‘Yourself?’
He gave a sideways nod. ‘I know about this stuff from my other life.’
Apparently, that was all the explanation she was going to get for now, because he opened the door – it hadn’t been locked – swept aside the curtain of mosquito netting and gestured her inside before him.
‘Truly, keep your expectations low. No one had renovated here in decades when I bought it and I’m only making slow progress.’
He needn’t have warned her. She was instantly charmed by the terracotta flagstones in a herringbone pattern, the high ceiling with exposed beams. They entered directly into the kitchen-diner, with a small cooking area in one corner and a heavy wooden table.
There was a day bed with cushions and a wicker chair in the opposite corner and as Toni glanced all around the room, remembering the modest exterior dimensions of the house, she realised this might be the lounge room as well as the kitchen-diner. The snorkelling equipment he’d mentioned in an earlier email – as well as walking poles, a beat-up rucksack and several hats – was piled in another corner.
Decoration was sparse, but quirky: a piece of driftwood sat on the tiled mantlepiece of the old fireplace. Painted pots held trailing plants, one that meandered along the wall, held up with a few nails, and dangled over the kitchenette. An enormous monstera dominated the final corner, in a big, blue-glazed pot. It didn’t escape her that he had no art, no photos on the walls.
The contrast with her house, cluttered with Lego and picture books, a pile of shoes now too small for not-so-little feet, a child’s art projects and family photos, struck her.
‘This is the bedroom,’ he said, opening a door near the monstera.
She must have misheard. He hadn’t said ‘the bedroom’. He must have meant the guest room, but when she followed him into the room, she noticed several coats hanging from hooks by the French doors, and a hint of folded clothes in the wardrobe with the door ajar.
‘Um, this is your room,’ she blurted out dumbly, trying to tamp down those tingles at her hairline at the thought of their dilemma. If he’d thought she was a man, he wouldn’t have invited her to sleep in his bed anyway, but now the bed was rightthere, filling her vision, it was difficult not to imagine sharing it. Her mouth was dry.
‘I mentioned I have a sofa bed? I’ll sleep there.’
‘I thoughtI’dbe sleeping on the sofa bed.’
‘No, no. It’s in the other room. You stay here. I’ve already got a bag of clothes out. You’ll have more privacy here.’
‘The “other” room? This place only has two rooms?’
The stain on his cheeks was enough to make her laugh – a little hysterically. ‘Plus a bathroom. But you make it your home this week,’ he insisted, his light –verylight – accent coming across a bit more strongly. ‘I will be comfortable out there. I sleep very deeply – like the mouse, as we say.’
The image that rose in her mind was another unhelpful one – not a mouse, but a half-dressed man with warm, tanned skin and an inviting shadow of stubble. ‘The mouse?’ she repeated as she tried to clear the fog from her brain.
‘Not exactly a mouse. I don’t know the word in English. The ghiro, we say in Italian – a little sleepy mouse. I hope it doesn’t have a silly name like “nipplewort” in English.’
Toni tried to muster a smile at the reminder of another of their messaging exchanges, when Gabri had told her about the groups of English-speaking tourists he’d guided on foraging trips. She’d been so amused at the time, but with his mouth actually forming the word and her lingering embarrassment andthis inconvenient awareness of how attractive he was, she didn’t manage much.
‘I didn’t realise I’d be such an inconvenience when I said I’d stay,’ she blurted out.
His response was a wince. ‘Perhaps that’s why I didn’t tell you about the two rooms.’
‘I assumed I wouldn’t be any trouble.’ Just as she’d assumed Gabri was a vivacious woman and not a mysterious man.
He drew up, biting on his lip as he regarded her thoughtfully – too thoughtfully. ‘It isn’t much trouble, but even if there is a little inconvenience, it’s a small price to pay.’
‘For what?’ she asked. ‘Whydidyou invite me to stay?’
7
He wished he’d gone to a lot more trouble to prepare his place for her visit – and not only because she’d turned out to be a woman. Because she’d turned out to bethiswoman, with her strong jaw and guarded eyes.
He’d been right. She was complicated. And intriguing –and pretty, he added wryly to himself, a reminder of the impossibilities.
But her question threw everything open, not only the unexpected curveball of mistaken identity, but also his personal life that he’d naively assumed a man wouldn’t care to ask about – and her own history that she hadn’t meant to share but had blurted out like a shield against the current between them.
‘Because we are… friends, no?’
‘Gosh, of course. I’m sorry for making a big deal out of this. I just— I’ve been on my own since—’ She seemed to choke on what she’d been about to say. ‘But yes, we’re friends. Once I calm down.’ She mumbled the last part through a frown.
