Page 60 of Just a Taste
Mr H
It’s getting cold out. This is a super moreish chicken pot pie – it’s my go-to once winter gets into full swing, and I hope you like it!
Noelle
Another flawless dish.
Mr H
Roland mentioned you’re in back-to-back meetings most of this week. Hope they go well, and you enjoy this salmon and couscous as a quick lunch on your busiest days.
Noelle
The meetings went spectacularly, and the salmon and couscous was phenomenal. I keep going through the drawer. There are two years’ worth of Post-it notes in here, a paper trail of all the good Noelle has brought into my life since I first hired her.
How many thank yous has she received from me?
How many times have I vocalised how appreciative I am of her? How in awe I am of her skills?
A solid zero.
Urgh.It’s no wonder she can barely stand me, though I don’t suppose I’ve done myself any favours with mybehaviour today. I’ve been the very definition of hot and cold, and even I’m getting tired of it. I wouldn’t be surprised if, as soon as the storm breaks, she hands in her notice and I never see her again.
It’s not even about the food at this point, though her dishes will be missed. It’s abouther. She’s been within my reach for the last two years, but I haven’t felt as close or connected to her as I have these last few days. The idea of going back to the cold, distant relationship we had before, or losing her entirely, is unpleasant.
Extremely so.
I sigh as I drop my failed foil stars into the drawer filled with Post-it notes and slam it shut.
I need to make things right.
CHAPTER FIFTEENNoelle
I don’t think I’ve ever felt worse in my entire life.
I spit out the last dregs of mouthwash and grimace at my reflection in the bathroom mirror. My braids are getting fuzzy after three days of sleeping without a bonnet or headscarf, my borrowed clothes from Hoxton dwarf me entirely, making me seem small and frail, there are circles forming under my eyes, and there’s a deep furrow in my brow that I’m sure isn’t normally there.
Guilt has a way of etching itself into your features, and I’m practically broadcasting my regret to the whole universe right now.
‘Pushed too hard, Noelle. Pushed way too hard,’ I mutter to myself, remembering the way Hoxton’s dark eyes clouded over earlier when I prodded him about his aversionto Christmas. I take a deep breath and try to shake off the tension coiled in my chest.
It wasn’t my place to pry; to attempt to unravel the threads of his pain without consent. And the way he flinched when I mentioned Christmas? The way his jaw tightened and his gaze turned distant? I’ve crossed an invisible boundary and I’m not sure if there’s any coming back from this. It doesn’t help that we were already on thin ice after our kiss earlier.
It only happened a few hours ago, but it feels like a lifetime has passed since we kissed. To me, anyway. I’m sure Hoxton’s already forgotten about it. It’s clear as day that he’s already put me back in whatever box it was he’d categorised me in before this storm. Any chance of Hoxton and I having any kind of relationship – friendly, or otherwise – once this entire ordeal is over is non-existent.
As soon as the storm passes, I’m out of here. I’ve been keeping an eye on the Met Office website, desperately waiting for the alert system to downgrade to amber – no such luck just yet, but surely this can’t continue for much longer. I give it another day. By tomorrow afternoon I’ll be out of here and on my way to Gran’s. Christmas will officially be on track again.
With a soft click, I switch off the light and make my way back towards the guest room, fully intent on camping out in there tonight. I’m not sure I can handle being bundled up beside Hoxton after everything that’s gone on betweenus. But as I enter the room, an icy chill hits me like a wave and goosebumps spring to life all over my body almost instantaneously.
This heater situation is going to be the death of me, I swear it. At this point, I either freeze to death or die from a Hoxton-related aneurysm.
Both seem equally likely.
I wrap my arms around my body in a feeble attempt to warm up, but it feels like standing outside in the dead of winter.
With a resigned groan, I dive into the bed and crawl under the covers, tucking my knees close in an attempt to muster up some kind of warmth. But the cold seems to have made itself at home under my skin and nothing works. I glance longingly at the door that leads out into the hall and towards Hoxton’s room.
It’s just heat, I think to myself.A basic human need. Surely he wouldn’t begrudge me that?
