He pours his tea and they sip, the silence punctuated only by their slurps. She is watching the squirrel; he is watching her watch it. It feels like something he could do for a long time. Her enjoyment is mesmerising, beautiful.Sheis mesmerising, beautiful.
Get yourself together, he tells himself.You are here to do a task, not to fall in love.
As if reading his thoughts, she drags her eyes away from the window.
‘We should probably get to work.’
‘We’ll move the table,’ he finds himself saying. ‘So that you can watch the garden creatures at the same time.’
‘I’d love that,’ she says. ‘You’re not just a pretty face after all.’
He knows it’s an expression, that people say this to each other jokingly, regardless of the state of their faces. But he takes it as a compliment nonetheless. She thinks he has a pretty face. That will do nicely.
‘Neither are you,’ he says.
She looks at him quizzically, perhaps wondering what has triggered this admission. Not knowing that her palpable joy is winsome, contagious. ‘Thank you?’
They work all morning, following the groove they set yesterday. Outside, the clouds grow darker and then rain begins to drum on the windows. Page by page, Alex and Jess discuss the descriptions and the plot.They brainstorm other ways the story can unfold, the characters that need a more substantial role. Alex is beginning to think he can trust Jess to write those missing pages, or at least to sketch them out and write a first draft they can then polish together. She’s smarter than he ever gave her credit for. He tries not to let himself be distracted by how attractive he finds her mind at work. They skip lunch, fill up on the rapidly dwindling supply of flapjacks. And then, the rain slows and stops. The sun’s weak efforts produce what seems to be a miracle: a rainbow. And apparently Jess can’t take it anymore. She puts her pen down.
‘I’m sorry,’ she says, really just a clearing of the throat. ‘But I have to go outside. It’s just so pretty out there.’
‘Of course,’ Alex says. ‘You’ve more than earned a break.’
She looks at him as if trying to figure out what is wrong with his sentence. Then she gets it. It’s the pronoun he’s used: theyou.
‘You’re coming too, though, aren’t you?’ He doesn’t want Jess to judge him. And he definitely doesn’t want to disappoint her.
‘It’s not that,’ he says, improvising. It’s warm and cosy indoors. Outdoors, there’ll be puddles, and the kind of damp that will chill him to the bone. ‘It’s footwear. I’ve only got my trainers with me, and they’re not very waterproof.’
In his defence, he thought they’d spend their entire time indoors, huddled over a manuscript. But he should have thought about going out for dinner, should have thought more about needing some alone time, somefresh air. Should have thought, perhaps, if he hadn’t been in denial, about romantic walks. After more rummaging, she finds some wellies for him. They are ridiculously big, but he doesn’t want to draw attention to his embarrassingly small feet, to what the smallness of his feet might imply. He will slosh around in them and pray for blisters to form only after they’re safely back in the comfort and warmth of the cottage.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘Let’s go.’
It takes them a few tries to yank the door open, but they make it out. And he has to admit, the rainbow is pretty. Jess’s cheeks are flushed from the cold or from pleasure, or both, and she looks beautiful, too. ‘See?’ she says, pointing out a puddle where the rainbow is reflected. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it. ‘Aren’t you glad you came out?’
With her hand in his, it’s hard to argue with that.
Chapter Twenty-One
Jess
Alex has been a good sport about going out for a walk, trying his best to pretend to enjoy it. Jess appreciates the effort. Still, he’s clearly shivering now, and Jess has to admit the damp in the air is beginning to seep into her bones, too.
‘Come on,’ she says to Alex. ‘You’re getting chilly. Let’s get you indoors.’
He has the decency to look disappointed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. You’ve done well. And I imagine you’ve got blisters by now from those too-big wellies.’ She can’t resist poking at his vanity.
‘Oh no,’ he says. ‘These are fine.’
They are quite obviously not fine. She’s seen him walking in them. But she won’t argue.
‘Come on,’ she says again, squeezing his hand in hers to emphasise her point. “Let’s get you warmed up.’
Alex wiggles his eyebrows. ‘How do you suggest we do that?’
‘I’ll make us hot chocolate,’ she says.
