“Are you and your dad close now?”
He sips his coffee. “To my shame, yes. I’ve always kind of idolized him.” He laughs. “Really wish I didn’t, actually. He’s just... infuriatingly cool.”
“What does he do?”
“Wildlife cameraman. You know, for documentaries and stuff. So, yeah—I basically just wanted tobehim, my whole life.”
“That’s where you got your wanderlust?”
He nods. “I guess after Helen and I broke up, I was like...Yes. That’s what I need to do next.”
I feel my chest clench with trepidation. “So... will that be... soon?”
He holds my gaze for a moment or two, then releases a breath. “No. I mean... no. It’s not like I’m taking off next week, or anything. I’ve got nothing planned, not yet.”
I force myself to smile, but inside, I’m catastrophizing.Of coursesomeone as lovely as Caleb wouldn’t just turn up in my life, catch-free. Men like him don’t actually exist.Of coursehe’s about to up and leave for the other side of the world—that’s why he’s more than happy to rent. He doesn’t want to put down roots. And maybe for that reason he’s not interested in starting anything serious, romantically speaking, either.
“You mentioned you went away, after uni?” Caleb says.
“Um, not for long. Just three months.”
Eyes eager, he leans forward and asks me more, but it’s hard to match his enthusiasm when I talk about it, and eventually his questions peter out.
“I had to cut the trip short,” I conclude, lamely.
He nods. “How come?”
“Oh, you know. Just... wasn’t meant to be.”
He doesn’t know, of course, but thankfully he doesn’t probe any further, and then we sit in silence for a little while, finishing our coffees. I feel horribly guilty suddenly—like I’ve spoiled the night by ending on such a low note. But then he sets down his mug before turning to brush the hair from my face. “Warmed up yet?”
I smile, shake my head. “Nope. Not yet.”
“Well, maybe I can help with that,” he whispers, leaning forward to kiss me.
“I mean, I’m literally freezing,” I whisper back, as his lips move to my neck. On the wall, our shadows loom large in the lamplight.
This time, as we kiss, I venture a hand beneath his T-shirt, running my fingers over his skin, skimming his ribs, the ridges of his muscles.
Please don’t go anywhere, I think, as he groans softly.This has barely even started, but already I don’t want it to end.
Go
Sunday night, forty-eight hours after my date at the restaurant with Max.
We’re in bed, trying to muster up the energy to order in some sushi, which basically sums up exactly how decadent this weekend has been. We’ve left the flat just once since our date, popping out yesterday morning for sustenance, which essentially involved shoving half of Waitrose into a trolley. Now we’re nose-to-nose on the mattress, a breeze from the open window stroking my hot, bare shoulders, the gossamer kiss of pillows against my face.
Max’s bedroom is pale and clean, high-ceilinged with sash windows. Lots of light. The iron bed frame is set against a rugged wall of exposed brickwork and piled with white bed linen the texture of marshmallows. There’s just a smattering of other items in here—a cornflower-colored rug on the floorboards, mounted speaker in one corner, blond-wood chest of drawers, and full-length mirror propped near the window. I keep catching myself glancing around, trying to spot things I recognize, little trinkets from our past, but there is nothing.
The flat is calm and peaceful, like we’re in a village rather than London, with windows so well glazed you can’t really hear much traffic. Occasionally there is the muted thump of feet above our heads, but it’s nothing like sitting in the living room in Tooting, where even the light crossing of a room upstairs resembles a stampede. Max told me last night he chose this flat partly for the neighbors, doing extensive research on them before he signed the contract.
“Is that legal?” I laughed.
“You think journalists have to dig for a living, try doing what I do. You wouldn’t believe the things I find out about people.”
I reach out now to touch his face. His skin is bright and damp with exertion. “You know, the night I saw you in Shoreley... I’d just started chatting to this guy, in the pub.”
He props himself up onto one elbow, raises an eyebrow. “Chattingchatting?”
