Chapter Ten

‘Absolutely, positively, one hundred percent not.'

I glared at the three men in front of me and they stared back. Dad seemed perplexed, Gregory looked annoyed, but Joe? He was delighted.

‘I'm not sharing a bed with him,' I said, pointing at the world's most smug man.

‘Noone's asking you to share the bed,' Dad replied, leading us back through the cottage and pointing at the two pieces of furniture, on opposite sides of the small living room. ‘The sofa pulls out. Joe can sleep on that.'

‘You can't seriously expect me to share a bedroom with a man I don't know,' I returned, furious with how flustered I sounded.

‘But you do know him,' Dad said. ‘It's Joseph.'

‘Just because I know who he is doesn't mean I want to share a room with him!'

It was a perfectly rational argument, no one should have to share a sleeping space with someone if they didn't want to, and yet, my usual logic and composure had abandoned me completely. It was very obvious from the looks on my dad and Gregory's faces my tone had hit the level of shrill where men stop listening altogether, no matter how valid any woman's argument.

‘Soph, there's nowhere else for him to sleep.' Dad lowered his voice, speaking slowly as though I was the one who didn't understand. ‘What do you want him to do, kip on the floor?'

‘Yes?' I threw up my hands in despair, why was he not getting this?

‘I could always sleep in the car,' Joe offered, mirroring my body language as though he was truly searching for a viable compromise. ‘Unless there's a hotel nearby?'

‘Nonsense.' Dad clasped his hands to his chest, the thought of sending Joe off to the Travelodge an arrow through his heart. ‘They're all full last we checked and there are two perfectly good beds in this room.'

‘Sofa bed is more than good enough for me.' Joe dropped the more battered-looking overnight bag on the floor to stake his claim. ‘I insist the lady takes the bed. Even if I'm the guest and it would really be more polite to let me have it but still, beggars can't be choosers.'

‘Beggars can still get a kick in the nuts,' I replied as he made himself at home. ‘Why can't he sleep in the house?'

‘Because the sofa in the house doesn't pull out into a bed and we've filled all the other bedrooms. Come on, Soph, it's only Joseph. You've known him since you were kids.'

‘You know what the problem is,' Gregory said with a snicker. ‘Your girl's worried she won't be able to keep her hands off him.'

It was official. They were the two most awful men on the face of the planet. Once again, I'd fallen into Joe's trap, I'd let him get to me and he knew it.

‘Look, if Sophie's that against it—' Joe started but I cut him off before he could make another asinine suggestion.

‘Sophie is that against it because Sophie doesn't like you,' I confirmed, whirling around to jab him in the chest with a very pointy finger. ‘If you absolutely, positively must sleep on the sofa bed, knock yourself out. Just don't talk to me, don't look at me and don't be surprised if you find yourself accidentally smothered by a pillow in the middle of the night.'

‘I think we all need a cup of tea,' Dad said, walking very quickly towards the front door before I could change my mind again. ‘Joseph and Gregory have had a long drive, and Sophie, I'm sure you want to get your things from the house and, I don't know, get dressed?'

‘Maybe a Baileys for Sophie,' Joe suggested before lowering his voice and leaning in so only I could hear. ‘But you should keep the PJs on, they really are sexy.'

Slapping each other on the back as they went, the three men strolled out the front door laughing, leaving me all alone in the cottage, marvelling at how quickly a dream could turn into a nightmare.

‘They really couldn't find it? No one handed it in, not even the bag?'

William shook his head, watching on while I unpacked my things in the cottage. I'd chucked everything back in my suitcase and bolted down the garden as fast as humanly possible to stake my claim on the bed before Joe could come up with any fun new schemes to ruin my weekend.

‘No one's handed anything in,' he replied, giving his beard a scratch. ‘Man at the depot said the most likely scenario is someone found it, nicked the laptop and chucked the rest in the bin. There's no reason for you to panic.'

‘There isn't? Gosh, thanks for letting me know, I was just about to start but now I won't.'

‘You sound exactly like Mum when you attempt sarcasm,' William said as I lined up my skincare products on the bedside table with aggressive precision. ‘And that's not a compliment.'

‘You don't understand how bad it is,' I replied with a whine. ‘That draft is a mess. If anyone reads it—'

‘If anyone reads it and knows what it is, they'll think they've won the lottery,' he finished for me. ‘Authors always think their first draft is a crime against god and man and nine times out of ten that's not true.'

