Page 30 of The Next Chapter

‘It’s no wonder that you want to help her out so much now,’ I say, wanting to be genuine and less conflicted about this.

‘Yeah, she’s the only family I have really.’

God, this is some fucked up situation I’m in. Noah’s still talking.

‘So, you think the plan for the hotel is decent? And pointers? You’re running a successful business with Seb, you must know your stuff.’

‘What? Oh yes, we’re super successful.’ I make a show of looking down at the list again and not mentioning that chances are I’m now entangled with not one but two struggling businesses. ‘Fairy lights,’ I say finally, ‘fairy lights go a long way.’

Noah is nodding. ‘Got it. You know—’ He taps his pen on the list, our risotto long forgotten. ‘Point two.’

‘The guest experience,’ I interject.

‘That’s right. You could always let me know what it’s like to stay here, as a guest.’

I really should be working at becoming less, not more embroiled in the affairs of Lola and Noah. The more I involve myself, the bigger the betrayal will be if, no when, they find out who I am.

‘Er…’ Again I’m stumped. How are we meant to say no?

‘I know you’re already helping with the article; I don’t want to put on you…’

‘I wouldn’t have to do all of the hotel experiences, would I? I’m not too good with planes but…’ Shut up, Lily. I’m not good with planes. Or throwing myself out of planes. Or throwing myself out of anything really.

Noah laughs. ‘It’s not Lola offering the skydiving, she has an agreement with Skye by Sky. I’ve already done it.’

‘Well, it’s just such a shame that one of us has already done that. Because I would have loved a good bit of skydiving. I’d have been all over it,’ I say, smiling a huge smile of relief.

‘It was a long time ago, though.’

‘Still, done. Checked off the list.’

He laughs again.

‘So, you’ll help?’

I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. It involves more lies. More deception. To Noah but also to Lola. How does one say, Hi, I’m your daughter and also the person who has been involved in low-level subterfuge regarding the saving of your hotel ?

The thought makes me start breathing fast.

Plus, there’s the fact that Noah probably doesn’t know that Lola’s planning to sell her memoirs to the highest bidder to raise money for the hotel. He doesn’t even need to do all this stuff.

But then, I think of how uncomfortable Lola had been at our first session. How much she has shied away from the limelight ever since her Beyond Baton Rouge days. Maybe if the hotel was doing better, she wouldn’t need to…

The thought process makes me realize that a part of me does want to help Lola. Lola as I know her now deserves the help. And the building, its history, I want them to thrive too.

‘Okay,’ I tell him. ‘I’ll help. But we’ll need a proper business plan. Something that we can present to Lola formally.’

I’m imagining a boardroom type scenario here. Chances are that the three of us wouldn’t all fit in Lola’s office.

‘We’ll have to do costings, and projections and planning. So much planning.’

‘Sounds exciting, Lily.’

It does sound exciting. It’s also the exact opposite of what Seb told me to do, but I can worry about that tomorrow. For now, I’m high on the thought of an action plan.

This is a terrible idea. This is a brilliant idea; I’ll learn more about Lola. I’ll get to spend time with Noah. Ah, no, that’s bad. Bad brain. Stop it.

‘What are you thinking?’ Noah asks.

I’m thinking too many things at once. My mind is positively racing.

‘I’m thinking that I wish I could just not think for a little bit,’ I answer honestly.

‘You’re a writer, we all think hard.’

‘You’ve no idea. Sometimes I feel like it’s overheating. I want to detach my skull and let it air.’

And isn’t that a lovely visual that I’ve given us both – my decapitated head.

‘I get it. It’s like that for me too sometimes.

Describing places can be frustrating. I see all these little details, how they all fit together to make a whole.

Like the top of Blà Bheinn, it’s so beautiful up there.

It can be a challenge, getting it on the page in a way that seems real. Once I start writing it helps, though.’

I’m back to wonder and awe.

‘Writing helps me too,’ I admit. ‘The details of people’s lives. I find them comforting. I used to play piano and sing a little, to help me relax, but I haven’t done that in a while.’

‘I’d like to see that. Lola has a piano here, you know.’

‘Does she?’ I ask.

