‘I can’t possibly. I don’t know you.’
It’s too kind and too much, especially for someone I just met.
‘It’s just one night. We’ll wake up tomorrow and find you somewhere that doesn’t resemble a crime scene.’
I glance over to the bed one more time and swear I see something move underneath the mattress cover.
‘Where’s your place?’ I ask.
I try to keep it monotone and entirely free of intrigue; I don’t want him thinking I’m that easy to persuade. But I have a sneaky suspicion that literallyanythingwould be safer than this... Even a night with a complete stranger. Although I suppose with the hours we’ve spoken tonight, he’s not exactly acompletestranger.
‘City centre – a thirty-minute walk from here or ten minutes in a cab if you don’t feel like walking.’
I look up at his face and am reminded of all we’ve shared tonight. I can tell you his goals, his need to be here, some of his deeper fears. I could paint out the way his forehead crinkles when he laughs. I know his mum’s name and his birthday, and his dream job as a child (astronaut, until he watchedApollo 18). I’ve told him things tonight that I’m not sure I ever even told Tom, and I’d love to blame the drinks but I know deep down that’s not the case.
I wanted to talk to him. I never wanted to stop. I would have kept going and going as long as he let me. Because talking to him feels like talking to someone I’ve always known. Someone that would never lead me astray.
‘One night,’ I say firmly.
He nods. ‘Just the one. I promise I’ll kick you out the second the sun comes up.’
‘Wonderful,’ I say, before skipping back over to him.
He links his free arm around my waist as we head back through the door.
. . .a sleepover
‘Are you rich?’ I ask the second we enter his place.
I step further into the open-plan lounge, taking in the light-wood floors and chic hanging lights. The kitchen is fully furnished with matching teal appliances, stretching from a toaster to a blender, kettle and air fryer. He has a Smeg fridge, and fancy sofas, and the large antique bay windows overlook the beautifully lit town square below us. The location’s to die for and the interior’s lifted straight from an architecture magazine.
‘Found this place on a Facebook group, actually – free board for ten days if I water some plants,’ he says.
I feel my breath grow tighter as he joins me by the fridge with a freshly poured glass of wine. I glance down for a moment, following the swirl of the deep red liquid circling around the glass. Thanks to all the walking and the water at the bar, I have almost sobered up again. And the more sober I get, the more I’m reminded that I’m travelling Europe, all alone, for the next six months. I grab the stem of my glass and take a hearty sip.
‘I didn’t know you could do that,’ I say.
‘Water plants?’
‘Steal people’s houses.’
He chuckles. ‘It’s hardly a steal; this guy’s maniacal about his plant-watering routine. He left me diagrams.’
‘Oh, how tough.’
I fake a pout and he tries to mirror it, his cheek muscles betraying him as they stretch into a smile. He takes another swig from his glass.
‘It has its perks, including a spare bedroom, actually.’
My mouth falls open ever so slightly at the mention of the bedroom, which causes Noah’s own demeanour to shift with me. I didn’t mean to react so animatedly, or at all for that matter, but the shock rippled through my body before I could stop it.
I’ve been so swept up in the night, in the drinks, in the boy, that I haven’t had a chance to bring myself down to earth. I haven’t really thought about what it means to stay at a man’s apartment. An incredibly handsome man with a great smile, whom I’ve spent the better part of the night flirting with.
The next sip of wine shoots straight to my head, reigniting its dizzy friends from earlier. My head grows lighter and lighter as he shifts ever closer, and I can feel his warm breath on my face.
‘There’s a spare room?’ I try to fake genuine interest. I hope to God it’s faked enough for him to buy it.
‘Yeah.’ His voice is gruff. He swallows and starts again. ‘It’s a fair bit smaller and I don’t know what the sound level’s like... But it’s yours if you want it, I guess.’