‘That might be the biggest lie you've ever told.'

‘Seven times out of ten,' he amended.

‘William.'

‘Fine, five and a half. Bottom line is, the bag is gone. There's nothing else we can do, time to move on.'

The tote bag was gone. My manuscript, the book, all the evidence of my identity. The thought of someone reading my work in progress gave me chills. I felt so vulnerable, like I'd been locked out the house in my underwear and not nice underwear at that.

‘Dad's done a good job with this place, hasn't he?' William looked around with admiration, changing the subject before I could spiral any further. ‘Who knew he had such a knack for interior design?'

‘Me. They use my Netflix password and he's been watching all the back seasons of Queer Eye.'

‘Seems sturdy.' He knocked on the wall and nodded as though he had any idea what a sturdy construction was supposed to sound like. ‘Soph, if I say something do you promise not to take it the wrong way?'

Whatever he was going to say it seemed there was only one possible way I was going to take it. I busied myself by opening up my suitcase and unrolling my outfits, still unsure as to why I'd bothered to bring so many clothes when I would almost certainly spend all weekend in jeans as usual.

‘Whatever it is, spit it out,' I said, preparing for the worst.

‘It's just … you seem a bit down,' he said carefully. ‘For someone whose lifelong dream has always been to write a book, I thought you'd be a bit more excited about everything that's going on.'

I shook out a slinky black dress I bought three years ago but still hadn't worn despite packing it for three different weddings, two hen dos and a girls' trip to Amsterdam. It was a beautiful dress but I'd never felt beautiful enough to wear it.

‘I am excited,' I replied. ‘I'm ecstatic. I'm cock-a-bloody-hoop.'

William frowned doubtfully as I hung the dress on the front of the wardrobe where I could stare at it all weekend and once again, not wear it.

‘I'm being serious, I'm worried about you. No one's saying you have to throw yourself a parade but if anything you've been even more withdrawn than usual since the book came out.'

Withdrawn? I'm not withdrawn,' I replied, checking and checking his allegation in my head.

‘Tense then,' he suggested but I shook my head to refute that too.

‘Everything is absolutely grand. I've just been—'

Looping an imaginary noose around his neck, he cut me off with a deeply unattractive choking noise.

‘So help me god, if you say you've been busy, I'm going to come over there and give you a dead arm. Yes, you're busy, everyone's busy, but not everyone has a bestselling book, a movie deal and I know the royalties haven't started coming in yet but, sister of mine, I'm your agent. I've seen the numbers. You're about to be hanging-out-on-a-yacht-with-Leo rich and we both know it. That's not enough to raise a smile?'

I tossed five times the number of pairs of knickers I could possibly need in one weekend into the bottom of the wardrobe and shrugged.

‘Boats make me seasick and we both know I'm way too old for Leo.'

‘Well, something's wrong,' he replied, not settling for my answer. ‘Are you being bullied at school?'

‘William, I'm the teacher.'

‘And I'm assuming there's nothing to report on the romantic front?'

The closeness of Joe's lips to mine flickered through my mind.

‘Nope.'

‘But you're getting out, seeing your friends?'

‘Yes, I'm getting out and seeing my friends,' I replied with an indignant sigh borrowed directly from my sister. ‘Not as much as usual, admittedly, but with the head of year thing at work and writing the sequel, I can't do everything. And I'm the only single one in the group at the moment. It's not always the most fun thing in the world to hang out with a load of loved-up, sprogged-up women when the closest you've come to an erect penis in the last six months is writing about one.'

‘To be filed under "Things I never needed to hear my sister say",' he grumbled. ‘Fine, I won't mention it again. As long as you're not turning into a hermit just to keep your secret.'

‘Your concerns have been noted,' I assured him while wrestling a coat hanger off the rail. It was nice to know he cared. He dipped into my suitcase and pulled out my most comfortable bra with a look of horror.

‘As long as you know you won't be able to keep this under your hat forever,' William said, holding it up to the light to examine the bra in all its washed-out beige glory. ‘One way or another, the whole Este Cox thing is going to come out and also, please will you go underwear shopping immediately.'

