Page 64 of Just a Taste
I know it’s not my fault that she’s still here, but a wave of guilt washes over me at how obvious it is that Noelle wants to be with her family. I’ve spent the last five minutes hoping to extend my time with her as much as I possibly can, and she’s, rightfully, desperate to leave.
‘I’ll be there,’ Noelle says, and it sounds like she’s tryingto convince herself just as much as she is them. ‘As soon as the weather clears, I’ll be on the road.’
‘Don’t do anything reckless now,’ her grandmother says, a hint of motherly concern slipping into her words. ‘We want you here in one piece, sweetheart.’
Noelle starts to blink rapidly. ‘Right. Got it.’
‘And wherever you are,’ her grandmother continues, ‘you’ll be doing something to celebrate, won’t you?’
I take that moment to look away as another wave of guilt hits me. Shecouldbe doing something, if I wasn’t such a miserable prick. My thoughts drift towards my impromptu Google search yesterday for DIY Christmas decorations and my drawer filled with terrible foil stars. Maybe Icouldput them out for her? Or, I could go back to the YouTube drawing board and attempt some of the other tutorials I’d scrolled past. Surely it can’t be too hard to pull together some garlands made from dried fruit and cinnamon sticks? Though I did say the same thing about the foil stars and look where that got me. I try not to think too hard about the fact that most of these projects are aimed at primary school children.
‘Of course,’ Noelle says dismissively, and I wonder if her family can tell that she’s lying as easily as I can. ‘You know I bring the Christmas spirit wherever I go.’
Her grandmother hums and then I hear her sister’s voice crackling through the speakers again.
‘And what aboutAlex?’
Noelle starts coughing loudly in an attempt to drown out her sister, but it’s too late. I whip my head around again and raise a brow because, if I’m not mistaken, Noelle’s sister just purred my name.
Myfirstname.
Purredit.
My heart skips a beat as I catch Noelle’s eyes darting towards me, a mix of panic and mischief dancing in them. She hastily sits up straighter, her cheeks flushing a deep crimson that spreads down beyond the neckline of my sweatshirt. I can just about make out the teasing glint in her sister’s eyes on the screen, and suddenly the atmosphere in the room on the screen changes.
‘Who’s Alex?’ another voice chimes in from the screen, and a ripple of laughter follows.
Noelle tries desperately to change the subject, steering the conversation back to their holiday plans and the food they’re preparing, but no one is having it. If anything, Noelle’s terrible attempts at trying to divert the conversation only seem to fuel their interest further.
‘Is he yourboyfriend?’ a younger voice calls out, and Noelle’s sister dips the camera a little to show a gap-toothed little girl peering up at the screen. ‘Is he?’
Noelle looks like she’s hoping the bed will miraculously open up and swallow her whole. ‘No,’ she says firmly, and I try not to take offence. ‘He isnotmy boyfriend.’
‘Then who is he?’ someone asks.
The camera shifts again and suddenly Noelle’s sister is centre stage once more. ‘Andwhereis he?’
I decide that I’ve heard too much. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Noelle so red, and it’s clear that this isn’t a conversation she wants to be having – much less having in front of me. I move to swing my legs out of the bed and give her some much-needed privacy, but then she sighs and says—
‘He’s right here.’
And then Noelle does the unthinkable. She turns the camera in my direction.
CHAPTER SEVENTEENNoelle
If looks could kill, I’d be a dead woman right now.
Hoxton is frozen to the spot, eyes wide, a deer-in-headlights expression on his face. If I didn’t feel so bad about throwing him into this madness without any warning, I might’ve laughed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Hoxton look so off guard. In fact, I don’t think he’s everbeenso off guard either.
I shoot him an apologetic look and mouth ‘I’m sorry’ as my family immediately start bombarding him with questions.
I can see panic blooming in his eyes as my grandmother’s voice cuts through with a loud and questioning, ‘I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend.’
‘He’s not, Gran,’ Eve says, and I don’t even have to look at the screen to know that she’s grinning deviously. ‘Alex…’
If she keeps saying his name like that – drowning in not-so-subtle implication – I’m going to scream.
‘… is one of Noelle’s clients.’
