I froze. The kettle had boiled. The mug was waiting. And yet, my brain blanked.
“What are you doing, tennis boy?” I asked.
“I’m learning how you like your tea,” he said, his thick eyelashes catching on my attention.
The scent of his aftershave lingered in the air between us. And still, I forgot to move, mesmerized by having him so up close. He was so beautiful, it pulled me, whether it was the roughness of the unshaven shadow of stubble, or the depth in his eyes, or the playfulness he exuded, or all of the fucking above and then some. I liked to look at it.
I liked it a lot.
“You’re staring,” he whispered, breaking me from the spell.
Heat rushed to my face.What is happening?“I am not.” I yanked the kettle off its base, turning away to pour the water, hoping he wouldn’t see how warm my face had gotten.
Jonah chuckled, low and smug.
I exhaled sharply, focusing again on my task and burying deep down all the details I had noticed about his face: the indent of a crinkle between his brows; the dark flecks of near-black in his irises, like freckles; the apparent softness of his hair my fingers ached to push through. I shoved them all down and instead coughed to clear my throat.
“Now let me show you how a Brit makes a cuppa before you embarrass yourself with that microwave shit.”
eight
JONAH
About You - The 1975
“So, you really expected to survive on cheese and wine?” I asked, sitting down on the other side of the couch, placing both glasses on the coffee table.
She threw her head back, sighing loudly. The movement exposed the long, elegant line of her throat, and I had to look away before I stared too long.
It had been a few of hours since she’d officially moved in, and after the tea debate I let her have some time to get settled before dinner. While she’d taken a bath, I’d gone out and made sure we had enough firewood to see us through the next few days. If anything, it was an excuse to give her some alone time – and me the space to consider why on earth I’d invited a siren into my home.
“It’s the newest fad diet. The ‘I’m not used to the village shop closing for the foreseeable future detox’. Haven’t you heard of it?” She took a long sip from her glass, her eyes closing as she swallowed. The way her lips touched the rim of the glass, the mark they left, and the appreciative sigh she gave after didnothing to stop me wondering how much better she’d feel up close.
Her knee nearly brushed mine as she sat opposite, wearing a heather lilac sweater and a pair of leggings, looking much warmer since I’d lit the fire. The flames cast a warm glow on her skin, almost making her seem soft.
I could barely reply, let alone tease. “Oh, I forgot, you’re a big city girl.”
“Shut up, America.” Her voice had taken on a teasing lilt, like she was enjoying this back-and-forth as much as I was. “Where are you from, anyway?”
“I grew up outside of DC, in the suburbs.”
Her eyebrows pushed up, and I didn’t miss the way she leaned in slightly, getting comfortable, settling into me a little. “And you’re giving me shit?”
“I know, but it’s fun,” I laughed, looking over at her again. Her eyes sparkled in the firelight, making it hard to look away. “The helpless act is kind of cute.”
“Act?” she repeated, narrowing her blue eyes in suspicion. That sharp, assessing look sent a little jolt through me. I wondered if she was sizing me up, deciding if she liked what she saw.
I swallowed, trying to put the feeling I had around her – the feeling I’d failed to shake since the second she walked into the pub – into the right words. Kit made my thoughts slow, more deliberate. Made me want to read between every line of what she said, only to make sure I didn’t miss a single note.
“You strike me as the kind of person who’s almost never not in control of a situation.” My voice was quieter, more serious. The teasing edge was gone now, replaced by something new. Something heavier. The air between us shifted; it was warm and electric, like a live wire. “It feels very strange and out of place tosee somebody as headstrong as you are, completely lost in the middle of nowhere.”
Her eyes searched my face, holding my gaze a moment too long, as if testing me, seeing if I’d flinch.
“Thank you?” she answered, her gaze now avoiding mine, downcast on her glass. After a moment, she added “I think,” and shot me a side-long glance, her expression unsure, stuck between amused and wary.
I adjusted my position, suddenly too aware of the space between us – or rather, how little of it there was. The couch, the entire cabin, felt smaller now. I picked up my own glass, trying to drown the feeling.
“It was supposed to be a compliment.”
