‘I can’t believe you’re actually going on a date with your school crush.’
Emelie was merrily munching on pastries in bed, despite my repeated
warnings not to get crumbs under the covers. I was busy trying on every
outfit I’d brought with me. Nothing felt right. Redhead Rachel had, for
some reason, failed to show up this morning and I was as nervous as an X
Factor auditionee who was only there because my dead dad had made me
promise to try.
‘It’s going to be so awesome. You’re totally going to marry him.’
‘Nothing like putting pressure on a situation,’ I muttered into the mirror
on the back of the door. ‘This? Is this OK?’
I’d opted for the strappy, pale yellow sundress decorated with a tiny
white swallow print that fell just above my knee, together with white ballet
flats and, because I was having to play this one without my overconfident
alter-ego, a cardi. Just in case.
Em nodded, swallowing a mouthful of croissant.
‘It’s fine.’ She moved on to pulling apart a mini-muffin. ‘You’re going to
marry your childhood sweetheart and I’ll probably end up marrying your
slutty brother. It’ll be like a movie.’
‘Don’t even joke about it.’ I fussed with my hair, pulling bits back,
letting them drop around my face and then pulling them back again. Why
did nothing look right? Why was this so hard? ‘You know I wouldn’t wish
that on my worst enemy.’
‘I don’t know,’ Em replied. ‘I reckon he and Ana would make a good
couple. If I don’t get in there first.’
‘Emelie,’ I whined. This conversation was not helping me be my most
calm and wonderful self. ‘Out with it. Do you really like Paul or is this just
some desperate cry for help?’
She pulled her most attractive truffle-pig face and concentrated hard on a
muffin. ‘I don’t know.’ She popped a piece of muffin in her mouth. ‘I know
you think it’s disgusting, but don’t you think it’s time I gave the whole
boyfriend thing a go?’
‘Yes, but not with my brother.’ I swiped a tiny little Danish from the
breakfast tray before she cleared it. ‘And not because it’s gross but because
he’s not good enough for you.’
‘He could be sitting outside my bedroom window serenading me every
night and you wouldn’t think he was good enough for me,’ she pointed out.
‘You’ll never see past him being your brother.’
I thought back to what Jenny had said about ‘The One’ in the bar the
night before. Was that how she felt about Paul? Had I been standing in the
way of them being together for years? If it didn’t still turn my stomach, I’d
feel just awful. But it did so I didn’t.
‘Jesus Christ, I love this city.’ The door swung open towards me as
Matthew crashed through it, still in the clothes he’d worn to travel in on
Sunday morning. And with the five-hour time difference, that was well over
twenty-four hours ago. Although, by the looks of the outfit and Matthew’s
face, they’d both clearly spent some time on the floor overnight. ‘I met
someone.’
‘You don’t say.’ I held my arms out and spun for approval.
‘You look lovely,’ he said, shedding his clothes and walking towards the
shower. ‘I’m sure you look lovely.’
‘Um, what’s with the nudity?’ Em shouted across the room as his boxers
hit the floor. ‘I’m eating. And I thought you were the world’s biggest
prude?’
‘Just because I don’t want to see you naked doesn’t mean you should be
denied the privilege of this,’ Matthew bowed with a flourish before ducking
into the shower cubicle. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Brunch with Ethan,’ I took one more deep breath, blew it out and picked
up my bag. ‘Is it warm out?’
‘Don’t know, I never left the hotel,’ he shouted over the running water.
‘Met a delightful artist downstairs. His name’s Dallas; he stays here when
he’s in the city. Lives in some godawful place where they have to kill things
to eat them.’
‘You have to kill them?’ Em sounded sceptical.
‘I’m not saying there isn’t a Tesco’s around there somewhere but you get
the idea,’ he said, soaping up. ‘It was a brilliant pick-up line anyway.’
‘I’d better go,’ I said, looking at my watch and trying to ignore the gutchurning
nausea in my stomach. Really, butterflies would have sufficed.
‘Really, do I look all right?’
‘You look very cute,’ Emelie confirmed. ‘If I hadn’t seen you since I was
sixteen, I’d be very impressed.’
‘I was a total loser at sixteen.’ I fussed with my hair one last time before
throwing my bag over my shoulder and checking for the hotel room key.
‘Braces, Sun-In, three-inch turn-ups on all my trousers. Not good.’
‘Then you’re already on a winner.’ She settled back on the bed and
turned on the TV. ‘He’s expecting sixteen and gross. He’s getting twentyeight
and amazing.’
