‘Is this insane?’ he asked as I dropped it back on the plate next to his barely touched pile of cheese. ‘Can we really get away with this?’
‘We can,’ I replied with confidence. ‘Trust me, I’m a doctor.’
He picked up his glass and tilted it from side to side, letting the deep ruby colour whirl up and coat the insides.
‘Laura?’
‘Callum?’
‘Have I said thank you,’ he asked, ‘for doing this?’
‘You don’t have to,’ I told him, reminding myself of all the reasons I’d suggested it in the first place: to go on a spontaneous adventure, to visit somewhere I’d never been before, to escape another miserable Christmas, to finally get some wear out of those overpriced Grenson boots. Nothing to do with the way my hair rose on the back of my neck as his gruff baritone scuffed the edges of every word that spilled over his lips.
‘Tis the season,’ I added before raising my glass. ‘I do have one more question though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Are you going to eat the rest of that cheese?’
Callum laughed and I grinned, the sound warming me through like a crackling wood fire.
‘Go for your life.’ He pushed the plate across to me. ‘The cheddar isn’t half bad but the stilton leaves a lot to be desired.’
‘I’ve got a feeling this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,’ I said as I tossed a sizeable chunk of acceptable cheddar into my mouth. ‘Especially if you keep giving me your food.’
‘Play your cards right and I’ll make you that sticky toffee pudding,’ he promised with a wink. ‘Your life will never be the same.’
‘Looking forward to it,’ I replied, meeting his toast then taking a drink.
It was very much not a lie.
Chapter Seven
Whatever concerns I might’ve had about sharing a double bed on a moving train with a man I’d only met the day before were completely alleviated by two swigs of whisky, three glasses of red wine and the way Callum’s eyes twinkled when the conductor came to tell us he was shutting down the club car for the night.
‘Be quiet,’ Callum ordered, shushing me dramatically. ‘Everyone else is asleep.’
‘No one is asleep,’ I argued, pinballing down the carriage and bouncing off every door. ‘This train is bouncing more than a guinea pig on a trampoline.’
‘Have you ever seen a guinea pig on a trampoline?’
‘Yes. Once. God rest its soul.’
‘I have no further questions.’
He stopped outside our cabin and patted himself down for the key, exactly the same way his father had.
‘Train gets in at eight forty-five,’ he said, finally locating the key in the chest pocket of his corduroy trucker jacket, the sheepskin collar nestling against his jaw. ‘They bring breakfast to the room at half seven soif we want to be up and awake by then, that gives us …’
‘Seven whole hours to sleep,’ I replied. ‘That’sSleeping Beautynumbers for a doctor.’
‘And a baker. I was at work by three a.m. for three years.’
‘Poor you,’ I said in a coddling voice. ‘Did you have to hold surgical instruments still while your boss poked around inside someone’s brain for five hours, blasting Coldplay over the stereo the entire time as well?’
He blanched, his pale skin turning somehow paler.
‘Five hours of Coldplay?’
