Chapter Sixteen

Joe was a heavy sleeper.

He didn't even stir when I climbed out of bed the next morning, dressing quickly and quietly, and edging past the sofa-bed to let myself out the cottage before he could wake. It had been a restless night, sleep hovering just out of reach from the moment I closed my eyes. Every time I felt myself slipping towards blissful oblivion, my brain decided to scroll through some of our greatest hits, all the classics with some new trauma thrown in for good measure. Everything I had to lose if people found out I was Este Cox, my mother's disappointment, the fact I'd wasted five years of my life with an arse like CJ and even he didn't want me, and the conversation I was going to have at some point in the near future with the man next door, who kept parking so close to my driveway, it was almost impossible for me to back out without hitting him. How difficult was it to pull up two more feet? He was definitely doing it on purpose.

And if that wasn't enough, each time I rolled over, I heard Joe Walsh. The whisper of sheets against skin, the soft sighs and quiet murmurs, and every other barely audible exhalation that might as well have been a twenty-piece brass band. I couldn't possibly relax with him so close to me. How could he lie there sleeping peacefully when I couldn't keep my eyes closed for five minutes at a time? The audacity of the man. So, it was safe to say I didn't look my best when I jogged down the side of the house, bypassing breakfast with the family, in favour of a walk to visit the best coffee shop in town.

Even though it was early, Sarah was already busy, most of the tables full and a short queue forming out the door. I recognised the tetchy expressions on their faces. You simply did not come between a person and their coffee before nine a.m. if you wanted to live to see lunchtime.

‘Taylor!' she cried happily when she saw me hanging around the doorway. ‘Get in here. What are you drinking?'

Several pairs of eyes burned into my back. If looks could kill, I'd have been six feet under.

‘No, you're busy,' I said, loud enough for them all to hear. ‘I'll come back later.'

‘You certainly will not. Get your arse back in here immediately.'

There was one thing scarier than an early morning coffee shop customer and that was Sarah Nixon. I knew better than to argue, shuffling through the tables with murmured apologies to anyone and everyone.

Ignoring the outrage with two large pink takeout cups in her hands and a paper bag of pastries hanging from her mouth, Sarah left her colleague in charge and beckoned me to follow her down the little hallway and out a back door to an alley. Two plastic chairs sat at a small table, the York stone walls of the shops on one side of us, a row of trees on the other, early morning dappled sunlight shining through their branches.

‘It's not a vanilla latte but you'll like it,' she promised, pushing one of the coffees towards me when I sat down.

‘What is it?' I asked with a cautious sniff.

‘Mr Atkinson's coconut flat white. Orders the same thing every day because he doesn't like coffee.'

I took a tiny sip as she sat opposite me.

‘But it is coffee?'

‘I know.' Sarah tore open the paper bag that contained two chocolate croissants. ‘But don't tell him that. Now, tell me what's going on and why you look like something the dog dragged in, ate up, threw up, ate again and shat out?'

And to think of the two of us, I was the romance writer.

‘It's a lot of stuff.' I crumbled a bit off the pastry, unsure where to start. ‘And it's complicated.'

‘Have you forgot who you're talking to?' she laughed. ‘Don't "it's complicated" me. Is it CJ? Was he there last night?'

‘Yes, he was but no, it's not him.'

It wasn't. If CJ were a book boyfriend, he wouldn't even get Daniel Cleaver status in my story. More like I was Elizabeth Bennet and I'd accidentally gone out with Mr Collins for five whole years.

Sarah studied me carefully and I kept my face busy, eating and drinking and not thinking about Joe or my mum or Joe or Butterflies or Joe. Eventually, she sat back in her chair and glared at me with accusatory eyes.

‘What?' I asked, heating up under her gaze.

‘You said you weren't seeing anyone but you've got romantic drama face.'

I tore off a huge piece of flaky pastry and stuffed it in my mouth. ‘I do not have romantic drama face. There's no such thing as romantic drama face.'

But it was too late, she already smelled blood in the water.