‘True,’ I muttered. ‘Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck,’ she said with a wave. ‘Text me, let me know what you’re
doing.’
Matthew drew a smiley face in the steam on the shower door and waved.
And then drew a giant penis and gave me a thumbs-up. I took that as my
cue to leave.
Even in the crowded café, I spotted Ethan immediately. Amongst all the
flannel-shirt-wearing, beanie-hat-sporting hipsters, his big blue eyes, bright
blond hair stuck out like a very attractive sore thumb. He looked exactly the
same. Until he stood up. While I’d spent the last ten years playing house
and powdering supermodel’s arses, it looked as if Ethan had spent a decade
bench-pressing bears. He was big. Really big. He met my eyes, did a second
take on the hair, which I suddenly remembered was bright red instead of
dark blonde, and then gave me a wave. And suddenly I was Body Shop
White Musk, Robbie Williams and a packet of Chipsticks all over again.
‘Rachel?’ As soon as I was within grabbing distance, he wrapped his
arms around me in a massive hug. So absence really did make the heart
grow fonder. I couldn’t even pass him sheet music without blanching
before. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
‘You too.’ I was almost too afraid to sit down. He was so pretty. The
Facebook photos really hadn’t done him any justice; he was just a very
handsome man. Really, he looked so incredibly clean-cut, I kept expecting
him to pull a piece of wood out from under the table and start sandpapering,
or for a giant golden Labrador to bound up and lick his face. If I didn’t do it
first. Not my usual type, but beggars can’t be choosers. Especially when the
choice was Adonis or nothing.
‘You look great,’ Ethan reached out for the glass of water in front of him.
‘I don’t think I would have recognized you on the street. You were always
such a tomboy. And the hair! Wow.’
I was sitting in a café in Toronto with Ethan Harrison. The Ethan
Harrison. As in ‘Rachel Loves Ethan 4 eva IDST’, Ethan Harrison. Sigh,
swoon, thud.
‘You look just the same.’ Aside from the muscles and the lack of braces
and the muscles and the extra foot in height. And the muscles. I couldn’t
quite look him in the eye so I stuck to the collar of his white polo shirt and
promised myself I’d try to work my way up. ‘You sound a bit different
though.’
‘Yeah, I suppose I’ve picked up the accent,’ he laughed. ‘My dad is
Canadian so I’d always had a twang at home. Once we got out here, it just
came out of nowhere.’
‘One of my best friends is from Montreal, I’m totally used to it.’ I
ordered a coffee and built up to his chin. Good, solid, square jaw. His strawblond
hair was just starting to curl around his ears and, while it was a lot
shorter in the front than it used to be, my heart fluttered at the thought of
there being just enough for me to reach over and brush it out of his eyes. If I
weren’t sitting on my hands. In a café in Canada. Opposite Ethan Harrison.
Where was Redhead Rachel? Sixteen-year-old Rachel was not qualified to
handle this.
‘Isn’t it strange?’ Ethan scratched his head and his bicep strained against
the cuff of his T-shirt. His arms were even bigger than Dan’s. Not that I was
thinking about Dan. ‘If you’d told me ten years ago that you and I would be
sitting here now, I would never have believed you.’
‘That has been a recurring theme lately,’ I agreed, pushing all thoughts of
London out of my mind. ‘Although, to be fair, if you’d told me a week ago
I’d be sitting here, I wouldn’t have believed you.’
‘It was a last-minute job?’ he asked. ‘In Vancouver?’
I stared at him for just a second too long. ‘Yes. Vancouver. Last minute.
Job,’ I nodded. ‘It’s a shoot. For a magazine.’
‘And you’re a make-up artist?’ He sounded surprised but he was still
smiling. ‘That’s so strange. I just don’t remember you being one of those
girls.’
‘One of what girls?’ I was always curious to hear what other people
thought of me. Apart from Dan. I didn’t need to hear what Dan thought ever
again. Because I wasn’t thinking about Dan. Eurgh.
‘Oh, I don’t mean anything bad.’ His cheeks burned with an adorable
embarrassed blush. Ahh. ‘It’s like, there was a whole group of girls who
wore so much make-up at school. The Lip Gloss Girls. That was what I
called them.’
‘The Lip Gloss Girls?’ I laughed, knowing exactly who he was talking
about. I had been insanely jealous of each and every one of them. ‘That’s
awful.’
