I hear laughter as I reach the landing. James spots me and clears his throat. The girls spin around, and Gemma gives me a soft smile. “You ready?” she asks.
I open my mouth to respond, but no words come out. My attention settles on James, and it feels like the air’s been knocked out of me. He’s arresting. His hair is tousled in that annoyingly perfect way, like he’s run his hand through it a dozen times, and it’s just fallen into place without effort. Thick lashes frame his emerald eyes, which appear a deeper green in the soft light. He has a spot of dirt on his cheek, and a smattering of chest hair peeks over the top of his sweaty work vest, which he’s wearing under a thick jacket. It’s clear he’s been onsite.
He doesn’t smile.
He doesn’t speak.
His jaw tightens, the muscle flexing as he just … regards me.
I drop my head to stare at the floor, feeling suddenly nervous, and my heart thuds against my ribcage. “Hi, James,” I say, giving him a small wave.
“Hi, April,” he replies, his voice low and gravelly.
I look up to see Anna’s eyes bouncing between the two of us, her expression barely contained. She mashes her lips together, clearly trying—and failing—not to grin.
“Thank you for agreeing to look after Basil,” I say finally. “I’m sorry about the state of the house. I …” I trail off, fumbling for the right words.
James crooks a small, sympathetic smile. “It’s fine, I’m working in the area this weekend anyway” he says. “And don’t worry about the house, I get it.”
I catch him studying my left hand, where my engagement ring used to be, before I quickly slip it behind my back. I gave the ring back to Lucas before he moved out. I couldn’t stomach looking at it.
His lips press into a thin line, but he doesn’t say anything—just blinks, angrily almost, for a second. The moment is so fleeting I might have imagined it. I fiddle with the strap of my bag, not quite knowing what to say next.
Anna claps her hands, snapping both James and I out of whatever weird daze we’d fallen into. I blink, suddenly hyperaware that we have an audience.
I clear my throat. “Do you need me to run through where everything is?”
He steps closer. His voice is calm, and his touch is warm as he reaches out and squeezes my bicep gently. “I know where everything is. I’ve got this.” He nods towards the front door. “Just go and enjoy your weekend.”
The ferocity in his tone makes it clear—no more fussing.
“April,” Gemma interrupts softly, glancing down at her watch. “We better get going—it’s a three-hour drive.”
“Oh,” I say, my eyes flicking back to James.
He takes another step towards me, close enough that I catch the faint scent of him—sweaty and masculine. He tilts his chin towards the front door. “Go. Have fun. We’ll be fine,” he says.
“Thanks,” I whisper, hesitating for a moment, unsure if I should hug him. We’ve never hugged before—it would feel strange, but maybe not entirely wrong. I take a half step forward, but before I can decide, he steps back, slipping his hands into his pockets. Guess not.
He pulls out a familiar guitar pick and starts spinning it between his fingers. I catch myself staring at his hand longer than I probably should, distracted by the veins working as he deftly moves his fingers.
“Alright, well, thanks, James. You’re a lifesaver,” Anna says, awkwardly clapping him on the shoulder. Then, she quickly adds, “Oh yeah, I don’t know if you know—April, have you told him? Basil sometimes shits on the floor.”
I gape at her, mortified. “Anna!”
James grins, the first hint of amusement flickering across his face. “Good to know,” he says, lips twitching as he slips the pick back into his pocket.
I close my eyes, humiliated.
“What? He does,” Anna says with a shrug as we shuffle towards the door. I shoot her a glare, my cheeks burning.
“Not all the time,” I mutter defensively. But yes, he definitely shits on the floor.
James trails behind us, leaning casually against the door-frame with his arms crossed, the worn leather of his jacket pulling snugly across his broad chest. A subtle smirk plays at the corner of his mouth, like he’s thoroughly enjoying this.
As we step outside, Anna glances at me over her shoulder with a cheeky smile. “Now you don’t have to worry—he’s prepared.”
Gemma laughs and I groan quietly, fighting the overwhelming urge to bury my face in my hands. The last thing I need to be thinking about is this gorgeous man cleaning up my cat’s wayward poos.
