‘Good?’ Eyes wide, I take another bite. ‘Sam, this is gorgeous. You’re wasted down in that coffee shop.’
‘I think I’m doing just fine.’ He winks, and my stomach turns to jelly. He pours us red wine, musing on his favourite kind, and all I can think of is wine tasting with Ollie. This wine, by the way, is much better than what he chose.
Sam’s knife clatters, falling to the floor. ‘Five second rule,’ he says, picking it up. ‘So, how did wine tasting go?’
Sam blows on the knife, inspecting it in the candlelight.
‘All of this has been a waste of time.’
Sam leans back. ‘Seeing me again has been a waste of time?’
His foot brushes mine and I jump. He hesitates, but I move my foot closer, letting him touch me again. Eyes locked, I drink. ‘No, seeing you again has been… eye-opening.’
‘How so?’
‘You’re my dinky donut,’ I say.
I stab my knife into the chicken, making the candle flames flicker dangerously.
‘You imagining that’s Alec?’
‘Absolutely not.’ But maybe not a bad idea.
‘Look, you win some, you lose some,’ Sam says. ‘You came here and yeah, sure, you might have been thinking selfishly, but you’ve done the right thing. Your heart has always been in the right place, Will.’
His eyes are round and blue, luring me in. He leans forwards, smiling at me.
‘You don’t think I’m a dick?’
‘That’s yet to be seen,’ Sam remarks. ‘I’m joking. Look, we do crazy things when we’re in love. People have fought wars over it. As far as I know, you haven’t done that. You followed your heart and it led you to where you are now.’
Sam, sitting before me, is where it’s led me.
He says, ‘I hope you picked some good wine.’
I laugh.
‘I’m glad I found you again.’
‘We can thank Ollie for one thing, I suppose.’
Chapter Thirty-Five
WILL
Day Eight
We take our wines to the sofa; the candlelight flickers around us, casting our shadows on the brick walls. I’m on my third glass of wine, barely noticing that our thighs brush against one another. Sam stretches out, his leg over mine, and I place a hand on his shin, feeling his soft hairs between my fingers.
Sam’s digital clock shines: 00:00. Midnight.
‘Seventeen days left,’ he whispers, not looking at me.
Seventeen days.
‘Bloody hell, that’s gone fast.’ I lean my head against the pillow, looking up at the ceiling. ‘A lot has changed in eight days.’
‘Yeah, it has.’