‘You know, Louise and Claire and all those others – they were, like,
constantly putting on that gross lip gloss.’ He pulled a face as a very pretty
waiter in a black knitted cap brought over coffee. Professional experience
said male model. Ordering-from-male-models-posing-as-waiters experience
said he would absolutely get our order wrong. ‘I remember thinking it
looked like they had glue all over their mouths. Who would want to make
out with that?’
‘Yeah, I wasn’t really into all that stuff then,’ I pressed my own lipglossed
lips together and willed the sticky shine to Go Away. ‘I love it
though. I meet a lot of interesting people.’
‘Really?’
‘No,’ I replied immediately. ‘Nearly all people are horrible. Just awful.’
‘You always were funny,’ Ethan placed a hand over mine. I tried not to
have a stroke. ‘It’s really good to see you. I got to say, I’m loving the
internet right now. This totally makes up for all those godawful online dates
I’ve been on.’
‘Big fan of Match.com?’ I tried to sound casual, but really I was
desperate to know. There must be something horribly, horribly wrong with
him that I couldn’t see. Nazi sympathizer? Video-game geek? Puppy
kicker? There had to be something wrong with either him or all the women
in Canada. I was this close to proposing with an onion ring.
‘Not hardly.’ He let go of my hand. My heart shattered into a million tiny
pieces. And there was a chance I was suffering from an epic case of internal
monologue hyper-bole. ‘I haven’t been single that long. Me and my ex
broke up earlier this year and I sorta spent all summer sulking. Now it’s
almost time for school again. I’m just way too busy to really date properly.
It’s hard work out here.’
But you wouldn’t be too busy for a long-distance relationship with your
childhood sweetheart, I thought. Wonder what he’s doing next Saturday?
Possibly getting a little bit ahead of myself.
‘What about you?’ He gave me a look. ‘Lots of online action?’
‘Ha,’ I snorted. Very sexy. ‘Not quite. I haven’t been single that long
either, though.’
When I actually added it all up, after drinks with my new BFF in the bar
the night before, it had been less than two months in twelve years. I’d
started going out with my first boyfriend in the October of Year Twelve,
and Simon and I had been broken up for eight days. There was no wonder I
needed help.
‘This place is pretty great.’ He waved a hand around at the café after
we’d ordered breakfast. I’d gone for the breakfast sandwich, exactly as it
was advertised on the menu. Ethan had attempted to request a couple of
substitutions to something resembling a fry-up and been greeted with
repeated confusion from the hot server. As a waiter, he made a great model.
I expected to be doing the make-up on his Armani underwear campaign any
day. ‘Some friends of mine hang out in the bar sometimes but I’ve never
been.’
‘Yeah, I heard it was a nice spot,’ I agreed. I’d already decided to keep to
myself the fact that I was only staying at The Drake because my gay best
friend’s gay best friend got a shag every time he visited. Why blow the
mystique?
‘So what are your plans while in Toronto?’ Ethan reached across the table
to give my hand another squeeze. I was definitely going to have a stroke.
‘You’re here today and tomorrow, right?’
‘Yep. Two days and then on to Vancouver.’ I was actually a very passable
liar when I had my story straight. I imagined this would come to work in
my favour should I ever need to explain Simon’s mysterious disappearance.
‘I don’t really have any plans while I’m here, though. I ended up meeting
the stylist when I got in last night.’
That wasn’t so much a lie as a grammatical error. Technically. Jenny was
a stylist.
‘So, you want me to show you around?’ He gave me another flash of that
big white grin and I felt myself flush from head to toe. ‘I’m not much of a
tour guide, but I’m sure I can do the sights.’
I was very satisfied with the sight in front of me as it was, but it was
always nice to show willing.
‘Sounds brilliant,’ I confirmed. ‘I’d love to.’
It didn’t take me long to fall in love with Toronto. Between my charming
tour guide and the almost offensively friendly people, not to mention the
abundance of maple syrup shoved sideways into every foodstuff available,
it was nearly impossible not to. By mid-afternoon, I was ninety-five per
cent sugar. And I was perfectly happy with that.
After breakfast, we came out of the hotel and hit the street. Ethan
pointing out little art galleries, vintage boutiques and every single dog that
went by. Everything about the morning was horribly cute. Even though the
neighbourhood had adopted a New York sort of attitude, all artfully
distressed fabrics, buildings covered in political graffiti and every shop
manned exclusively by skinny boys in plaid shirts and fertility impairing
tight jeans, they all maintained their native hospitality. I couldn’t remember
the last time I’d said hello to so many strangers. And as a dyed-in-the-wool
Londoner, I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, until I’d had my second
maple syrup macchiato, at which point I more or less felt brilliant about
everything.
