‘I can’t believe I spilled on Lydia’s dress,’ I groaned as we raced through the city streets, trying to outrun a chocolate ice cream stain. ‘She’s going to kill me.’
‘No, she’s going to kill me,’ Wyn corrected. ‘I know it’ll be my fault somehow. What I can’t believe is how you managed to completely miss your mouth.’
‘Itisyour fault,’ I exclaimed. ‘You made me laugh! If you hadn’t pointed out that dog, we would still be sat by the river enjoying our ice cream.’
‘Was I supposed to let you go through life without seeing a dog in a tuxedo?’ he replied with an incredulous look. ‘I could never be so cruel.’
‘That’s true.’ I slowed to a jog, pressing my hand into a burgeoning stitch. I was not a runner. More of a slow walk followed by a long sit down kind of a girl. ‘Where do you think he was going? He was very formal for a Monday afternoon?’
‘If you hadn’t spilled your ice cream, maybe we could have asked. Good job I have a washer drier at my place.’
My heart did a somersault in my chest. Did I want to clean Lydia’s dress? Yes. Did I want to see Wyn’s apartment? Yes. Very much. But was Ireadyto see his place? That was adifferent question altogether. In the back of my mind, I saw Lydia lying on my bedroom floor with her notebook, crossing out what felt like our millionth password attempt.
You’ll never find out if you don’t try.
‘OK. Wow.’
I audibly gasped as we stepped inside a two-storey carriage house and Wyn unlocked the door to the first ground-floor apartment.
‘Really?’ he laughed, closing the door behind us and hanging the keys on a hook. ‘What were you expecting?’
‘I don’t know but not this.’
I hadn’t given much thought to what Wyn’s place might be like but if I’d had to guess, I would’ve said something closer to ‘dorm room’ thanArchitectural Digest. Low ceilings gave the open plan space a close but cosy feeling, the walls were whitewashed, the floors wide wooden planks, and the light that streamed in through the windows was cool and inviting. At the other end of the room was a pair of French doors that revealed a tiny private courtyard. Next to the double doors was a desk covered in pens, pencils, and sketchbooks, his camera off to one side, and right next to the desk was his bed.
‘It’s not usually this much of a mess,’ he said, scooping up a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants from the sofa and draping them awkwardly over the back of his desk chair.
‘This is not a mess,’ I replied, turning in disbelieving circles. ‘Believe me, I’m familiar with mess and this is not it.’
‘Thanks. I’m doing my best not to live like a total pig in case my folks decide to drop by,’ he chuckled. ‘They own the building. My grandpa bought it back in the Seventies when regular people could still do things like that.’
When he told me he grew up in the mountains with a family full of artists, it didn’t even occur to me that they might havemoney. If they owned the whole building, his family were definitely not a bunch of starving artists.
‘The washing machine is in the bathroom.’ With one hand anxiously gripping the back of his neck, Wyn pointed at my dress. ‘You wanna …?’
‘Yes, I do,’ I replied, tugging at the chocolatey fabric. ‘Um, do you have something I could borrow?’
He grabbed the hoodie again and held it up for approval.
‘Perfect.’
He held it out towards me, stretching his arm as far as it would go and I did the same, plucking it from his grasp without making contact. Five minutes ago, I’d wanted to be as close to him as physically possible but now we were here, alone in his place, my stomach was full of butterflies and not the magical kind. Outside in the world, we had some control over how people saw us, but this unplanned visit to his apartment left him laid bare. Wyn couldn’t control my perception of him and I knew if our roles were reversed, I would feel vulnerable. It was beyond intimate, being this close to his clothes, his camera, the place where he slept. The whole apartment felt like an extension of him.
‘Em, I need to tell you something,’ Wyn called as I slid into the bathroom. Thankfully, it was as impressively clean as the rest of his home, facewash, toothpaste and sunscreen on a shelf by the sink, shower gel and shampoo beside the bath. ‘Something I should have told you already.’
‘Tell me what?’ I called back as I shucked off Lydia’s dress, soaking the stain with laundry detergent before putting it in the machine. ‘That you’re secretly the heir to the Leopold’s fortune?’
‘Not quite.’
His hoodie drowned me, the arms flopped over my hands like a pair of glove puppets. The hood hung halfway down myback as I left the bathroom, the washing machine whirring into life behind the closed door. Wyn met me outside. The afternoon light shone brightly behind him, blacking out his features.
‘I’m not in Savannah for summer school,’ he said. ‘I’m not even in summer school.’
‘What do you mean, you’re not in summer school?’ I replied, my fingers curling around the overlong sleeves. ‘Wyn, what are you talking about?’
‘I’m here looking for my brother. He’s missing.’
Even though it was still very warm, the atmosphere turned frosty.
