Page 29 of Just a Taste
‘That is the basis of our entire relationship, yes.’
‘While you’re staying at my home for free?’ I finish.
Her lips twitch but she manages to keep the moderately unimpressed expression fixed across her face. ‘Are you implying that if I don’t make you three square mealsa day, you’ll kick me out and leave me to freeze to death out there?’
There’s a playful glint in her eye and it hits me, a second delayed, that she’s toying with me. Teasing me, even. Like we’re old friends and this kind of easy back and forth is commonplace between us. I’m not sure how to respond, but it feels like she’s thrown me a ball and is tentatively watching to see if I’ll toss it back her way.
I open my mouth, ready to respond. Ready to finally chip away at this wall between us and take the first step towards a new kind of relationship with Noelle. But then my watch vibrates and I instinctively glance down. The wordURGENTjumps out at me from the small email preview on the tiny screen and I let out a groan. HoxTech is branching into the phone market in the new year for the first time, and every step of the way has been met with problem after problem.
‘Are you kidding me?’ I murmur under my breath as I scan through the email as it scrolls up my watch face. There’s been a leak, and a tech blogger somewhere in America is gleefully tweeting out sneak peeks of the phone. An irritating problem, but nothing too dissimilar from the ones I’ve dealt with over the years.
‘Sorry,’ Noelle says suddenly, her voice several degrees cooler than it was before.
I glance up to find her scraping back her stool, any trace of a smirk wiped completely from her face.
Now this?
This is familiar territory. She’s looking at me with thinly veiled dislike, and it’s obvious she can’t wait to put several feet between us again.
‘Sorry?’ I repeat, confused and half distracted by the flurry of emails I can see coming through via my watch. ‘What’re you—’
‘I promised I’d keep out of your way, and…’ She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. ‘Here I am. In your way. Give me two minutes to wash up here and then I promise you won’t see me again.’
I’m not entirely sure how we got here, but she doesn’t give me a chance to question the sudden change. Doesn’t even take the two minutes she asked for before she’s striding out of the kitchen, head held high and without a backwards glance in my direction.
I’m not sure why, but I get the distinct feeling that I’ve messed up.
CHAPTER EIGHTNoelle
‘It could be worse.’
‘How?’ I groan as I kick the bedroom door shut behind me and drop down onto my bed with the kind of dramatic flourish you’d expect from a teenager. ‘Please tell me how exactly it could be worse.’
Eve chews thoughtfully on a slice of toast before shrugging. ‘You could be stuck on the side of the road.’ She pauses and shoots me a pointed look. ‘You know, freezing to death.’
‘Don’t tempt me with a good time,’ I mutter, trying desperately to ignore the fact that she does have a good point. On paper, being holed up in Hoxton’s home while we wait for the storm to pass is definitely the best-case scenario here. But in reality…
‘It’s just so awkward,’ I continue with a grimace. Everyattempt I’ve made to bridge the gap between us and soften some of the tension in the air has been met with a blank stare, like he’s committed to keeping me at arm’s length. I’d be offended by it if I hadn’t seen, first hand, that this is just how he treats most people. But still, we’re shacked up together for at least another twenty-four hours; according to the Met Office alert still running across every banner on every news channel, people are ‘strongly advised’ to stay at home. The least Hoxton could do is be a little more hospitable. Crack a smile. Laugh at one of my jokes. Do absolutely anything other than commit to the whole ‘miserable prick’ persona he’s insisted on adopting.
‘I thought we were getting somewhere this morning, but even that ended in him rolling his eyes and muttering under his breath when I tried to make a joke.’
‘Maybe it wasn’t a very funny joke.’
If looks could kill, Eve would be a dead woman right now. ‘Whose side are you on?’
‘Yours,’ she laughs. ‘Always yours. You know that. I’m just saying, things could be worse. Have you seen the news, or even scrolled through any socials today?’
I wince, knowing that once again, she does have a point. A quick doomscroll through my various social media feeds while I was eating breakfast confirmed that, overnight, chaos has unfolded all across the country. Every other post seemed to be a report of massive traffic pile-ups, poweroutages and people, weighed down with Christmas shopping, stuck on crowded trains. And that’s not to mention the videos people have posted of the wind battering their gardens, sending trampolines flying and tree branches falling to the ground.
A sudden gust of wind rattles the windows loud enough for Eve to hear through the phone and we exchange a nervous glance. The storm shows absolutely no sign of letting up anytime soon. But while being stuck in Hoxton’s home seems like a luxury compared to the havoc outside, the thought of spending another day trapped inside with just him for company feels suffocating.
‘Have you seen the tree yet?’ Eve asks suddenly, her eyes lighting up. It’s an obvious change of topic, but I’m grateful for it. I need something to take my mind off the increasingly gloomy train of thought I’ve headed into. Eve doesn’t wait for me to answer before she’s leaping up and tearing across Gran’s house. I get brief glimpses of bleary-eyed cousins and aunts and uncles as she dashes through the halls. ‘They put the finishing touches on it last night, and… Voila!’ She steadies her camera in front of her and I get my first glimpse of this year’s tree.
At seven foot high, it stands tall and proud in the corner of the living room. Its branches are practically bowing under the weight of an endless stream of Christmas decorations and sparkling fairy lights. Every bit of tension and irritation I’vebeen carrying since I woke this morning melts away as I spot some of decorations clearly added by the younger members of our family. There’s a plastic dinosaur perched precariously on one branch, wearing a tiny Santa hat, a sock puppet with mismatched googly eyes peeking out from behind a cluster of tinsel, and right at the very top of the tree in place of the traditional star or angel, is a pine cone absolutely dripping in glitter.
In the background I spot a gaggle of my baby cousins running through the hall, quickly followed by Gran hollering half-heartedly after to them, ‘Slow down before you break something!’
‘Oh Noelle,’ Eve breathes suddenly. ‘Don’t cry.’
