CHAPTER ONE
LUCAS
Floorboards creaked overhead. I gripped the knife I’d been using to slice rounds of goat’s cheese. It had been my hope and dream to make it out of the cottage before Kit got up.
‘Do not make a twat of yourself again,’ I muttered.
I’d arrived on Doughnut yesterday – my best friend Aster repeatedly calling the island that during his many stories about his time here finishing off his botany master’s and falling in love had lodged its nickname firmly in my brain – but my schedule was jam-packed for the next few weeks. No one had said it, but judging from my back-to-back appointments across the island it seemed the previous vet had been letting things slide for a while.
It provided the perfect excuse for spending as little time as possible with my new cottage-mate, although it was annoying that I wouldn’t see my best friend/worst enemy until tomorrow night. I had no spare time before then to trek up the mountains to shout at him.
Aster had been unrepentant when our welcoming committee bundled us into the mayor’s house last night. He insisted my mistaking Kit for Callum after being told to look for the hottestguy wasn’t anything to be embarrassed about. Aster said Kit would see it as a compliment. Everyone else would forget about it, probably already had.
The pink tinge to Kit’s smooth cheeks all evening suggested that at least one person wasn’t unruffled by the case of mistaken identity. My new cottage-mate barely looked my way as we walked home together last night, his voice just audible as he’d rushed through a tour of his bookshop, then the open plan kitchen/dining/living room above. He’d ushered me into my bedroom on the top floor, murmuring that I must be tired.
I’d laid awake for hours on my double bed under the sloping ceilings, not an inch of the long summer brightness sneaking past the black-out curtains. I relived the moment when Aster could have kept his mouth shut and not revealed I’d chosen the wrong hottest guy. I wondered how irreparable what I’d done was. Kit had featured in a few of Aster’s Doughnut stories. He’d sounded sweet and a little shy. Hopefully he wasn’t the type to hold a mistake I’d made as soon as I stepped onto the island against me.
All I needed to do now was be the most perfectly normal person to live with ever. Then our rocky introduction would be forgotten, and maybe I could have a friend besides the blabbermouth I couldn’t get to without hiking up a mountain.
The stairs leading to the two bedrooms and the shared bathroom overhead squeaked and clicked as Kit descended. First a pair of worn black Dr. Martens came into view, then tight fitting jeans. A thick jumper bulked out Kit’s slim frame. He was a couple of inches taller than me, but I was more muscled. Hauling animals on and off examination tables had a use beyond covering me in fur.
Kit’s jumper was deep purple, the scarf wound around his neck a lighter lilac. His lips, which looked incredibly delicate, stretched into a smile when he spotted me lurking in his kitchen.His brown hair, lighter than mine and threaded through with strands of burnt gold, tumbled over his forehead in a way my tangled mane point-blank refused to even when Aster spent hours attempting to tame it.
I’d turned from the kitchen counter when Kit entered the room. It would have been the height of rudeness to keep my back to him, but it wasn’t so much ingrained manners as the inability to look anywhere else that kept me facing him as he gracefully stepped away from the staircase.
Aster was wrong last night; I didn’t think Kit was hot. But I did think he looked soft and kind. I really wanted him to forget about my mess up yesterday so that we could be friends.
‘You look lovely,’ I blurted.
I shook my head, my heart galloping. No. Not again.
Kit’s eyes widened as I reached up to grab handfuls of my hair.
A hard thing to do when holding a knife.
The sharpened edge skimmed the top of my ear.
‘Oh, fuck.’ It didn’t hurt, but having a knife anywhere near my face was startling even if I had no one to blame but myself for such proximity.
I dropped the knife. Obviously the best thing to do when holding a sharp blade at head height.
Thankfully, at least I wouldn’t have to add maiming myself to the list of stupid things I’d done since arriving on Doughnut. The knife bounced off my shoulder and clattered harmlessly to the polished floorboards. Kit bent quickly to retrieve it, like he didn’t trust me to not fling it across the room next. Good instinct.
‘Sorry I almost stabbed myself in front of you,’ I babbled as I spun to finish my half-made sandwich. I’d chopped off enough cheese to cover a quarter of a slice of bread. That would have to do. ‘And sorry for throwing a weird compliment at you. And for helping myself to your food.’
I slammed together the sandwich. I was fully prepared to shove it in my pocket and bolt downstairs when a hand rested on my shoulder.
‘Hold on.’ Kit leant close to my side. ‘I don’t think you hurt yourself.’
His breath was warm on my ear. I’d not considered that I might have cut myself with the wayward knife. There wasn’t any pain, which suggested I hadn’t chopped off my ear. That was good enough for me. Being around Aster and his flailing elbows/knees/fists had helped me develop a high pain threshold.
I could only see Kit out of the corner of my eye, since he was intent on examining where I’d introduced part of my anatomy to a blade. Not looking at him freed me up to concentrate on other things. Like how the amount of pressure he put on my shoulder to keep me from running off was perfect, nothing like when Aster manhandled me approximately every five minutes when I was in his presence. Or his smell; a mix of something sweet like a freshly baked cake and the inside of a newly printed book.
Before I could do anything stupid like turn my head to sniff him, which would have defeated the purpose of him standing close to examine my ear, Kit let go of my shoulder and stepped back. Now there was no danger of accidental sniffing, I looked at him.
‘Your ear is fine.’ He smiled again, like he was pleased the randomer he’d allowed into his home was only going to cause social awkwardness, rather than chop bits of himself off. ‘And this is your home now, so please help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Help yourself to anything, really.’ Rosy blush coloured his pale skin. ‘And please don’t apologise for complimenting me. I’m glad you think I look lovely.’
My head snapped away, my face burning with blood that wouldn’t make my skin glow like Kit’s but rather blazed in uneven patches. I grabbed my sandwich and slipped it intosome Tupperware patterned with dogs that Mum gave me last Christmas.
