Page 19 of The Twelve Days of Christian
I’m dying to see what she thinks of Sam’s suggestion. God knows if she let me tangle myself around those slender limbs, fit the smooth curves of her body against mine, I’d hold on so tight I’d never let her go; except perhaps until her brother found out.
Although, to look her way is risky. I don’t think I’d see Haley with an expression of disgust at the thought, but I’m still unsure. And if she sees me watching her while she thinks those sorts of thoughts—her knowing that I know—it could be too much, too soon, and blow it.
There’s a soft giggle, and her words are low and husky. Sam responds with a dirty little laugh and I feel their eyes swivel towards me.
I keep mine fixed on the screen and put on a mask of intense concentration, while inside I’m silently cheering. I can’t decipher what was said, but Haley’s tone suggests there’s hope where previously I had none. My fingers fly across the keys, the only outlet for this surge of optimism, as possibility dances before me. This day suddenly got a whole lot better.
There’s a thump of a coffee mug on the table, black and strong exactly how I like it. I look up into those eyes, pupils wide, the colour of the dark liquid in the cup. Rimmed with green and delicate flecks of gold, Haley’s gaze is hypnotic. She slides into the chair opposite me and I see the trace of something in her face, as if the residue of her awareness of me as more than an annoying burden still lingers.
“Thank you,” I say, as I grasp the solid mug. “Not just for this, but for getting the computer.”
“It’s not a problem,” she says, then takes a sip of her coffee, licking a slight wisp of pumpkin-spiced foam from those peachy lips. God, I’d love to lean in and taste it for myself. “Whatever you need, I’m your girl.”
I swallow hard. There are a lot of things I need, and to be able to call Haley ‘my girl’, well, that would be like winning a Grammy. I’m sure there’s elation written all over my face, no matter how much I try to hold it back. But I’m saved by a distraction. Sam arrives, coffee in hand and a plate in the other.
“Here.” She shoves the plate towards me. “A peace offering.” Three curved squares of pastry dusted with icing sugar sit there.
“Beignets,” Haley says. “Have you tried them?”
I nod, thinking of a trip to New Orleans, and two hungover guys, me and Ollie, in the French Quarter seeking food, any food to ease a queasy stomach after a big night on Bourbon Street. In the absence of our usual antidote, a greasy British fry up, a couple of these had done the job.
“Best in London,” Sam says. “And fortunately for you, sold in boxes of three. Haley and I usually split the last one.”
“Generous of you, then.” I reach for one. “Probably me who should be buying to celebrate Haley’s successful mission.”
“About that,” Haley says. “There was a man.”
I stop chewing and mumble between flakes of pastry.
“A man? At the apartment?”
“Outside,” she says. “I’m sure he was watching when I arrived. Over by the river. Then when I came out the door onto the street, he was right there.”
My first thought is he’s press, but it seems unlikely, with film of me in Scotland still rolling across the TV screen every night.
“What did he look like? Did he have a camera?”
She shakes her head. “I’m fairly sure he wasn’t a journo. He just didn’t have that sort of look about him. Older guy, jeans and a leather jacket.”
I almost wish he had been a photographer, not some random guy staking out my place. My neighbourhood is pretty safe, but dodgy stuff can happen anywhere. There’s a sick whirl in my stomach.
“And did he say anything? Do anything?”
“Yeah, he asked if you were up there. I told him no. Said I was the cleaner, come back to get something I’d left behind. He didn’t believe me.”
I’m freaking out. I have no idea who this guy is, but he wants me. What if he’d hurt her? The thought I may have put her in harm’s way wrecks me.
“He didn’t touch you, though? Follow you?”
She breaks into a little grin.
“No, I made sure he couldn’t. You’d have been proud of me. Took the long way home. He’s no match for me.”
“God, Haley, I’m really sorry,” I say. “If I’d have thought…”
“Don’t be silly,” she interrupts. “I was a bit rattled at first. It felt weird, this sneaking around. Once I was on the train, I realised it’s OK. He wasn’t interested in me. Only you.”
“But he might have thought you’d lead him to me.”
