He shoots me a quizzical look.
‘And, as far as I know, you’re not a vampire.’
The look intensifies.
I laugh, and the sound surprises me. It’s a genuine one, not the dry huff of irritation I’ve come to associate with being in Hoxton’s presence. ‘You can come in,’ I clarify, deciding to throw him a bone. ‘If you want to, I mean. You don’t have to just wait out there.’
His brows shoot into his hairline and, for a moment, I’m sure he’s going to deny wanting to come in at all, but then he clears his throat and takes exactly one step over the threshold into my room. His gaze roves over my still-unmade bed, the pile of damp clothes I unceremoniously dumped in the corner of the room last night, before coming up to finally –finally– meet my eye. ‘Glad to see you’re making yourself at home.’
I narrow my eyes at him, not entirely sure how to interpret his words. Twenty-four hours ago, and I definitely would’ve seen them as a slight. Would’ve described the slight curl to his lips as nothing but a downright sneer. But now I think I see a faint shadow of amusement there, and I definitely don’t sense any hostility.
I think, once again, that Hoxton is doing his best attempt at a joke. My mind flashes back to this morning in the kitchen, when we’d been getting along decently before I said something to turn his mood upside down. I’m still not entirely sure what I did or why it bothered him so much but it’s clear this – the clothes, the almost smile – is his way of making amends. A peace offering of sorts.
I suppose I can meet him halfway.
‘You mean you don’t provide a maid service?’ I ask, cocking my head to the side in faux shock. I stick out a hand and start listing things off using my fingers. ‘So that’s no maid and the heater’s out. I think you should probably add the hospitality industry to the list of things you should avoid if you ever go broke.’
A hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t quite laugh. Though I think it’s close. ‘No danger of that.’
‘Mm,’ I hum. ‘Well, aren’t you lucky.’
We lapse into a silence but it’s not uncomfortable or tinged with any of the tension from before. For the first time in the two years that I’ve known him, the air between us feels light and breezy.
Hoxton opens his mouth, then closes it, opens it again and eventually huffs out a gruff, ‘I’ll take a look at the heater, by the way.’
I raise a brow and he mirrors my expression.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘Nothing,’ I say quickly. Apparently too quickly, from the way his eyes narrow. ‘You just… you don’t really seem like an “I’ll take a look” kind of guy. You know, the type to roll your sleeves up and get dirty?’
His lips thin into an unimpressed line. ‘And what type do I seem like instead?’
Hoxton seems like the ‘I’ve got a guy’ type of guy. The kind of person with a never-ending list of people he can call and throw money at, at a whim, to sort out whatever problem it is he’s got. But I can’t say that, can I? So instead, I shrug and try to imagine Hoxton on his hands and knees, wearing one of his expensive suits, trying to figure out the plumbing, and this image alone is enough to bring on the threat of laughter. ‘The type of guy to pay people to do stuff like this for you?’
‘We’re in the middle of a snowstorm, Noelle.’
I flick back through my memories of the last twenty-four hours, trying to pinpoint exactly when he dropped theMs Joneshe’s steadfastly used for the last two years, and why it doesn’t bother me at all.
‘And I’m very capable of getting my hands dirty.’
It’s an innocent-enough phrase, but the way he says it? His voice has dropped to an almost purr and his eyes are hooded with something I can’t place. Somethinghot.
I take a jerky step backwards, the back of my knees hitting the edge of the bed.
‘Really?’
He takes a step closer to me and I know I’m not imagining it now. His eyesareslightly darker.
He nods. ‘I’ve never had any complaints before.’
I suddenly can’t help but wonder if the guest room is forspecialguests. Hoxton doesn’t seem the type to cuddle with a partner after the act, but I also can’t see him throwing them out at 3am.
Stop it, Noelle, I mentally scold myself.He’s still staring at you.
I swallow. Something in the atmosphere between us has changed. We’re on new ground now.
A branch suddenly slams against the window, sending a shower of snow careening down to the ground with a loudthudand we both jump apart. I hadn’t even realised we’d moved so close.
