Page 26 of Well, Actually
He narrows his eyes in a half-hearted attempt at a frown. “Fair point. My room…” He distractedly waves at a door to our right, and I’m alarmed by my impulse to kick the wood off its hinges and scour adult Cooper’s room like a spy gathering crucial intelligence.
I shake myself. As if there’d be anything worth seeing. I’m sure it smells like a mix of weed and dirty laundry and has a bare mattress in the corner. Old habits and all that.
“And this,” Cooper says with a flourish, opening the door at the end of the hall and revealing a short staircase that leads up to an attic, “is where the magic happens… Outside of my bedroom, I mean.” He shoots me a goofy, exaggerated wink.
“You’re the human equivalent of Comic Sans,” I respond, working to check my own twitching lips as they try to mirror his.
Cooper’s grin only grows. “I’m so glad you’ve picked upthat words of affirmation are my love language. You make me feel so good about myself.” Against my will, a honk of laughter bursts out of me. His eyes glint like he was just handed the winning numbers for the lottery.
“After you,” he says, gesturing up the stairs.
I click my tongue against my teeth, planting my hands on my hips. “Yeah, right. I’ve seen this horror movie. You probably keep severed limbs up there. I’m not going to willinglyleadthe way into your creepy attic.”
Cooper pouts. “But how else will I get an ideal view of your ass?”
My eyebrows lift, warmth splashing my cheeks as I let out a goddamngiggleof surprise. I wipe my features into a grimace. “Well, I can at least respect your honesty. I do have a great ass.”
“Always been one of my favorite things about you.” Cooper agrees with a gentlemanly nod.
Oh my god, I am horrified at how much pleasure shoots through me. I hustle up the steps, trying to shake off whatever new form of madness I’ve acquired since setting foot in this alarmingly charming home.
The attic, to my shock, is not creepy nor does it have any dismembered limbs. It’s actually rather… cozy. A large skylight slants golden sunshine into the space, striking a grand bookshelf overflowing with novels and vibrant green plants. A small bar cart is parked near it, housing an electric kettle and compact coffee maker, a hodgepodge of well-loved mugs arranged on the lower shelf. A plush yellow rug fills up most of the floor, a comfy-looking couch in one corner, two upholstered chairs surrounding a round table opposite.
The mics are set up on the table with water bottles next tothem, various other recording and filming equipment tucked neatly into the room. I turn in a slow circle as I take it in, and the sun strikes hanging stained glass, refracting on the walls so it feels like I’m in the center of a kaleidoscope.
My rotation stops on Cooper, attention latching onto his sheepish smile, the way he fiddles with his glasses, pushing them up his nose.
“What do you think?” he asks.
I swallow. I’m probably in competition with Belle on who’s more shocked and impressed by their beast’s secret room of books and beauty. Wait. No. Belle falls in love with Beast. I despise the vulnerable-looking man before me.
“It’s nice,” I say with a shrug. I point at one of the chairs. “Should I…?”
“Yeah. Yes. Please, sit.” He waves me forward and plops into the opposite spot.
We’re silent for a moment, and I keep my eyes far from Cooper’s. For some reason, I feel like if I meet his gaze, something humiliating and dangerously tender might play across my face.
“Want some coffee? Tea?” he asks, bouncing up from his seat like the quiet is a physical pressure and he’s a spring fighting against it.
“Uh, sure,” I say, my voice a bit hoarse. “Tea would be great.”
“Peppermint, right?”
My attention snaps to where he stands by the kettle, an unwrapped box of peppermint tea held in his hand. My brows pinch, eyes bouncing between the box and his cautious look. “How did you…”
“Come on, Eva.” He lets out a rough breath of a laugh. “You drank a giant thermos of it every class. The smell of peppermint and you became practically Pavlovian for me.” His smile is timid but automatic, and I have to look away, a painful rasp of emotion scoring down my throat. I let my hair cover my burning cheeks as I fiddle with one of the wires in front of me.
“Tea would be great, thanks,” I repeat when I can trust my voice to be cool and unaffected. The crinkling of plastic wrap as he opens the box and prepares my cup sends my brain into a flurry wondering if he bought that specifically for…me.
No.No.I’m delusional. Ridiculous. Of course he didn’t buy it for me. It’s common knowledge peppermint is good for voice work. I’m positive he keeps it on hand for himself and podcast guests. It’s purely coincidence. Coincidence and one decent memory of me.
But a tiny, rapidly beating chamber of my heart keeps echoing the thought,Unless…
Cooper gently puts a mug in front of me, and I watch with way too much focus at the way his fingers uncurl from the red handle, the thick veins and dusting of dark hair that trace up his exposed forearms. My gaze travels up his arm to land on his face, my stomach tightening when I find him looking at me.
“Thanks,” I say, horrified at how breathy I sound. I clear my throat, reaching for the mug and taking a scalding gulp. Why are my hands shaking?
Cooper parks himself across from me again, fingertips framing the base of his mic as he rotates it a millimeter to theleft. I toy with the tag hanging from the teabag, avoiding eye contact again.