He nods. ‘It’s in the corner of the breakfast room.’

‘I didn’t see it. It doesn’t matter, though; I don’t sing or play in public.’ Not since Mum died.

I don’t know how it’s happened, but Noah is closer to me than he was a few minutes ago.

Maybe he too gets turned on by action plans.

His hair has dried and parts of it are falling over his head now.

It’s giving Brad Pitt when he was with Gwyneth Paltrow – nature was having an absolute riot the day it made Noah.

And though I hate to be that girl, I have absolutely no idea what he could possibly see in me. Maybe it’s like Seb said and he wants to unruffle me. I want to be unruffled. Or more unruffled than I already am at any rate.

He’s somehow closer still.

‘Can I kiss you again, Lily?’

I should say no. I know I should, there are so many reasons why this is a bad idea. No future, I say to myself. It’s going nowhere. Nothing. Zip.

But I’m a ball of tension, taut and brittle, ready to shatter.

And this night feels full of bad ideas.

Maybe I can just get him out of my system. Just this once. I’ve read about it in books. It always turns out exactly as they’re hoping it might.

I snap.

‘God, yes, please do.’ It comes out as the plea that it is. I’m nodding my head, so when Noah’s lips actually meet mine, it takes me a second to still.

At first, our lips are closed. It’s chaste, not enough to unravel me fully.

But then the slide of his tongue against mine is heaven and I lose myself in the push and pull of it all. I sigh into his mouth, pulling him tighter towards me.

I could cry with relief as my thoughts are crowded out by lust. I just need more.

The kiss turns feral and it’s because of me. I’m clawing at him. Pulling at his T-shirt. I just need to forget.

‘Lily, I…’

No. No. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t want to have to think about talking. ‘Six weeks,’ I say. I don’t know why I’m saying it. I’m unravelling. ‘I’m leaving in six weeks. And you… Italy… So… just… this… once…’

Six weeks stretches out before us like forever. I’ve never had a fling. I’ve never wanted one before. But the Isle of Skye operates on a different plane to everywhere else. Here, I just want my brain to shut up and for Noah to kiss me. No, it’s not a want, it’s a need.

I can feel Noah’s heart beating hard under the flat of my palm under his shirt.

‘Once?’ He pauses before he answers me. He’s stopped kissing me and that will not do.

I nod. ‘That’s all.’

It’s the truth. Noah and me, we would never work. I can list the reasons we wouldn’t work.

He loves to travel and most days, I have to psych myself up to leave the house.

He’s leaving in six weeks.

I’m leaving in six weeks.

I’m lying to him about Lola. About Seb. About who I am.

I’ve told him more than once that I love adventure when the reality is that I get excited when my favourite toothpaste is on special offer.

No, all this thinking is bad, we don’t want thinking.

Noah pauses for another moment, his eyes meeting mine. ‘Okay, then.’ He’s kissing me again and it’s escalating. My hand is moving again under his shirt, his body hot beneath my palm.

I’m lost to it as I climb onto his lap and wriggle out of the straps of my maxi dress. I’m not myself. I’m fevered and frenzied and I’m going to die if he stops trailing his mouth along my collarbone.

‘Please,’ I say, pressing his mouth against my chest. I don’t even know what I’m asking for. Except my brain is quiet and I don’t want this to stop.

I don’t want it to stop when Noah stands up, taking me with him.

His shirt is open, and my dress is bunched around my waist.

‘Bedroom?’ he asks, stumbling around the coffee table.

‘Yes, definitely.’ See, there are some benefits to having short legs, it makes you easy to carry.

Noah gently drops me on the bed and I reach for him when he stays standing by the side of it.

‘Do you have a—?’ he asks and my mind is so off that it takes me a second to realize that he means a condom.

No. No, I don’t have a condom. It wasn’t on my list. How have I brought a lavender diffuser and no condoms?

‘Don’t worry, I’ll be back in a second.’

Noah darts from the cottage and I just lay there, a picture of debauchery.

He’s back, with a small black wash bag.

‘Come here, please,’ I half beg him.

Finally, he lowers himself on top of me, his body pushing me into the bed, the solid weight of him perfect.

We’re moving as one and for once, everything in my head is still.