Yanking my bra out of his hands, I shoved it in the wardrobe along with my socks and knickers. ‘What if I want to be one of those eccentric weirdos who sits on millions their whole lives then leaves it all to a cat sanctuary?'

‘It could never be me,' he replied aghast. ‘And it won't be you either. As your agent, I'm very much expecting you to shower me with extravagant gifts and luxury holidays.'

‘All you did was give the contract a once-over after I negotiated it myself.'

‘It was a very thorough once-over.'

‘You sent it back with a thumbs up emoji in less time than it took me to make a cup of tea.'

‘I'm very efficient.'

Zipping up my empty suitcase, I slid it under the bed, disproportionately pleased with how neatly it fit. Across the room, nestled against the sofa, was Joe's overnight bag. Even though it was half the size of my suitcase, it filled the entire cottage with his presence, the worn, masculine leather quietly confident amongst all the soft, feminine furnishing, and it took every ounce of strength I had in me not to hurl it away into the field, like Miss Trunchbull hammer-tossing that little girl by the pigtails in Matilda.

‘What's the deal with this one?' William asked, crossing the room to inspect the bag for himself. ‘I haven't had the pleasure yet.'

‘I wouldn't to call it a pleasure,' I replied. ‘Tall, dark and twattish.'

‘Genuinely hot or publishing hot?'

‘Genuinely,' I admitted through gritted teeth. ‘And he knows it.'

It was an important distinction. Meeting an eligible man who worked in publishing was like finding the last bottle of water on a desert island, only the island was an office building in London Bridge and the bottle of water was an incredibly average-looking man called Tom. Single men had an unfair advantage over single women simply because they were a rarity. There was no getting away from it, Joe Walsh was a unicorn. Undeniably, earth-shatteringly, brain-meltingly good-looking.

Not that I cared.

‘I'd say come and stay with us but we've got Sanjit's family and they're already using all the hot water before I even get in the shower,' William said, plopping down on the arm of the sofa, prodding the cushions with the same expertise he'd shown when examining the walls. ‘I vaguely remember Joe from when we were kids. Awkward bugger as I recall. Didn't he move to America with his mum?'

I nodded.

‘Moved to America, went to Harvard, worked in publishing in New York after uni, came back to London a few months ago and now he's blagging it at MullinsParker as some sort of incredibly self-important creative director. Lives in King's Cross like a wanker.'

My brother folded his arms across his chest, head cocked to one side.

‘What?' I asked, embarrassed to realise I'd been talking so fast, I was out of breath.

‘Thanks for the bio, Wikipedia.'

‘Know thy enemy,' I replied hotly. ‘I'm an adult woman with access to the internet, took me two minutes to find that out. His Instagram isn't private and the weirdo updates his LinkedIn constantly.'

In the two minutes I had to myself between moving my stuff to the cottage and William's visit, I conducted my search, certain there had to be something in his digital footprint that would give me a good, strong case of the ick. But no. He only used his Instagram to showcase his annoyingly impressive work and, as far as I could tell, he didn't have any other social media accounts. His enthusiasm for LinkedIn should've been a turn-off but it somehow managed to have the opposite effect. Aside from the fact he clearly had a strong work ethic, having kept himself busy with part-time jobs all through university, he was still listed as a board member of a volunteer organisation that helped underprivileged kids get involved in the arts in New York. If that wasn't bad enough, in between all the usual boy music, his public Spotify playlists were littered with Beyoncé and Taylor Swift tracks, and he only listened to Taylor's Versions.

The man was too good to be true.

Given a little more time, I was certain I could find something incriminating, something unforgivable, like a video of him kicking puppies or throwing up a peace sign next to a tiger in Thailand or, even worse, drinking Logan Paul's energy drink. There had to be something. There was always something.

‘Poor Joseph,' William laughed. ‘He's met his match, hasn't he?'

‘He prefers Joe,' I replied adding; ‘Not that it matters.'

‘Not that it matters,' my brother agreed gleefully. ‘Shall we have a look in his bag?'

I pasted on a look of shock, as though I hadn't spent every single second between Joe's departure and William's arrival fighting the urge to do exactly that.

‘William Leo Taylor, I am disappointed,' I said, dashing over to the window to peek out the curtain. The coast was clear. ‘That you didn't suggest it earlier. Get it open.'

