Chapter Twelve

I spend the rest of the morning sorting through the boxes and soaking vast quantities of almonds as per David's meticulous instructions. I don't see or hear anything from Theo. I guess maybe he's sleeping.

At least now the kitchen is looking better stocked – I've been back and forth to the front door signing for endless parcels. David even sent me loads of clear plastic containers and a label maker so that I could organize everything in a way that made it easy for Theo to find things. He also sent me a detailed plan for precisely how the kitchen cabinets should be arranged so that they mirrored the ones at Theo's house in LA. While I may have rolled my eyes that heaven forbid the rock star has to rifle through a cupboard for his organic seaweed crackers, I have to admit the label maker is extremely satisfying and soon I find myself labelling everything in sight.

When Theo finally makes an appearance, I am leaning over the kitchen counter sorting his many, many supplements into little days-of-the-week pill organizers that I ordered from Amazon. Unlike David, I draw the line at trailing after him on an hourly basis with fistfuls of vitamin-B and electrolyte water. Surely he is a grown-up who can take some responsibility for himself? I hear the front door open and close, the thud of bags being dropped in the hallway, and then Theo appears in front of me.

‘Here,' he says gruffly, throwing his keys at me, which I immediately deflect with a squeak, leaving them to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Theo scoops them up, placing them carefully on the counter beside me. ‘They're car keys, not a hand grenade. You said you had car trouble so if you're going out, use mine. Use it whenever.'

His voice is a bit rusty and his hair is rumpled. He looks like he's been asleep. He's still not smiling at me, but I'm touched by the gesture. I hadn't expected him to think about me at all. He yawns then, raising his arms in a stretch which lifts the bottom of his T-shirt, revealing a sliver of muscled, golden stomach. I tear my eyes away. Nope. Not thinking about it. Keeping everything professional.

‘Are you sure?' I ask, focussing once more on the pills. ‘About using the car?'

He grunts. ‘Don't want you breaking down in the middle of nowhere. That death trap of yours is held together by nothing but hope and Sellotape.'

‘Hey!' I exclaim. ‘It's duct tape actually and that's just for the wing mirror. One wing mirror. The other one is fine. Mostly.'

Theo only makes a scoffing sound as he heads to the fridge, pulling the door open and helping himself to one of the bottles of the weird green juice that got delivered in a special cooler like they were organs ready to be transplanted.

He takes a swig and then peers at the bottle with a frown. Probably reading the label that says THEO'S WEIRD GREEN JUICE. Then he closes the door and eyes the sticker that says FRIDGE.

He looks at me and his brows lift. ‘What's with the labels?'

I shrug. ‘David sent me a label maker so that I could organize things for you and I got a bit excited.'

His mouth reluctantly tugs up at the side and his eyes drop from mine towards my chest, where they linger. Is he checking me out? I feel my cheeks warm, and a strange mixture of outrage and adrenaline thunders through me. Then he gestures with his juice bottle and says, ‘And you thought I'd forget your name?'

I glance down and remember that there's a label on my chest that says CLEMMIE.

Theo is pressing his lips together like he's trying to keep himself from laughing at me, but those dark eyes of his are crinkled at the corners. I grab the label maker and punch at the buttons.

‘I don't think you're one to talk about people's names,' I say, peeling off the sticker that the machine spits out and stepping forward to slap it on his chest. ‘If anyone needs to wear a name tag, it's you.'

Theo looks down at my hand, my fingers splayed across his shirt, which is just as soft as I'd imagined. And it's stretched across a body that is hard and warm. For a second our eyes meet and I think there's a flash of something in his gaze, something wild and hungry that does strange things to my knees, but in an instant it's gone. He takes a step back, folding his arms across his chest, and I drop my hand to my side, leaving the label behind on his shirt, the one that says THEO.

‘Not Edward,' he says quietly, his voice husky.

‘Definitely not Edward,' I agree. A reminder that is worryingly necessary. I may have liked Edward, but he never existed. I need to stop getting confused by Theo's nearness. I need to remember that this is a professional situation. I need a really, really cold shower.

There's a long and extremely awkward pause.

‘Right,' Theo says, and all the light has gone out of him, leaving behind nothing but a stiff politeness in his face and his voice. ‘Better get on with this writing. That's why we're here. I'm sure Serena will be checking in on me soon enough.'

‘I'm sure you're right,' I say. ‘I'm going to the shops now, is there anything you need?'

‘No, no,' he says briskly, already backing away. ‘And you don't have to… you know… run around after me.'

‘That's my job.' I give him a fixed, bright smile. ‘And I think we both know David will come here and murder me very efficiently if I don't do it well.'

The smile Theo gives me doesn't reach his eyes as he lifts his hand in a little salute and then he's gone.

It's early evening by the time I get back from Newcastle, clutching yet more bags. At least now I'll be able to email David telling him I have everything Theo could possibly need. And driving Theo's big, expensive rental car made the whole journey much less of a hardship. I cruised along, listening to a Judy Blume audiobook which satisfied my nostalgia craving perfectly, air conditioning blasting, and not even a little bit afraid that the car would suddenly combust.

I call out a greeting when I let myself in the front door but there's no response from Theo. Hopefully he's deep in the creative zone. I unpack the bags and then set about making myself some dinner – spaghetti and a pretty basic veggie sauce, garlic bread warming in the oven. It smells great and my rumbling stomach agrees. I'm a decent cook but I'm very grateful I don't have to prepare meals for Theo. His private chef has sent over a freezer full of perfectly balanced, organic, sugar-free, dairy-free and gluten-free dinners that just need to be reheated in the oven. The most I have to do is blend the odd kale smoothie while thanking the Lord I don't have to be the one to drink it.

Speaking of Theo, there's still no sign of him, but I guess there's no reason to expect we would eat together or anything. Still, it feels strange with him in the house. Is it impolite to eat without him? Should I offer to put one of his fancy meals in the oven? I dither and decide against it.

David was very clear that Theo needs space when he's working and shouldn't be bothered unless he asks for something himself. And when I say ‘very clear' I mean he brought it up a hundred times and warned against what he called ‘idle chatter', and suggested that I should try to be neither seen, nor heard. When I told him that made me sound like a Victorian chambermaid, he made a distinct sound of approval.

So I don't bother Theo. Instead, I press the button to lower the blinds and sit on the sofa with my pasta, ready to watch the next instalment of my favourite teenage vampire drama, Blood/Lust, on Netflix. Four episodes later, I have washed up the dishes and made inroads on a tub of mint choc chip ice cream, but I still haven't seen or heard Theo.

I tidy up and leave a Post-it note on the fridge, telling him his dinner is in there and how long he needs to heat it for. After a moment's thought I add, Or there's leftover pasta and garlic bread if you'd rather. Help yourself. And I draw a smiley face.

I make my way upstairs and pause outside my bedroom door, my eyes skating towards Theo's room. There's no sound, no music, no strumming of a guitar, nothing. Perhaps he's already asleep?

I lie awake for a long time. Something about knowing Theo is not only in the house but on the other side of the wall behind me makes me feel agitated. I stay very still, picturing him lying only inches away, and it has my entire body on high alert. I'm troubled by the fact I don't seem to be able to turn off my reaction to him. It doesn't matter that my brain knows perfectly well that he's not for me, when several of my other body parts seem to vehemently disagree.

Whenever I'm near Theo, all I can think about is getting my hands on him. Or getting his hands on me. What is wrong with me? It's clearly some residual reaction to our night together. It will get easier, I tell myself, and that's the thought I am clinging to when I finally do fall asleep.