But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he shook off his awestruck expression and guided me into the small but perfectly formed bedroom. The sheets were mussed up from what looked like a tempestuous night’s sleep, the curtains were still drawn and two very expensive-looking suitcases sat in front of an empty built-in wardrobe, both of them open, clothes spilling out from each. He reallyhadn’tbeen expecting company. Barging past me, he slammed the open drawer of his bedside table shut before hastily pulling up the duvet to cover the bedsheets.
‘All the stuff I’m leaving will be locked in the closet in the hallway,’ he stated, cocking his head back towards the door. ‘Obviously, you’ll have all your own bedding and … stuff.’
‘Obviously,’ I agreed, trying to pretend I had not seen the bottle of bedside lube he’d tried so hard to hide. ‘Thank you.’
On behalf of all women, I wanted to add but did not.
The living room was a little brighter when we returned, the sun deciding to show its face for the first time all day, and Callum looked at me again, the muscles around his eyes contracting very slightly, as if bringing me into sharper focus.
‘You’re really a brain surgeon?’ he asked.
‘Technically a neurosurgeon,’ I said, hugging my coat closer. ‘Or I will be when I finish my training. We treat the whole nervous system – not only the brain – but that is part of it.’
‘How long is the training?’
He sounded curious but not wary. There was no sign of The Fear in him, at least not yet. Most men, straight men at least, were weird about a female surgeon. Much like female pilots and truck drivers and presidents of the United States of America, it was one of those jobs that just didn’t sit right with them and we all suffered because of it.
‘Five-year medical degree, two-year foundation programme then at least eight years of training. I’m about halfway through but there’s a long way to go yet.’
‘Wow.’
His eyebrows climbed up his forehead as the facts registered.
‘I know, don’t worry, I’ve heard it all,’ I said, preparing my standard spiel. ‘You don’t look like a neurosurgeon, you don’t hear about woman surgeons very often, I wouldn’t want someone who wears days of the week underwear digging around in my brain, et cetera, et cetera.’
‘You don’t look like a neurosurgeon,’ Callum agreed. ‘Not that I’ve given it a lot of thought but if you’d asked, I’d have assumed they were all old white men. That’s terrible, isn’t it?’
‘Terrible but nine times out of ten, correct.’ I gave him an exaggerated once over. ‘What about you? Wouldn’t exactly have you pegged for a pastry chef.’
‘Goes to show, you really can’t judge a book by itscover,’ he said with a sly smile. ‘And for the record, if you hadn’t mentioned it, I would never have guessed you were wearing days of the week underwear.’
‘Really? What kind of underwear did you think I was wearing?’
The surprise that registered on his face was nothing compared to the shock on mine. Ducking my head, I spotted my earbuds still tucked into the rug, and bent over to retrieve them. Where didthatcome from?
‘Well, I’m honoured to have you renting the flat,’ Callum said, blessedly changing the subject. ‘If a bit surprised you aren’t in the market for something nicer.’
‘Still a trainee,’ I reminded him, pocketing the earbuds and recovering my composure. Just. ‘Working for the NHS. In London. Things could be worse, admittedly, but I’m still paying off my student loans. It’s too easy to get into a lot of debt as a student in this city, especially when you didn’t have any money to start with.’
‘And I can’t imagine days of the week underwear are cheap.’
At last, he unleashed the full force of his grin. It was glorious. His teeth were straight and white, his lips full and soft looking, and he lit up, all the warmth of his expression pouring into me like a no-contact hug. His wavy hair was almost dry now, a dark, russet colour, and just long enough to curl up around his cheekbones, framing those incredible eyes, and when he stepped into a shaft of sunlight, I could’ve sworn I heard a choir of angels singing. Which was when I noticed a car parked outside the window, blaring Christmas carols at full blast.
‘That’s everything, I think.’ Callum waved his arms around the small space as I leaned against the wall,attempting to recover myself. Someone had spent altogether too much time in the hospital lately and that someone was me. ‘You’ve got my number, give me a shout if you come across any problems and I’ll send someone round. Or you can always ask Dave, I’m sure he’ll help. Even if he is a bit of a dickhead.’
‘You really might be my roommate’s dream man,’ I said. ‘Thanks for the tour and yep, I’ll let dickhead Dave know if I’ve got any more questions. Since you’ll be in Paris.’
‘Since I’ll be in Paris,’ he echoed, eyes locked on mine.
‘Have a nice Christmas in Scotland,’ I added, reaching for the door but not letting myself out just yet. ‘Say ho, ho, ho to your mum and dad for me.’
Half a laugh huffed out of him.
‘No can do. I’m not going. I’d rather stay here on my own.’
‘You’re not serious?’ I said, letting go of the door handle.
‘I’d say you wouldn’t understand but I reckon you got a good measure of my family in your five minutes.’
