Joe’s here.
I steel myself, surprised to feel a shot of excitement. This could work. I already love Joe as a friend – could I love him as more? I drape my towel on the elegant carved newel post at the foot of the stairs and run a hand through my hair. The single memory of last night sparkles again in my mind. It almost takes my feet from under me.
That’s when I decide: I’m going to tell him I want this; that I think I might be falling in love.
It’s shocking, but it’s real. We could be great together. Maybe that’s why I’ve lost my enthusiasm for dating: maybe it wasn’t that I was short of potential dates, but just that none of them were Joe. The revelation is so crazy I could laugh out loud, but my hangover dismisses that option as soon as it arrives.
I’m ready as I’ll ever be.
Joe is by the coffee machine, his back to me. Without his T-shirt I can see the subtle changes in his musculature when he moves, the tension and release as he scoops fresh coffee into the filter and snaps it into place. He brushes coffee from his hands and I see the gentle dance of his shoulder blades. I feel as if I know them, although empty blanks hang where memories should be.
I could love him…
And then he turns. He stops dead, eyes wide.
‘Hi.’
A smile plays on my lips. ‘Hi.’
‘I… um… I’m making coffee.’
‘So I see.’
Say it.
‘How’s the head?’
‘Not my best friend.’
He pulls a face. ‘Mine either.’
Please say it.
‘Sit down. I’ll get you some tablets.’ He bumbles to the cupboards, opening the wrong door first before finding the cupboard where pills and first aid stuff is bundled in with rolls of bin bags and the packets of dishcloths and air fresheners he told me his mum brings on the rare times she visits. ‘Er… ibuprofen or paracetamol?’
I hide my smile. ‘Whatever’s nearest.’
He grabs a packet, half-slams the cupboard door and fumbles with the foil-backed blister pack, swearing under his breath when it refuses to yield.
‘Give it to me if you like.’
‘Sure.’ He slides the packet across the kitchen table like a Wild West saloon barkeep despatching whiskey shots.
‘Thanks.’ I take two tablets, jumping when Joe bumps a glass of water on the table next to my hand.
Say it now.
Joe remains silent.
I take the tablets and drink, taking my time to be calm. It was always going to be awkward seeing each other after last night. Whatever happened, Joe must have woken up next to me and gone through the same tumble of thoughts as I did.
‘Joe,’ I say, my hammering heart making the dizziness worse. ‘Talk to me.’
I see the muscles across his back tense. Then he slowly moves to the table and takes the seat next to mine. Our hands are inches apart on the weathered wood. I look up and meet his gaze.
‘Morning-after mortification,’ he says, with the ghost of a grin. ‘Never thought I’d have that with you.’
I smile back. ‘Me neither.’
‘So, about last night…’ He shakes his head at the old-worn phrase.
‘It was unexpected,’ I begin. ‘A shock, at first. But the thing is…’ I remember the way you held me, stroking my hair… ‘I had time to think this morning and…’ I looked at that photo of us in your room and we look so happy… ‘I think I might…’
‘Otts…’
I want to be happy with you…
‘The thing is, Joe, I think…’
I might be falling for you…
‘It was a mistake,’ he says.
My thoughts career headlong off a cliff, suspended in the air for a second. In limbo there, I struggle to get my bearings, but then I’m tumbling after them. ‘What?’
‘Biggest mistake, eh?’ His laugh is strange, more a shot of sound than a release of humour. ‘It’s so obvious. Working together, sharing this place, the high of the job, all that confusion at the cricket yesterday. And alcohol… We drank a lot last night…’
I stare at my fingers and watch Joe withdraw his, curling them into his palm. I’m slipping, his words clashing with the imagined conversation that’s still playing in my head.
‘I… I guess we did…’
‘Hey, it’s okay. I don’t regret it.’
‘Me neither.’
He folds his arms. ‘Not that I remember much.’ I see a flash of uncertainty. ‘Do you?’
I was deluded to think this was anything more than a drunken mistake. I’m shattered but I’m damned if I’ll let him see it. Self-preservation is what matters now, the instinct that’s always saved me in the past. I will not let Joe Carver break my heart, wreck my career or take my home.
‘Total blank,’ I say, shoving a bright smile centre-stage. ‘I’m guessing I was amazing.’
Joe’s expression is oddly taut. ‘I’m guessing I was, too. So – we forget it happened?’
‘I think we should.’ My heart hurts. ‘I love you as a friend, Joe. I don’t want to change that.’
‘I – I care about you, too. I’m sorry.’
I keep my chin high. ‘Nothing to be sorry for.’
He nods and returns to making coffee.
I bite my lip hard to keep the tears from my eyes.
Chapter Thirty
JOE
I’m glad I said it first.
Before she had chance to drop the bomb.
Damage limitation, they call it. Except it doesn’t stop the damage. Right now it hurts like hell. I saw what she was going to say before she said it, so I got my punch in early. It doesn’t feel like I won.
How can it not have meant anything to her? It meant everything to me.
I don’t know what I expected her to do. I’d left her sleeping in my bed so soundly I thought she’d stay there until I returned with fresh coffee and gentle kisses to wake her. The breakfast of lovers – or some other sentimental crap my brain decided it would be. I thought I’d join her and we would stay in bed all day. I thought she’d want to make up for all the time we’ve spent dancing around each other, when we should have recognised what was right in front of us.
But she was never going to do that, was she?
I knew it the moment she arrived in the kitchen, showered and dressed. I felt grubby and dishevelled next to her. I knew she didn’t want me.
How can she not remember last night? My own memory may be hazy but I remember what matters: I remember her. Is she lying? I don’t want to think she might be because that would make it a million times worse. But if she remembers and still doesn’t want me… I don’t think I could bear that.
‘I think I might go back to bed,’ she says, resting her hand against her forehead presumably to avoid any further misunderstandings. ‘Sleep this off.’
‘Yeah. Good idea.’
She stands and waits. I hate the hope that rises in me, willing her to change her mind and tell me she remembers everything and wants me after all. I don’t want to hold my breath but I do, releasing it in a long, slow exhale when she walks out.
I keep my smile steady until she’s gone.