Page 34 of A Cornish Love Story
His eyes widened in surprise. ‘Because you said … When we were together, you told me. We were here, and I was worried about the ghosts, and told you that story about the figure in the alleyway in York, and you said you hated the thought of being trapped – you panicked when some dickhead shut you in a stationery cupboard at school.’
‘You remember that?’
He brushed his fingers across my forehead, wherethere were a few runaway strands of hair. ‘Of course I remember.’
‘Oh.’
‘I haven’t forgotten anything,’ he said, and his tone was firm, as if he was annoyed that I would have even considered him forgetting a moment of our time together. He’d been distant, closed-off when I got here, but now …
‘Neither have I,’ I admitted, and even though my pulse had started to settle and my breathing was levelling out, I didn’t feel a whole lot better, because I was suddenly faced with something a lot more daunting than being trapped in a glamorous house: being trapped with a quickly defrosting Ethan. My sanity-preserving plan of avoiding him as much as possible, of getting in and out as painlessly as I could, was lying, torn and tattered, on the plush rug at my feet.
Dear Connor,
I met someone today, in the village. I was in the shop, buying some biscuits (are you surprised?) and I walked round the end of an aisle and bumped into this man. There was a flurry of apologies, and I dropped my custard creams. I heard them break, and I must have looked forlorn, because the man asked if I was OK. He asked me if I’d broken anything, and when I frowned, he pointed at my biscuits and said, ‘These guys.’ (I have to admit, I liked that he called the custard creams ‘guys’. Is that weird?)
Then he said he had some time to kill, and he asked if I wanted to have a coffee with him. I hadn’t seen him before; I thought he might be a visitor, here for work or on holiday, and for a moment I was tempted. But there were several reasons why I didn’t say yes. I’ve thought about it since I got home, so here they are.
One, he had thick shoulders, and I know I’m being judgemental, but I couldn’t help wondering how he got them. Does he have difficulty buying T-shirts that fit? If it progressed beyond one coffee, then … reason two, is he going to regale me with stories about lifting concrete posts or doing hundreds of press-ups a day? Would that be my future? Three, he wasn’t great at eye contact. He would look at me for a second then glance away, as if he wanted to check out who was watching us – as if our littlemoment was a noteworthy scene – or he was keeping an eye out for someone more interesting. That never makes anyone feel special. Four, he winked at the sales assistant. He was buying a loaf of white bread and a bottle of skimmed milk, andwhen he paid for them he said, ‘Thanks, love’ andwinkedat her. I shuddered. Five, he wasn’t you.
OK, so number five could have been number one, and then I wouldn’t have needed any of the others. He wasn’t you, and he didn’t even ask my name. I imagined you winking at the woman serving, and I knew it would have been so much classier. I’ve seen you do it, seen how you make it work, despite the odds.
It led me down a rabbit hole to the first time we met, and how I was caught off guard by your calm confidence. We shouldn’t have been there, but you weren’t worried, and you didn’t hurry. You were perfectly in control and I think, in that moment, I fell for you … hard. I was already on the floor for you, and then somehow, every day, there was further for me to fall.
It’s been almost two years since we last saw each other, and I’m not even close to moving on. I wonder what you’re doing right this moment. I hope you’re happy.
I love you and I miss you.
Yours always, Amelie xx
Chapter Fourteen
Now
Ethan led me to one of the plush sofas and lowered me onto it as if I was fragile. The cushion felt firm beneath me but also soft, the fabric against the backs of my legs slightly velvety.
He strode into the kitchen, his shoulders a tense line, then came back with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, along with a plate of canapés. There were little salmon blinis with what looked like caviar pearls on top, the golden pastry shapes and creamy sauce of what could have been chicken vol-au-vents, and mini quiches.
‘These were in the fridge.’ He sat next to me and put everything on the glass table in front of us. ‘They haven’t been sitting out getting warm.’
‘That’s good,’ I said, ‘because I have really highstandards even when I’ve been kidnapped by ahouse.’
He sighed and gestured at the plate, then poured two glasses of champagne, the bubbles reaching the rim but not quite spilling over.
‘This sofa is alchemy,’ I said as I picked up a blini. ‘Is this caviar?’
‘Sarah ordered the food.’ He handed me a glass. ‘I’m not a caviar sort of guy.’
‘I know that,’ I said with a smile. ‘Unless things have changed drastically since we last saw each other. But I think if you were a caviar guy now, then you would also have bought this place for yourself. You would be the sort of person who needed separate wine and beer fridges in their luxury kitchen.’
Ethan sat further back on the sofa and held his glass up.
I clinked it. ‘To being trapped together.’
‘To getting to spend time together,’ Ethan countered, and he gave me a hint of a smile, despite the worry still evident in his tight shoulders. He put his phone on his thigh and swiped and jabbed at the screen. ‘I don’t understand,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t get why it’s doing this.’
‘Won’t someone at your office get an alert that something’s wrong? That the house is in Panic Room Mode?’
‘They should,’ he said, ‘but seeing as nobody’s going to be in the office until Sarah gets back – and she probably won’t go in until tomorrow morning – I don’t think that’s going to help us.’