By the time we’d crossed everything off Ethan’s sightseeing list (sadly it
wasn’t a physical list) we’d visited the CN Tower, the Hockey Hall of
Fame, walked down the boardwalk, considered going inside the Royal
Ontario Museum but settled for just judging the bizarre architecture (it
looked as though a spaceship had crashed into the V&A), and eventually set
up shop in the rooftop bar of the Thompson hotel, where I could see all of
Toronto laid out in front of me. (Despite my terrible lemming tendencies, I
had to admit the view was beautiful. And as long as I stayed away from the
edge, I was OK. Ish.) I’d drawn a line at checking out the Bryan Adams star
on the Canadian walk of fame, but I did appreciate his enthusiasm for his
heritage. I was also knackered and very much wanted a little sit-down. Em
and Matthew had both texted to say they’d spent the entire day sitting on
their arses on the roof deck of our own hotel, slowly getting drunk and
eating everything on the menu. Despite the fact that I’d had a lovely, lovely
day, I couldn’t help but be a little bit jealous.
Ethan had been a wonderful host. He opened doors, he pulled out my
chair and he wouldn’t let me pay for a thing. Every word out of his mouth
was funny or sweet and always interesting. He was aware, he was
intelligent; I found out he loved his career as a teacher, spent as much time
reading and researching lesson plans as he did going hiking with Sadie, his
golden retriever, and every thought that passed through his mind was
spelled out on his honest face. There was no pretence, no guessing games. I
asked a question, he answered it. He asked a question, he wanted to know
the answer. Ethan Harrison was, to all intents and purposes, the perfect
man.
So all I could hope was that it was the jetlag that was leaving me feeling
completely and utterly unaffected by his attention. We were sitting side by
side on the corner of a high table, not too close to the edge of the deck. I
stole a glance at my date, the sun setting in the sky behind him, lighting up
his hair and casting shadows on his handsome face. Why didn’t I feel
anything? Once I’d got over the initial buzz and potential heart attack,
something strange had happened. Nothing. I liked Ethan but I didn’t like
him. Try as I might, there was just nothing there.
‘You really set the fire alarm off at The Savoy?’ he asked over a giant
plate of what looked like chips and gravy covered in baby food. It was not
the most appetizing thing anyone had ever put down in front of me, but I
was assured poutine was a delicacy. I couldn’t see how the chef could work
maple syrup into it and, therefore, I was officially not interested.
‘I did,’ I confirmed. ‘Unless the Metropolitan Police happen to ask. In
which case it was an accident and nothing to do with me.’
Given how I’d come to be in touch with him again, I’d left the single
girl’s to-do list out of our conversation so far but, now we’d settled in one
place, we were running out of conversation. Fast. I wasn’t into ice hockey;
he didn’t follow football any more. He loved to hike. Surviving in the great
outdoors without a corkscrew was one of my greatest fears. Ethan didn’t
watch TV. Didn’t. Watch. TV. What option did I have left?
‘You’re insane.’ Ethan smiled across at me with crinkly blue eyes. ‘I
knew you were cool but now I see you’re completely crazy.’
‘Not really.’ I rubbed the tattoo on my right wrist. It was almost
completely smooth again. ‘Mostly incredibly ordinary. According to some
people, I’m actually very boring.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ he said. ‘Who would ever think you were boring?’
I rested my elbow on the table and covered a small smile with my hand.
I’d only had a couple of sips of my drink but my head was swimming
already. The perils of jetlag and cocktails. Jetlag and cocktails. Nice to mix
things up from the usual Monday routine.
You know what’s wrong here, whispered Redhead Rachel, appearing out
of nowhere. You know exactly what’s wrong with this situation.
Nice of her to show up at the end of the bloody day. This might be the
only instance where it was better never than late.
‘Really, I’m a big fan of the quiet life.’ I chose to ignore my bitchy alter
ego but, even as I said the words, I knew it wasn’t true any more. ‘I don’t
need to be out punching supermodels in the face every Wednesday.’
OK, that part was true, but I didn’t want to spend every Thursday night
making spaghetti bolognese for a man who didn’t deserve it either. I’d
rather just make it for myself. Possibly for Emelie. I’d never be cooking for
Matthew ever again. Ethan’s expression suggested he was still stuck on the
‘punch a supermodel in the face’ part of our conversation.
