he was making a joke of it, I added, ‘Or maybe some of your metalcore songs would work as lullabies?’
We smiled at each other across my rickety table, his glossy presence among my battered, hand-me-down possessions a glowing beacon that I felt was lighting me up a little, too.
He shrugged. ‘Well, I’m usually up till about two if you ever want to borrow any of my boring books.’
From someone else it might’ve sounded like a line, but he delivered it in the least ‘line’ way ever. He clearly just meant it as a fact: they were there if I wanted them. Still, regardless of the sincere way he’d spoken, a little insecure voice in my head clawed its way to the surface and muttered, He doesn’t mean it, he’s just being polite.
I found myself stuttering, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t want to . . . that’s not . . . I mean . . . I already crashed one of your evenings.’
He gave me one of those long, level looks of his, reached across to pick up my empty plate and, adding it to his, took them to the cluttered kitchen counter.
‘The offer’s there,’ he said quietly and I felt my chest give a little scrunch at his continued no-nonsense kindheartedness.
‘I appreciate that, and your place is very tranquil,’ I conceded, thinking back to my foray the other evening and how impersonal his flat had seemed compared to mine. ‘Didn’t you bring anything with you when you moved?’
‘Everything I needed.’
It was another of his non-answers, but I persevered. ‘And you didn’t want to spruce your place up with photos or paintings or anything?’
And, finally, a reaction, even if it was just a fleeting grimace as he said firmly, ‘Photos and paintings aren’t really my thing.’
Interesting. I would’ve pegged him as the cultured sort. There was something in his expression that made it clear this wasn’t a conversational path he wanted to go further down, however, so I let it go.
‘Well, as the cake says–’ I turned it to face him, ‘–thanks and sorry.’ Which wasn’t technically true. The cake actually now read ‘Thanks and S’.
Far from being charmed by my expert use of visual aids, however, Theo gave a subtle eye roll as he flicked on the tap and rinsed our plates, his movements precise and efficient.
‘One rule if you do come round,’ he said over the running water, ‘you’ve got to stop with the thanks and sorry. You don’t owe me either.’
This was blatantly untrue, but they were hardly sentiments you could force upon a person, so I nodded, although I couldn’t help adding cheekily, ‘No worries. How do you feel about “appreciation and apologies”?’
He let out a noise that was a half laugh, half sigh and shut off the water. ‘How do you and O’Connor know each other?’ He leant back against my counter, crossing his arms and looking at me frankly. ‘I can’t figure it out.’
I ducked my head, hearing the unspoken ‘because he’s a high-flyer and you’re frankly bonkers’ in his tone. ‘We met on the first day of school,’ I said, smiling as I remembered how five-year-old Dec and I had been told to hold hands as we’d walked two-by-two into class and then, as no-one had told us to stop, had continued to clasp each other’s hands for the rest of the day. Even all these years later I could perfectly picture Dec’s pinched, worried face as we’d first entered the classroom, and the way it’d brightened when he’d seen the books in the book corner and found out he was allowed to take some of them home. His surprise at all the things I took for granted, like having free rein with whatever coloured pencils he wanted and the pre-cut fruit handed out at recess, had been my first indication that his home wasn’t like mine.
Still, I wasn’t going to get into all of that with Theo and settled instead for: ‘He was his usual charming self and we’ve been best friends ever since.’
Theo quirked an eyebrow and that special little highlight reel of all the not-so-chummy moments between Dec and I that Theo had witnessed over the weekend started up in my head. ‘With a few hiccups here and there,’ I said.
‘So he’s not the person you’ve given yourself thirty days to get over?’ he asked and I squirmed, wishing I’d thought it through a bit more before shooting my mouth off at his place the other night.
‘No, he is,’ I admitted. ‘Our friendship has . . . layers.’
He nodded slowly. ‘I’m getting that.’
‘But what’s going on with us has nothing to do with his work,’ I said hurriedly, Vanessa’s words about the importance of gossip at AHC belatedly coming back to me.
That first conversation I’d had with Theo out on the balcony of the High-Rise should’ve told me all I needed to know about how disinclined he was to play those sorts of games, however, and his expression remained stoic.
‘Or anything to do with me,’ he said calmly. ‘We’re not on the same team anymore.’ He was so careful to not give anything away, I wondered that I’d ever been surprised by his Stone Cold moniker.
‘Literally and figuratively?’ I asked and he pushed himself away from the counter with an amused shake of his head that made it clear he wasn’t going to go into it any more than that. Damn him and his professionalism.
Shelving my disappointment at not finding out more about Dec’s mystery relocation, I took the cake off the table and got to my feet, holding the plate out to him as he made to leave.
‘Don’t forget your appreciation and apologies cake,’ I said and he took it from me with one hand, the muscles in his forearm contracting from the weight in
a way that I found weirdly attractive. I’d never found contracting muscles attractive before and I wasn’t sure I was keen about it happening now.
‘Hey, Giovanna?’
I looked up at him, cocking my head at his sudden seriousness. ‘Yeah?’
‘Dark chocolate and rum is my favourite.’
I grinned so widely my cheeks, as well as my bruise, actually hurt. He couldn’t have said anything to make me like him more.
He gave me one of those famous nods of his and then he was gone and I was flopping down into the chair I’d just vacated. Was this because my knees were feeling a bit weak? Why, yes it was.
In that moment, with a belly full of cake and uneasy giddiness, I made the decision that, no matter what, I wouldn’t be taking Theo up on his offer to go over to his place at the witching hour and learn more about the Blackbird’s engines. It would make things too messy and was too disloyal to Dec.
I was proud of that decision. It was a good decision. The right decision. Unfortunately, it was a decision that meant absolutely nothing when my eyes flicked wide open later that night.
I’m sorry to say that I only wrestled with my conscience for a few brief minutes before I pulled back the covers, grabbed my poncho and padded my way over to Theo’s.
He answered the door what felt like only a second after I knocked, giving me one of his small smiles as I looked up at him and murmured, ‘Hey, neighbour.’
*
‘Come over to my place and read nerdy books for an hour or so until you’re sleepy?’
It was the following Saturday and, knowing that this was exactly where this conversation was going to go, I’d coaxed Zoë into going for a walk with me along the rivulet near my flat.
‘I’m sorry, but that’s the weirdest come-on I’ve ever heard and you’re telling me you fell for it?’
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