‘Taylor, don't be a dick. There are circles under your eyes darker than a black hole, you've got a mouth like a cat's arse and you are inhaling that croissant like someone's going to take it away from you. You're an anxious eater and you're never more anxious than when you have romantic drama. You didn't come running in looking like the girl from The Ring just to say hello, you came because you needed to talk to me, so go on, talk.'

‘Anyone who doesn't inhale a croissant this good wants their head checking,' I muttered, savouring a speck of the buttery goodness before relenting with a very big sigh. ‘I came because seeing you always makes me feel better.'

‘Thank you, of course it does, and why do you need to feel better?'

‘All right, I'm stressed out,' I admitted. ‘But I'm stressed out about a lot of things, not only romantic drama. Work stuff, family stuff and—'

‘But there is romantic drama!' Sarah held up a triumphant finger and I kicked myself at the slip up. ‘Out with it, what's their name?'

‘He doesn't deserve a name, he's an idiot,' I mumbled, not at all picturing the way the thin white sheet had been draped over his gorgeous body when I snuck out this morning, arms raised over his head to show off the line of his shoulders, the cut of his collarbone, head tilted to one side, full lips slightly parted. ‘Except my body hasn't quite caught on to that yet.'

‘Look at your face.' Sarah clapped, delighted, as my cheeks turned a deep shade of scarlet. ‘Hate to be the one to break it to you but whoever this idiot is, you're totally into him.'

‘Am not.'

‘Are too.'

‘I am not.'

‘You're so in love with him, you couldn't be any more in love with him if you tried,' she said back in a sing-song voice. ‘You love him more than I love espresso martinis, Cadbury's I Eggs and Alexander Skarsg?rd, not all at the same time. Although …'

‘You're wrong. I could not be less in love with this man,' I announced, an agitated snip clipping off the edges of my words. ‘Just because someone is handsome and funny, works with books, likes the same films as you and is big and strong enough to toss you over his shoulder and carry you out of a burning building does not mean you should automatically throw your underwear at him.'

‘Yes, it does.'

In her defence, I'd set myself up there. Crossing my arms and legs at the same time, I looked away, shaking my head more at myself than anyone else. ‘Not when he's also so full of shit he could supply manure to every farm between Land's End and John O'Groats.'

But was he? A knot tied itself in my stomach when I thought of his lips against my ear and pulled tightly at the memory of the look on his face when I came back to the cottage, so sad and tearful. It was possible there was a very, very, very small chance I might have misjudged him. I'd been wrong in the past but only on extremely rare occasions, like the time I momentarily doubted Beyoncé's ability to pull off a country record. Shame on me. But what about the things Mal said, the cadding and the bounderesness? Mal wasn't a liar, that had to come from somewhere.

‘If you say you're not interested in this man I believe you but humour me for one minute,' Sarah suggested. ‘What's the future Mr Sophie Taylor's name?'

‘The future Mr Sophie Taylor is a clone of Ryan Reynolds that hasn't been created yet, as you well know,' I replied. ‘The man sent to punish me for terrible crimes I must have committed in a past life is called Joe Walsh.'

‘Then tell me about Joe Walsh.'

The incriminating wash of scarlet crept down my throat and mottled my chest.

‘His dad is friends with my dad. They're both up here for the party.'

‘His dad is friends with your dad? If this were a Jane Austen novel, that would be enough to see the two of you married off.'

‘Thankfully, times have changed,' I said. ‘But if it was an Austen novel, he'd be a Wickham, not a Darcy. Pretty, sneaky and completely full of it.'

I swirled my cup, blending the coffee and the coconut milk, as she tucked into the middle chunk of her croissant, the best bit according to Sarah and, according to Sarah logic, you should always eat the best bit first. ‘I'm not in love with him, it's purely physical and I don't do purely physical. There's something about him that makes me want to climb the man. It's pheromones, right? Tell me it's pheromones so I don't have to have myself committed.'

