Page 75 of Knots About You
Owen’s hands cupping my jaw.
Owen looking at me with those green eyes.
Owen in my kitchen, painting ceilings and being sweet.
Us cuddled up, flirting and laughing at old TV shows.
The man who didn’t hide me.
My Owen.
Despite my surety in his character, Becky’s words still invaded my chest like rot.
Flopping myself onto the sofa, I breathed. Once. Twice. As if air had grown sticky. I turned the radio up too loud and told myself I was fine.
And for the first night since arriving, I didn’t text Owen.
twenty-nine
OWEN
By four,the silence from Claire became a scream between my ears. Her quiet was so loud I couldn’t think straight. She hadn’t messaged me back last night, nor this morning. I’d consoled myself with the thought that she was probably setting the cottage right, or out walking, or a hundred other things.
By the time she missed the content shoot, I was full-blown arse-clenchingly worried.
Not only that, but Eilidh hadn’t seen her all day, and that was even more unheard of than not texting back. Claire avoiding Eilidh’s coffee and cake? Never.
Holding a chocolate-laced cappuccino and a bag full of assorted cakes (because I needed choices in case I’ve somehow enraged her), I knocked at Rose Cottage.
The new curtains were shut tight. No music came from within. It was all wrong.
I knocked a second time, but there was no answer. ‘Claire? It’s Owen. I come bearing pastries and caffeine.’
The lightest footsteps within. The chain slid. She opened the door a tad, just enough for me to see those blue eyes rimmed red and her hair scraped back off her face.
‘Hey, you.’
She stepped back, which was invitation enough for me.
The place smelt of yesterday’s dinner and stale air. Claire sat heavily on the sofa like it might not hold whatever sadness ailed her. I put the cup down and sat next to her. I wanted to pull her against me, but the waters were potentially shark-infested.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ she said, which was universal forsomething.
I laced my fingers in hers and gently tipped her face to mine with my other hand.
‘Whatever this is about, we only get through it by talking.’
‘I know. Just talking about things tends to make me cry like a baby. Even when I’m not sad, it’s like my eyes have a stress tap that once it’s on, can’t be turned off.’
‘So you’re human. Spill.’
‘Becky followed me from the bus home.’
Fucking Becky, of course she did.
‘God, no wonder you’re miserable. She has a penchant for inflicting pain. And not even in a good way.’
