Page 54 of Drowning in Darkness

“So I’ve been told.”

He disappears back to the kitchen, leaving me completely unattended with his laptop.

Either he’s incredibly trusting, or he’s sure I won’t find anything. Naturally, I decide to test that theory.

The shopping basket already contains toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, shower gel, moisturiser, deodorant, socks, sneakers, jeans, three plain T-shirts, and enough groceries to survive a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and batteries for the aforementioned apocalypse. How reassuring.

Practical. Predictable. Clueless male and hopelessly James.

I begin adding things with considerably more personality. Chocolate. Hot chocolate. Marshmallows. Strawberry shampoo because the bottle is pink. A ridiculously fluffy dressing gown. Three candles with various scents. A notebook. Five pens because one always disappears into another dimension. Face masks. Hair masks. A ridiculous number of hair ties that will last me about a month if I’m careful. Seriously, where do they disappear to?

I reach the nail polish section, and my gaze narrows, my finger stilling above the trackpad. I began painting my nails when I was admitted to the institute. It’s not vanity. Some days, I don’t have words for what sits inside my chest, but color has always understood me.

Black when I need armor. Red when I refuse to be ignored. Blue when my thoughts won’t settle. Soft pink when I’m pretending everything is okay. Yellow when I’m determined it will be.

I don’t hesitate. Into the basket goes black. Ruby. Forest green. Midnight blue. Lilac. Coral. Silver glitter because sometimes life simply requires glitter.

By the time I’m finished, there are twelve bottles sitting in the basket. Is that enough? I add two more at random and let the universe decide.

“Planning to open a salon?”

I jump and gasp. James didn’t make a sound crossing the room.

I swivel the laptop slightly to hide my color-coded therapy from him. “No.”

His eyes flick to the screen. “Sixteen?”

I must have added an extra four. Oops. “I contain multitudes.”

“I’ve noticed.” His gaze lingers on the list for another second before he simply nods. “Add more if you need them.”

No questions. No judgement. Just quiet acceptance. That catches me off guard more than if he’d laughed.

He lays placemats on the table and retreats to the kitchen.

As I reach for the trackpad again, a notification appears in the top corner of the screen.

Daisy: I’m on vacation for the next fortnight. If you need me...

The little preview disappears almost as quickly as it arrived. I stare at the empty corner of the screen. Who’s Daisy? The ridiculous squeeze low in my stomach arrives before logic catches up. I have no rights to this man, and anything I feel is bad news for him, for me, and everyone we care about.

I don’t assume he’s celibate. When you look like him and have that quiet yet unmovable aura, people flock to you.

He delivers two glasses of orange soda to the table and drags his phone out of his pocket and frowns. Of course, they’re linked. So now I have two options: pretend I didn’t see it, or ask him outright who Daisy is.

I aim for causal and somewhere in the middle. “You can answer it if you like,” I say, sounding overly enthusiastic even to my own ears. I wince inwardly. Why would he need my damn permission to answer his own phone?

He looks up. “It’s fine.” He doesn’t press the notification. Instead, he slips his phone back into his pocket. “Food will be ready in ten.”

I nod like I haven’t spent the last thirty seconds wondering who Daisy is and why he would need her. It’s definitely not my business. Definitely not something my brain needs to investigate.

My stomach chooses that moment to remind me I’ve barely eaten, so I concentrate on the gnawing emptiness instead. Or at least I try. “What are we having, chef?” I call out as he stalks back into the kitchen.

“Meatballs and pasta.”

“Yum, one of my favorites.”

I stand and fold my arms over my stomach. The lodge demands exploring. Every room opens into another, each one carrying the same quiet sense of purpose. Nothing here exists simply because it looks expensive. Everything has been chosen because someone might need it.