‘Sounds like a crush to me,' she replied, picking each layer of pastry apart, starting with the crunchiest. ‘I will admit it's not like you to lose your mind over strong thighs and a sleazy smile but there's a first time for everything, which leads me to my next question: does he feel the same? Has he expressed an interest in climbing you also?'

Resting my arms on the table and my head on my arms, I catalogued all our almost moments, the knot in my belly squeezing even tighter. ‘This feels so weird to say but I actually think he does.'

‘And that's weird because?'

‘Because no one in the history of ever has been interested in me for purely physical reasons and don't start with all that "but you're so pretty" stuff because a), it doesn't count coming from you, and b), I've got many years of precedent to back me up. It's just not me.'

‘That's because I've never met anyone with a stronger "touch me and die" vibe,' Sarah replied. ‘Call it boundaries, call it self-respect, either way I wouldn't know, but that's not the point. The point is, I think you should probably have sex with this man. Immediately if not sooner.'

I raised a single questioning eyebrow in her direction.

‘For science,' she added.

A second eyebrow joined the first.

‘It's an important experiment!' she exclaimed. ‘If your interest in him is purely physical then you need to get it out your system before you spontaneously combust, and it sounds like he'd be a willing participant. Once you've banged, the feelings should go away. He likes the look of you, you like the look of him, I'm really not seeing the bigger problem.'

‘I can think of one,' I said. ‘I don't trust him.'

‘Why not?'

‘Because one minute he's trying to charm the knickers off everyone in the room, the next he wants to sit down for a deep and meaningful then he's storming off in a huff like he's the one who's being messed around.' I picked at a loose thread in the cuff of my old cardigan until it pulled the fabric, annoyed at Joe then annoyed at myself for picking at the loose thread in the cuff of my cardigan. ‘How can someone be so nice one minute and such an arsehole the next? And he's too handsome to be trustworthy. No man that attractive has ever in the entire history of the world been referred to as "nice".'

‘What if he's a good guy trapped in a shagger's body?' Sarah suggested. ‘Maybe he wants to be a decent human but he's cursed with such hotness, women keep flinging their knickers at him like kryptonite and dragging him back down to their sordid level.'

‘Must be so hard for him,' I replied drily. ‘Imagine the suffering he has endured.'

‘Or maybe he's running hot and cold because he's trying to crack on to a woman he really likes and she's treating him like a complete psychopath simply because he's interested in her.'

‘You're absurd.'

‘And you're finding excuses to keep your distance. I'm suggesting you sleep with the man not give him your online banking password. Although I'm assuming it's still the same password you've been using for everything since 2009 because you're practically begging to get your identity stolen.'

‘OK, you shut up now,' I replied.

‘OK, SophieMelark4Eva009?'

‘I said shut it, MrsSarahCullen69.'

We both picked up our croissants at the same time, Sarah with a smile on her face, me very much sulking.

‘I'd like to raise a hypothesis,' she proposed as I took the last bite of my pastry. God, they were good. Covering my mouth with my hand, I eyed her across the table.

‘Which is?'

‘What if it's yourself you don't trust and not this Joe character?'

‘Yes, it's definitely him,' I answered right away.

She wrapped her ponytail round on itself, curled her blonde ringlets into a huge bun, let it fall, then repeated the process.

‘Feel free to disregard this if it does nothing for you,' she said after securing her third go with a hair stick she produced from her pocket. ‘But as your friend, I have observed the fact you haven't exactly put yourself out there since you and CJ ended it. Maybe you're a bit gun shy. It would make sense for you to be a bit nervous.'

‘It would but I'm not,' I insisted. ‘Cautious, yes. Nervous, I don't think so.'

‘Well, what do I know?' she said lightly, wiping her hands on the legs of her jeans. ‘Just seems a bit odd that you're so dead against having a go on this supposedly handsome, funny, book-loving hunk. You haven't even kissed the man, so I can't imagine what he could have done to have your guard up like this?'

It was cool in the alley behind the coffee shop but I could tell the day was going to be a scorcher. You could smell it in the air. I tugged the newly pulled sleeves of my cardigan over my hands and looked back at my friend as she drank her coffee with a pleasant, innocent expression, just waiting for me to break.

