Page 31 of The Next Chapter

To Do:

Google one-night stand etiquette

Three-pronged plan to save hotel

Lola memoirs chapter two

Cover design for Mr Vandergilden – carcass or guns?

Get on top of emails

‘Why are you calling me? You know I cherish my alone time in the morning.’ Seb’s voice down the phone is harsh.

‘Shhh, you’re so loud, you’re going to wake him up,’ I angry whisper, looking back at the bedroom door that I’d pulled closed but not shut properly.

I’d woken up very naked, an equally naked Noah next to me on the bed.

‘Wake him… oh my god, Lily, you did jump him!’ Seb cackles down the phone and I have to put my hand over it to muffle him.

‘Are you done?’ I ask when his laugh finally tails off to a gentle chuckle.

‘I think so,’ he answers. ‘But if Noah is in your bed, I have to say I’m impressed. I didn’t think you had it in you. But why the fuck are you talking to me? Get back in there,’ he orders.

‘It’s not as simple as that.’ I pull my summer dressing gown tight around me. It doesn’t exactly feel like the protector of my virtue I might need it to be. ‘You know I’ve never done this before. What’s the etiquette? Do I make him a coffee? Do I shake his hand and bid him farewell?’

Seb starts to laugh again. ‘Please do that last one. Film it for me, would you?’

‘You are no help. How do I get rid of him?’

I start to pace.

‘Get rid of him? Was it bad?’

‘No, not bad. Amazing, actually,’ I tell him. ‘Plus, before, I agreed to help him save the hotel. We have a three-pronged plan!’ I’m whispering hysterically.

‘Wow, your saviour complex knows no bounds. Impressive. I’d slow clap you, for the sex, not the saviour thing, if I wasn’t holding my phone. Good for you, my short-legged friend. I told you a good orgasm would sort you out.’

I make a non-committal hum. It really was a good orgasm. No, I can’t let my orgasm distract me.

‘Seb, there is no future between me and him. None at all. He’s going to fucking Italy in September.

You know where I’m going? Salford. Plus, there are all the lies I’m telling and the fact that I’ve given him the total wrong impression of me,’ I tell Seb.

‘He thinks I’m all wild and adventurous. Especially now.’

‘Please tell me you got the handcuffs out?’

‘What?! No, of course I didn’t even pack them. I was just… freakier than usual. I kind of lost it a bit.’

A completely X-rated still from last night presents itself clear as day in my mind’s eye. Not helpful.

‘What do I do?!’

Seb thinks for a minute. ‘Look, if you don’t want to do it again, you don’t have to, you know that, right?’

‘I know, I just… I thought I’d get it out of my system. But Seb, the people in books, they’re lying, that is not reality. It makes you want to do it more!’

It takes several minutes for the laughing to stop.

‘Get it out of her system,’ he finally finishes. ‘Look, are we done here? I can go back to bed for half an hour. Let’s just say I’ve unearthed some of my old pictures of Ashton and you’re not the only one who had a long night.’

‘Did not need to know that. But yes, we’re done. You’re still going to check on Elton for me today?’

‘Yes.’

‘Make sure he’s only having the dry food. You know what Mr Cains is like.’

‘Got that.’

‘And you promise to try those patches I got you?’

‘I promise, dear.’

‘And you got the draft of the opening for Lola’s book that I sent?’

‘I did. And exhausting as this is, I have some thoughts about the book I need to share. Will the Wi-Fi there hold for a Zoom meeting, do you think?’

‘I reckon so. Harper managed to play Spotify for three hours yesterday.’

‘Good, I’ll set one up. Keep me posted on how you’re getting on up there. Call anytime.’

‘I will, thank you.’

‘But not before 7am again or I’ll block your number.’

‘Fine. Bye, Seb.’

‘Morning.’ I twist around to find Noah in the doorway of the bedroom. Mercifully, he’s put his boxers back on, because even him shirtless is a lot for this early.

I flail and drop my phone.

‘Morning.’ There’s a very good chance I look like a startled deer. My eyes, already on the big side, are wide and fixed very determinedly on Noah’s face. Even though I fear that after last night, this is something of a moot point.

I clutch my dressing gown ever tighter.

‘Coffee?’ Noah asks, walking past me, seemingly oblivious to my particular brand of startled panic.

‘It’s okay,’ he says, stopping before me to plant a kiss on the top of my head.

Maybe not so oblivious, then. I should have Googled the etiquette thing over calling Seb.

He was useless. And I really didn’t think that morning head kisses were within the parameters of a fling.

But then what the hell do I know? I decide to follow Noah’s lead.

‘Yeah, I bought my own. It’s in the top cupboard.’

