“I’ll handle it,” I assured him, clapping him on the back as I looked down at my watch. “Look, I’ve got to go. But thank you. This is going to be a massive help.”
He stretched back, his arms locking behind his head. “You wanted my help for a reason.” He chuckled. “I’ll keep at it with the London thing. Maybe a trip is in order.”
I hummed. “Maybe.”
The sun was even fiercer outside, and for someone whose wardrobe was entirely black, it wasn’t exactly comfortable. I didn’t know how Cora did it. But then again, I didn’t know if our relationship was at the friendly point of sharing tips.
We’d made strides in our dynamic, sure, but nothing that significant.
But as I said that, the memories of our weekend training session skimmed the edges of my mind as I climbed up the steps to her place.
Whether I wanted to admit it or not, something happened that day. I was looking at her, really looking. And for once, I saw more than just a girl who was scared of being vulnerable. I saw more than fire that glimmered every time she was snarky with me. I watched her forget to be afraid for once and just listen to herself.
I saw a version of her that I’d had a hard time shaking from my memory these past couple of days. A version that every time I thought about it, my pulse jumped.
And that was getting pretty fucking hard not to admit.
That familiar rapid jumping was picking up the faster my feet moved, my heart near to bursting as I knocked on the door and waited for the hinges to creak.
I blamed the heat on my palms being sweaty. Because why the fuck else would they be sweaty? I’d knocked on this door multiple times. It’s just the heat. It had to be.
Luckily, the pink thing creaked open before I could spiral further, and because my day was just getting better and better, the other English one answered the door.
“What do you want?” the kid asked, one hand resting on the door frame like he was posing for another album shoot.
I blinked. “What do you think I want? What do I only knock on this door for?”
His grin was every bit as smarmy as he shrugged. “Dunno, mate. I’ve never opened the door to you before.”
I sighed, my palms tightening. “Is she here?”
“Who?” Tristan asked without missing a beat, head tilting.
“You know who.”
The guy shrugged, looking dumbfounded. “There are four girls who live here, mate; be a bit more specific.”
My grip was tight on the door frame, ready to barge past. “Just move, you Hot Topic mannequin—”
“Marcus!” a sweet voice chirped before I could politely knock all six feet of Tristan out of the way, and when I focused my eyes, I recognised the face.
I nodded, the hard parts of my face softening. “Daisy.”
Her smile was pure sunshine as she beckoned me in. “Come in, join the land of working AC.”
Tristan gave me one last glare before cutting behind Daisy and plummeting to the couch, setting his guitar back across him. “Working thanks to this guy,” he said, pointing at himself.
I rolled my eyes right at him.
Daisy laughed. “You handed Jess the tools, Trist. But it’s nice to have you here I guess.” She giggled, in that sweet way Cora always described her. Her pale green eyes were back on me, her hands stuffed into her jean short pockets. “Cora is here but…” She drawled off before stepping closer, her voice hushed. “I walked past her room before and she was… painting.”
My heart skipped.
“Painting?” I repeated, my voice croaky.
Daisy’s face screwed up. “Well, it looked like she was about to. She had her curtains drawn, headphones on and all her paints lined up with a brush in her hand. And from how loud she had her music, I could tell it was Lily Allen, and she only ever listens to her when she’s painting.”
I cast my eyes to the stairs; the image of her all I could see.