I picked up a chip that seemed relatively gravy-and cheese-curd-free.
‘That was Emelie anyway.’ I bit into the chip. I put the chip back down.
Bleurgh. ‘I just set off the fire alarm.’
‘I can’t believe how much you’ve changed.’ Ethan started on the poutine
with much more commitment. ‘You know you’re kind of amazing, right?’
You are amazing. Redhead Rachel yawned at my side. And he’s
completely and utterly dull.
Redhead Rachel was a bit mean. But worryingly correct.
‘Really, not amazing. We should have caught up a month ago.’ I raised an
eyebrow. ‘Things were very different.’
But of course we wouldn’t have been able to catch up a month ago
because, without the list, I would never have thought to look him up.
Matthew would never have messaged him. I would never have been sitting
in a bar in Toronto. I would have been watching Match of the Day with half
a Domino’s Tunion and the best part of a bottle of white wine giving me
indigestion.
‘So, Rachel Summers, high-flying international make-up artist,’ Ethan
held an imaginary microphone out to me. ‘Where do you see yourself in
five years?’
‘Another answer that would have been very different a month ago,’ I
replied, wondering what the answer was now. ‘Tough question, Mr
Harrison.’
‘How so?’
‘A month ago I would have freaked out at the thought of how old I’ll be
in five years. Thirty-three. Scary.’ I closed my eyes and swallowed. ‘And
I’d definitely have said I’d be married with a baby. Maybe two. That’s it
probably.’
Ethan smiled happily. ‘Sounds like my answer.’
‘I’m just not sure it would be mine any more.’ I rubbed my tattoo and
pushed my hair back behind my ears, letting it fall back around my face.
‘Thirty-three doesn’t seem nearly as scary as the idea of having kids right
now.’
‘So what do you want?’ he asked.
I laughed out loud and smiled at my answer. ‘I don’t know. I really don’t
know. Just getting a clearer idea of what I don’t want.’
‘Do you think you’ll stay in London?’ Ethan asked as I turned in my
chair to look out at the sun setting over the city. It had never occurred to me
that it would be so pretty here. In fact, like so many things, Canada had
never really occurred to me at all. I was glad Matthew had made me come; I
was a frog in a well. Or a slightly more flattering animal. The lights of the
CN Tower were just starting to stand out against the powdery sky and Lake
Ontario glittered in the distance. ‘I hear Toronto is running very short on
make-up artists.’
‘Really?’
Boring, the redhead whined, he’s cheesy and boring. Aren’t we over that?
‘Really.’
It would have been the perfect time for a kiss. Sitting there shoulder to
shoulder, knees touching under the table, sharing a drink at the end of a
wonderful day after all these years apart but, when it came down to it, my
butterflies had fluttered off somewhere else.
‘You probably wouldn’t realize how much you’d miss it unless you left,’
Ethan broke the tension and pulled away. ‘I think that’s the thing about
cities – you get used to all the things they offer you, then you really don’t
think about it until it’s taken away. I lived in New York for a summer after
college and, when I got back to Toronto, things here just seemed so slow,
like it took forever to get anything done. But now I wouldn’t leave for
anything. I just want to go to work, come home, walk my dog and chill out.’
‘Sounds nice,’ I said. Rachel from one week ago would have genuinely
considered that blissful. Redhead Rachel was gagging with her fingers
down the back of her throat. And, somewhere in the middle, the real Rachel
knew this wasn’t the life for her. As wonderful and romantic as it would
have been to run away with my teenage dream, it just wasn’t going to
happen.
He rubbed a hand over his face and rested his forehead against his fist. ‘I
can’t even start to wonder how boring my life must sound to you. I don’t
mean I just sit in my house every day waiting to go to sleep. I just mean this
is a great city if you don’t want to be constantly freaking out. It’s a great
place.’
‘It’s beautiful.’ I fingered the change in the pocket of my sundress, no
idea what to say next. ‘And you have animals on your money.’
Ethan smiled. I wondered when I’d become mentally unstable.
‘Yes we do.’ He leaned in towards me and loosened the hair behind my
ear.
‘Beavers,’ I held it up to show him. ‘And, is that a moose? Funny.’
‘I guess I never thought about it.’ His smile was just a little bit crooked
even though his post-braces teeth were perfect. Why wasn’t I falling for
this? I was clearly defective. ‘I guess I never thought about a lot of things.’