Noah moves around the kitchen, filling up the percolator and boiling the kettle. I watch him with the kind of rapt attention normally reserved for children and zoo animals.

‘Milk and sugar, right?’ he asks, no doubt remembering the coffee that I drank at his cottage two days ago.

Trying to maintain a semblance of control, I add my own milk and half a spoon of sugar and then breathe it in, hoping that I at least look like the cool, calm and collected person I aim to be.

‘So should we revisit our plans for the hotel or…?’ Noah lets the sentence hang.

I mean, first of all, how the fuck is it only Tuesday? I feel like I’ve lived several lifetimes already on Skye. And secondly, it’s almost ridiculous to think that I’d bail on a plan. Plans are life.

‘Yes, definitely.’ I start talking at pace.

‘Let’s recap. We have a three-pronged plan of attack.

’ I don’t even stumble over all the p’s.

‘Step one, we do what we can around the place to help Lola out. Step two, I live the guest experience and report back, and step three, we make your article as amazing as possible. As a subsidiary of step two, a step two b, if you will, I’ll look to consider a new marketing plan for Lola.

Something with some real wow factor. I did an MA in marketing a couple of years ago. Just for fun.’

Noah appears momentarily lost for words. Seb does say that I get a little giddy when I’m forming a plan.

But this is excellent. I’m going to be busy. So busy. There’ll actually be no time at all to carry on this little ill-advised tryst. I’ll hardly have time to write Lola’s memoirs and keep on top of my other work with it all. It’s brilliant. What I’ll need is a robust weekly timetable.

‘Er, Lily, is everything okay?’

It’s only then I realize how flustered I’ve become.

‘Yes, fine, why do you ask?’ I try to get some of the sweat off my forehead. Styling it out as a yawn.

‘You just look like you did last night, you know when…’

He trails off. It’s all the confirmation I need that I equate weekly timetables with orgasms.

Noah’s leaning back against the kitchen worktop, his long legs crossed at the ankles. Distracting, very distracting.

‘Right, I’d better get to it. What’s on at the hotel today? No time like the present.’

‘It’s painting today.’

‘Brilliant,’ I lie. I hate painting. ‘Who doesn’t love painting? I think I’ll go and sign right up.’

I’m like Roadrunner, zipping around the cottage. Focusing on anything that isn’t Noah. While I zip, Noah says, ‘And if you’re free this weekend, I was thinking of checking out another hidden gem for the article.’

So far, Noah’s hidden gems have involved no small amount of physical pain. But standing in just his boxers like that, he could ask for a kidney and I’d cut it right out myself.

Plus, it’s part of the three-pronged plan.

‘Yes, excellent idea,’ I answer, aiming for businesslike as I attack last night’s risotto pan. What was I thinking, not leaving it to soak. The leftover risotto has basically welded itself to the bowl. It looks like cement.

The tap fits and spurts out water. Probably, we need a plumber.

‘Penny for your thoughts?’ Noah asks.

‘I was just thinking that risotto really is not worth the effort it takes to make.’ I chance a look at Noah. ‘And also, the plumbing in the hotel is shot.’ I’m being weird and I don’t want him to think that I didn’t have a good time last night.

‘Can I see you again later?’ he asks.

‘Yes, yes, it’ll be good to regroup after my painting day. I’ll take notes. We can mind map.’

I make it sound like a business transaction and Noah frowns. Don’t love that.

It’s just, I have no way of telling him that I can’t do this.

I don’t want to get involved if there’s no future, and there isn’t.

Plus, Noah… Well, he only likes the Isle of Skye version of me.

The one who hikes up mountains and has wild flings with intense orgasms. Skye me has sugar in her coffee without even uttering the words ‘insulin resistance’.

No wonder he wants to keep seeing me – he isn’t getting the real me at all.

I open my mouth to articulate all of that, it’s just that nothing comes out.

I want, so badly, to be the sort of person who is wanted by someone like Noah.

But it’s always been like this. Like there’s this vast chasm between the person that I am and the person that I want to be. And I’ve never, ever known how to cross that chasm.

‘Cool. I’ll… I’d better get off. I always write better in the mornings, so if I don’t do some work now, I never will.’

‘Me too. I’m sure my brain shuts down after lunch,’ I hear myself say. ‘My favourite time to write is in the mornings before anyone gets to the office,’ I tell him as he disappears into the bedroom.

‘Same,’ he calls back. I can hear him rustling around, putting his clothes on while I nurse my coffee close to my chest.

Noah reappears, dressed in last night’s clothes. Him walking back to his own cottage dressed like that feels illicit and thrilling all at the same time.

He kisses me and I momentarily forget all of the reasons why this really is a terrible idea.

Here are the reasons why I dislike art.