‘There's something else going on here and you don't want to tell me, which is fine,' Sarah said, setting aside her pink cup. ‘But you know I'll get it out of you. Wouldn't it be easier to give in now?'

There wasn't a person alive who would be able to keep a secret from Sarah Nixon for more than half an hour. Not even the best-trained intelligence operatives would be a match for her nonchalant approach to forcing the truth out of you. She really had missed her calling as an interrogator.

She dipped what was left of her croissant into her coffee and took a bite. ‘In about ten hours, you, me and this stud are going to be at the same party. I will be child-free for the whole evening and I will have unfettered access to wine. I will be unstoppable.'

Puffing out my cheeks as far as they would go, I blew out the air slowly. Once again, Sarah never lied.

‘Maybe you shouldn't come to the party,' I suggested, only half-kidding. ‘It's going to be terrible. Incredibly boring, lots of old people, average age of ninety-seven, I think.'

‘Your brother told me there's an open bar, it's no kids allowed and your dad hired a bouncy castle I'm coming.'

‘Dad hired a bouncy castle?' I repeated as she finished her breakfast and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. ‘What is he thinking? Someone's going to break a hip.'

‘One way or another. If Joe's thighs really are as big as you say.'

I frowned.

‘I don't specifically remember mentioning his thighs.'

‘Are they massive though?'

‘They're average,' I replied. ‘Completely ordinary thighs. You're projecting.'

Only she wasn't. His thighs were incredible.

‘Final offer. Tell me what's going on, and I'll give you a cookie,' Sarah said, leaning across the table to stare right into my eyes.

‘Give me a cookie and I'll tell you,' I replied, calling her bluff.

‘On the way out,' she bartered. ‘Now let's hear it, Taylor. All of it.'

I felt so stupid. This was Sarah, I could tell her anything and everything and she would never judge me, but I couldn't properly explain the Joe situation without explaining the Butterflies situation, and it wasn't that I didn't trust her but it seemed so unfair to expect another person to keep my secret. That said, I really needed to talk to someone and there was no one on the planet who knew me better, not even William. Big brothers had very clear limits when it came to their little sisters.

‘Right, I will tell you and I don't want to be overdramatic, but,' I said, checking over both shoulders to make sure we were alone as she squealed with glee. ‘If I do, you have to swear you'll keep it to yourself.'

‘Unless you're about to tell me you're the princess of Genovia, I guarantee you're overreacting,' she replied with mock offence. ‘Who am I going to tell, my kids? If it's not Minecraft or WWE, they couldn't give a shit.'

I took a final sip of Mr Atkinson's coffee to prepare myself. The look on William's face when he FaceTimed me after reading the first sex scene was something I'd never forget. He demanded he got twenty percent to represent me as my agent instead of the usual fifteen, then broke down in tears sobbing ‘but you're my baby sister' over and over and over.

‘Have you heard of a book called Butterflies?' I asked, shifting nervously in my seat.

‘Heard of it?'

Sarah's expression changed immediately, rabid excitement replacing her curiosity as she patted herself down for her phone. ‘How have we not talked about this? That book is basically my whole personality. See? I'm halfway through the audiobook.' She swiped into Audible and held it up as evidence. ‘I've already got the paperback but one of the mums at school said I had to get the audiobook and I'm glad she did. It's good to have both your hands free while you're listening, if you know what I mean.'

‘I really wish you hadn't said that,' I groaned. ‘You're going to wish you hadn't said that.'

‘What has Butterflies got to do with anything?' She still kept one loving, protective hand on her phone as she barked out a laugh. ‘Joe isn't Este Cox, is he?'

‘Nope.' I covered my face with my hands, breathing in the scent of my fabric softener, peeking at my friend from between my fingers. ‘I am.'

Across the table, she stared at me with her mouth hanging open, speechless. Sarah Nixon, lost for words.

‘Well, you were right as always,' I said. ‘There really is a first time for everything.'