Out of the mouths of fools and babes, Redhead Rachel commented while
inspecting her nails to my left.
‘I’ve been thinking about something.’ Ethan leaned in for the kill.
His lips were only on mine for a moment. It wasn’t even really a kiss,
more of a test-the-waters peck and, as soon as I’d got used to them being
there, they were gone. It was soft and sweet and a perfect first kiss.
It just wasn’t Dan.
‘I totally just got off with Rachel Summers,’ Ethan blushed, placing his
hand over mine and gently squeezing it. ‘Wait until I tell the lads.’
‘Only took you twelve years,’ I said quietly, trying to smile. What was
wrong with me? Why was I thinking about Dan? I tried to imagine how I’d
be feeling if we were round the back of the sports hall, his Lynx Java
mingling with my Impulse Vanilla Kisses instead of on the rooftop of a
posh hotel, my Marc Jacobs Daisy and his nothing at all. The whiff of dog
food on chips didn’t help, but that really wasn’t the problem here.
I’d been trying so hard to make this Ethan thing real I was completely
ignoring a far more worrying situation. And it wasn’t the chips. ‘So what do
you want to do now?’ he asked. ‘We could catch a movie maybe? Dinner?
You’re not really feeling the poutine, right?’
‘I’m so sorry but I’m sort of knackered.’ I yawned to demonstrate my
point. ‘I really just want to go to bed.’
‘Bed?’ If he spent any more time blushing, he’d be no use to anyone in
the bedroom anyway. Every ounce of blood in his body was making a
beeline for his cheeks.
‘My bed,’ I clarified hastily. Wow, way to leave a sentence open for
entirely the wrong interpretation. ‘I should go to my bed and sleep. Jetlag.’
As soon as the words were out of my mouth, it was as if my body just
gave up. As the sky above us turned from powder blue to a soft, dusky
purple, my ability to keep my eyes open began to fail and all I wanted was
my bed. Maybe my judgement was just impaired by the shroud of sleepy. I
needed to rest. When I had a clear head I’d be able to work out what exactly
was wrong with this picture. Or at least what was wrong with me.
Redhead Rachel was already standing by the lift, tapping her watch. She
seemed to know exactly what was going on. If only she would let me in on
it.
‘Jeez, you must be totally jetlagged.’ Ethan looked a little bit
disappointed but, ever the gentleman, he signalled for the bill and gave my
hand another squeeze. ‘I had a lot of fun today. It was great to catch up.’
‘Definitely.’ It had been fun. It just hadn’t been the whirlwind romance
I’d built myself up for. ‘Thank you so much for showing me around.’
‘Let’s get you back to your hotel.’ He threw a couple of notes on the bar
and flashed the waitress a goodnight smile. The dimples I’d wanted to
tweak so desperately in Year Eleven returned with a vengeance. I really
wished I could pin down what was wrong with me. Surely it wasn’t just that
he didn’t watch TV?
‘Thanks.’ I hopped down off my bar stool and let him wind his fingers
around mine, hoping to feel something gooey and lovely in my stomach.
All I could feel was that one rancid chip rattling around. Truly it was the
stuff great love stories were made of.
‘So this is you.’ Ethan’s very practical car pulled to a stop outside the shiny
black fascia of The Drake.
I unbuckled my seatbelt and gave him my best sleepy smile. At least I
hoped it was a good sleepy smile and not just cross-eyed. ‘Thanks so much,
it was fun.’
‘It was.’ He turned off the engine and wrapped his hands around the
steering wheel. Ruh-roh, that was a very serious face. ‘I know you have to
leave on Wednesday but do you have plans tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know,’ I lied. ‘Can I text and let you know?’
‘Of course.’ He shifted in his seat until he was facing me. ‘I’d really like
to hang out. Today was awesome.’
‘Right.’ I turned quickly, one hand on the door handle, leaned in to plant
a kiss on his cheek and then bolted out of the door. ‘Night, Ethan.’
I slammed it shut behind me and was safely inside the hotel before I even
heard his engine turn over.
‘Hi, Miss Summers,’ the receptionist gave me a wave. ‘Good evening?’
‘Yes?’ I offered. She looked as convinced of that as I did. Em had texted
me to say she and Matthew were in the bar and to come and join them, but
since I clearly couldn’t be trusted to deal with people, I headed straight up
the stairs to bed. It would be nice to have a shower without an audience.
‘Well, sleep tight,’ she called after me.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ I chuntered, mounting the stairs.
Fat bloody chance of that.
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