He hoisted the bag onto the sofa and unfastened a tarnished brass buckle before opening the zip, each soft click-clack of the teeth parting ways tickling my eardrums. The cottage suddenly seemed very, very quiet.

‘Looks pretty standard. Shirts, socks, deodorant,' he said as he poked around inside. Then he stopped and looked me dead in the eye. ‘Oh my.'

‘What?' I asked, my heart racing as I dashed to his side.

‘Your man is packing some very fancy pants,' he fished through the neatly folded fabric to produce a pair of silky-looking black trunks. ‘Calvins. Nice.'

‘Put them down!' I ordered. ‘I don't want to see his underwear.'

‘Really?' William waggled his eyebrows up and down. ‘Tall, dark and twattish used to be your type.'

‘I'm in recovery,' I said as I slapped the underwear out of his hand and watched it float to the ground. ‘What else is in there?'

‘What else is in where?'

The two of us spun around at once, standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the open overnight bag, so close together a draught couldn't have got between us. Charlotte glared at us from the doorway, peach hair backlit by the sunny morning, her oversized blue hoodie and grey jogging bottoms swamping her tiny frame. All my sister's clothes were either five sizes too big or practically non-existent, there was no in between.

‘What are you two doing?' she asked, suspicion narrowing her brown eyes. She wouldn't appreciate me saying it but she really was growing up to be a pure clone of our mother.

‘Nothing,' I replied. ‘We weren't doing anything.'

‘Well, not nothing,' William corrected. ‘We were just saying how amazing it is that you're going to open a bookshop and wondering what your favourite reads of the year are so far?'

I felt a sharp elbow in my ribs as Charlotte's face lit up.

‘Yes, that's right!' I exclaimed. ‘I was telling William how much you loved Iron Flame and how I couldn't imagine you'd loved anything else quite as much then he said he'd love to hear your current top ten and—'

‘I did love Iron Flame,' she replied, so thrilled to be talking about her two favourite subjects – books and herself – that she immediately forgot to be suspicious. ‘But there has been a lot of great stuff this year. Fate Breaker killed me if we're still talking fantasy and you know I'm an EmHen girlie, so you've got to read her latest if you haven't already, but aside from romance I'm mostly into dark academia right now …'

‘Is that right?' William stepped forward and put his arm around Charlotte's shoulders, pushing her out of the cottage. ‘Tell me, in your professional opinion, Colleen Hoover, is she overrated?'

William turned to give me a wink as they started back down the path. He really was the best brother in the world.

As soon as they were a safe distance away, I stuffed Joe's belongings back into his bag, the silky black trunks and soft cotton T-shirts falling over each other in their bid to escape. It was wrong for a man to have such lovely things. CJ's underwear had all been from MS, all washed to within an inch of its life and in no way, shape or form could it ever be considered sexy. Exactly the way things were supposed to be. How could a woman trust a man who spent more money on his pants than she did?

‘Call me cynical,' a voice said, right as I fastened the brass clasp with a satisfying click. ‘But if you came in here to find me going through your things, I don't think you'd be very happy about it.'

‘Someone needs to put a bloody bell on that bloody door,' I muttered, pressing a hand against my pounding heart. Joe stood in the doorway in silence, arms crossed, waiting for me to defend myself.

‘I wasn't going through your things,' I told him, obliging against my better judgement. ‘I was … putting your bag on the sofa. You left it on the floor. I was protecting it, in case there are mice.'

‘Get a lot of leather-eating mice in here, do you?' he asked, leaning against the doorframe.

‘Yes,' I replied. ‘Loads.'

‘Then I owe you my eternal gratitude.'

Joe swept his dark, wavy hair out of his face with a careless hand and every muscle in my body clenched at once. ‘I'll have to think of a way to thank you properly on the way.'

I blinked back at him, confused.

‘On the way to where?'

‘So many questions,' he sighed. ‘All you need to know is, I volunteered us for a mission and we're already late, so get your hands out my pants and let's go.'

With that, he turned and strolled off up the garden, whistling a tune I vaguely recognised from our two-man karaoke party.

‘He's an arsehole,' I said out loud, disbelief tempering the volume of my voice. ‘A complete and utter arsehole.'

But that fact didn't stop my traitorous stomach flipping with anticipation as I grabbed my phone and followed him out of the cottage.