‘We’re going to pop into my room for a bit,’ I blurt, standing up.
Andy freezes.
‘Oh! Okay,’ Cordelia replies. ‘You don’t want dessert?’
‘I think we’re all good,’ Jake says with a grin, following my lead.
I take Jake by the hand, because obviously he has no idea which room is mine, leading the way.
Andy’s gaze follows us as we walk down the hall. I don’t look back, but I can feel his eyes on me, like lasers shooting into my back. When we get to my bedroom, I close the door quietly behind us and let out a long breath.
‘Well,’ Jake murmurs. ‘That was interestin’.’
‘You’re very convincing,’ I compliment him. ‘Are you sure you haven’t done this before?’
‘My first time,’ he replies with a smile. ‘Nice room.’
‘Oh, er, thanks,’ I say.
I really didn’t think through bringing him in here, because what are we supposed to do now? We’re essentially trapped in here.
‘Your family?’ he asks, nodding towards a picture of me, my parents and my sister, taken on the family holiday we took to Disneyland in the noughties.
‘Yes,’ I reply.
He smiles.
‘You look happy.’
‘I was,’ I say, then wince. ‘I mean, I am – but I was really happy to be at Disneyland. I must have gone on the Small World ride six times.’
‘Is this where you write?’ he asks, examining my desk. He picks up an eyeliner and examines it, smiling when he realises it isn’t a pen.
‘Sometimes. When the mood strikes,’ I reply. ‘But I much prefer writing on my laptop somewhere comfortable. I don’t know why, something about being curled up, holding my laptop close; it feels more intimate. The desk feels too formal sometimes.’
‘I get that,’ he replies. ‘But you’re talkin’ to the guy who is only happy when he’s working outside.’
The sound of the TV travels in from the living room, muffled through the walls. It sounds like Andy and Cordelia have settled in.
Jake glances at the door, then back at me.
‘So… what’s the plan?’
‘I guess we wait,’ I say. ‘Make it seem like we’re… hanging out in here.’
‘We can do that,’ he says with a nod.
We sit on the edge of the bed, careful to keep a polite distance, and talk quietly about nothing in particular. He asks about the books on my shelf. I ask about Texas. He tells me a story about a horse that escaped during a storm and how he spent two hours tracking it through muddy fields. You can tell that he really cares about animals and it makes me glad that I’m helping him, because even I can see already that he’s perfect for Rosewood, and that Arty is worrying about nothing, judging him for being single – that definitely touches a nerve with me.
Eventually, the clock ticks past ten and the TV volume drops. We hear footsteps, then the low murmur of voices passing by my door.
‘Looks like they’re finally headin’ to bed,’ Jake says.
‘Thank God,’ I blurt, not meaning it to sound as unfriendly as it does.
A few minutes later, the flat goes quiet.
‘Okay,’ I whisper. ‘We need to get you out.’
