‘When I’m relaxed, I tend to get a bit chatty,’ I replied. ‘But I stand by it all.’
‘Good. Because you’re right about all of it.’
One of us had pulled down the curtains that had divided the living space in the night and they lay in a pool of fabric beside the sofa. We hadn’t slept much, or at least I hadn’t. Every time Joe drifted off, I lay watching him, too overcome even to close my eyes. He slept on his front, arms under his pillow and his head to one side, the vivid red trails I’d scratched into his back burning in the darkness and I wished them into tattoos, marking him permanently the way I knew he had marked me. I didn’t believe in love at first sight but, whatever this was, the way I felt when I looked at him now, hair messy, pillow creases still etched into his cheek, I believed in that.
‘Not to spoil the mood but my dad is blowing up my phone,’ Joe said, holding up his phone as evidence. ‘I’ve got a feeling he isn’t planning to stay for brunch.’
‘He wants to leave?’ I replied, putting two and two together and coming up with Joe going with him. ‘Let him take the car. We can get the train back down together later.’
Later.
After.
I was going to have to talk to my family.
For one very long moment, I’d forgotten about everything that wasn’t Joe Walsh.
‘Or I could drive him to the train station and we could take the car,’ Joe suggested. ‘Either way, I was thinking. Maybe we should keep this between us for now.’
Another suggestion I didn’t love.
‘With everything that’s going on.’ He sat on the edge of the bed, cupping his steaming hot mug of tea. ‘This is ours. I don’t care what anyone else thinks and I don’t want to share it.’
‘Sounds to me like you don’t want to be Mr Este Cox,’ I joked but neither of us laughed. ‘What happened to no secrets?’
‘This is different, this isoursecret,’ Joe said. ‘And it’s just for now, just until everything gets figured out.’
Everything including but not limited to his commitment issues, my trust issues, our parents’ feud and the true identity of Este Cox. I put down my mug and reached for the closest item of clothing I could find, Joe’s white shirt from the night before.
‘So we’re basically Romeo and Juliet,’ I commented as I slipped my arms through the sleeves. It felt even softer than it looked.
‘Only I’m not sixteen, you’re not thirteen and fingers crossed no one is getting poisoned or stabbed.’
‘It’s still early,’ I replied, rolling up the too-long sleeves. ‘Let’s not rule out all the fun.’
With that crooked half-smile I already loved, Joe rose from the bed, put down his tea before taking mine. Bracing his hand against the wall, he leaned over to kiss me, deep and searching, and when we broke apart, I gasped, my hands cupping his face.
‘You’re staring at me,’ he said, holding close, eye to eye.
‘Because you’re very pretty,’ I replied. ‘And I like you very much.’
‘Stop it,’ he instructed before kissing me again. ‘You’re giving me butterflies.’
He rolled me back onto the bed, his phone pinging quietly to itself as I worked on his belt. He tossed his T-shirt to the ground and I shrugged my way out of my borrowed button-down, laughing and happy and so close to calling it love, I could feel the words fighting their way out of my mouth until he kissed it closed. As long as the feelings were real, the words would keep. There was no rush, after all. We had all the time in the world.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
There was so much yelling coming from the kitchen, it was a wonder anyone even noticed when we crept inside, Joe in front, me close behind but not quite touching. Mum was shouting at Gregory, Gregory was shouting at Dad and Dad was stoically brewing a pot of coffee while wearing a pointy cardboard hat that said ‘Happy Birthday’. Charlotte sat with her back to the fuss, casually flipping through a limited edition version of the latest Victoria Aveyard in a pair of oversized men’s paisley pyjamas, oblivious to the fuss.
At the same moment we came through the back door, William came in from the hallway, looking every bit as confused as I felt.
‘It’s simply abhorrent behaviour!’ Gregory shouted, his very loud pink patterned shirt torn at the collar. ‘How could you do it?’
‘You’re the one who was sneaking around in the middle of the night,’ Dad replied. ‘Texting unapproved counter offers to my authors.’
‘My author!’ Gregory’s eyes bulged out of his head. ‘Genevieve is my author!’
‘Was your author,’ Dad corrected. ‘If you’d signed them to a decent deal in the first place, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. Don’t blame me for your lack of foresight and bad business.’
