‘Oh, be quiet. You look just fine and you know it.’
He gave me a look which made me think he was genuinely doubting what I said.
‘Seriously?’ I frowned.
Seb shrugged.
‘OK,’ I said, accepting his motioned invitation to head towards the stairs. ‘Example A. The charity’s summer gala.’
‘What about it?’ he asked, ‘And please hold onto the banister if you’re going to insist on walking up the stairs and not look where you’re going.’
‘I’m fine,’ I said, but holding on anyway, partly out of politeness, still half turned towards him.
‘I’m sure but it makes me feel better, because if you fall, you’re going to take me out too and that’s going to be a real pain in the arse.’
I blushed and held on tighter.
He shook his head. ‘You can let some blood flow through to your fingers though.’
By now we were at the top of the stairs and I headed towards the guest room, Seb leaning on the door jamb as we got there.
‘What about the gala?’ he asked.
‘Is this for me?’ I said, pointing at the neatly folded T-shirt that had appeared on the bottom of the bed.
Seb nodded. ‘That OK?’
I shook it out and held it up against me. I could have got in it three times over. ‘It’s perfect, thanks.’
He gave me a smile that sent flashes through my brain which involved there being very little need for any clothing whatsoever. I really wished he wouldn’t do that, although, as he apparently had no clue he was doing it, I couldn’t hold it against him.
‘I’m still in suspense,’ he prompted, shifting position as he rested against the wall.
I’d sat on the bed now and, cross-legged, grabbed the make-up wipes I’d bought earlier from my bag. Pulling one from the packet, I swiped it across my face. ‘You’re tired. You should go to bed and get some rest.’
‘I’ll never sleep without knowing what you were going to say!’
I shook my head, laughing. ‘Then at least come and sit down for a minute and take the weight off.’ I shuffled my bum back up the bed more so that I was near the pillow and Seb took a seat next to me. ‘Better?’ I asked.
He nodded. ‘So?’
‘Patience isn’t one of your virtues, is it?’
‘Not really. Which isn’t ideal sometimes, but I get by when I need to.’
‘That sounds like a story.’
‘And maybe one day I’ll tell you, but right now I want to hear yours.’
‘It’s not a story. It’s just facts.’
‘Whatever it is, for the love of god, tell me,’ he said, flopping himself back on the bed.
‘You’re such a drama queen.’
‘Not the worst thing I’ve been called.’
‘Really?’
