Page 62 of Counting Down To You

The way he is looking at me suddenly makes swallowing seem like a struggle. I cross my legs, clad in my black skinny jeans, and he follows the movement with his eyes. When he looks back at my face, the space between us quivers.

“It wasn’t my idea,” I blurt out, needing to dispel whatever this is between us before I do something stupid.

His brows pull together. “What wasn’t?”

“Coming here.” I twist my drink on its bar mat again, condensation pricking my too-hot fingers. I can tell him, I think. He already knows about the calendar, about Robyn. “It was the first challenge in my calendar. Book a flight to Châtel.”

“Ah.” I watch his expression as something flickers there. Disappointment, maybe. That I’m not as spontaneous as it made me seem? I wish I knew. I wish I could read him better. He’s nodding now. “That explains a lot, actually.” He smiles, though this time it doesn’t light up his face the way it had before. I can’t work out what I’ve said to change things. “Well, I’m still glad you’re here, no matter whose idea it was.”

Quiet settles between us, and I look away as I sip my gin. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. Maybe I should stop drinking—I’m only halfway through the cocktail, but already I can feel it going to my head.

“Leo?” He looks across at me and I glance up the length of the bar, checking no staff are nearby. I lower my voice. “What happened last year?”

To his credit, he doesn’t try to sidestep or avoid the question, though other people must’ve asked him—and not got a straight answer, based on the rumors bouncing around.

“Someone got sick,” he says eventually, rubbing his chest, the way he does when he’s uncomfortable. “Really sick,” he adds quietly. “I had to go home. And through it all…Well, let’s just say it reminded me not to take things for granted.”

I want to ask more. I want to ask if this is why he seems to understand about Robyn, about losing someone close to you. I want to ask if this person, whoever they are, is okay now, or if they, too, are gone. If this is the person the hospital took good care of.

Before I can think of a way to ask—or decide if I even should—I hear a voice, calling out behind me. “Ali?”

I still, my whole body seizing up. Because I know that voice. Somehow, impossibly, I know who is there, without turning round.

“Ali?” It’s Leo now, his voice a low murmur. When I look at him, I know my eyes are wide.

“That’s Adam,” I whisper. I’m sure of it. I want to turn, to check I’m right, but I can’t—because then he’ll know it’s me and he’ll come over. How? How has he shown up, at the hotel? At my hotel?

Leo frowns, clearly not getting it. “Adam,” I repeat, my voice a horrified hiss. “My ex.”

Understanding dawns on his face. “The dick?”

I swallow, trying to surreptitiously glance over. “That’s the one.”

“Ali!” It’s Adam’s voice again, louder now. It’s him. I know his voice as well as my own—there is no one who can boom quite like him. Shit. Fucking shit. The photo. Photos, plural. Leo, right here. Adam commenting on my Instagram posts, making it clear he knows where I am. And now he’s come here to, what, check for himself? And he’s not just going to walk away. When I don’t turn and acknowledge him, he’s going to march on over, introduce himself to Leo and, because he knows me, he’s going to know something is up and—

“Please don’t tell him this is fake,” I whisper frantically. “I know it sounds stupid, in the grand scheme of things, but I really don’t want him to know, not now. I just, I can’t face it if he—”

“Ali,” he says firmly. “Look at me.” When I don’t, trying to glance over my shoulder again, to see where Adam is, Leo takes hold of my chin in his fingers, and turns my head to face him. My breath catches at his touch, and when I meet his gaze, I go still again—for a very different reason this time.

His gaze drops to my mouth, and beneath the weight of his focus, my lips part. His fingers flex on my chin, then he moves his hand to rest on the side of my neck. All my nerve endings explode there, sending a shiver down my spine. He cocks his head—the slightest hint of a movement. A question.

I nod, not entirely sure what I’m agreeing to, but sure that whatever it is, the answer is yes. Then he leans forward, eclipsing the space between us. And he kisses me.

Chapter

18

I’m not quite prepared for the shock to my system as his mouth captures mine. It is almost tentative, like he’s still asking for permission. But my breath catches as my lips part. On the sound, he deepens the kiss, just slightly. It sends a long, liquid pull right through my core.

Then there is the sound of someone clearing their throat, loudly, somewhere nearby.

Leo pulls back from me and only then do I realize that I have taken hold of his shoulders. I don’t remember reaching up to grab them, but here I am. Leo and I stare at each other, and in that split second it’s just us. Then Leo’s mouth quirks into a small smile, and he glances in the direction of the cleared throat.

I let go of Leo, dropping my hands to my lap. And, finally, I turn to look at Adam. I’m not faking the flush in my face, or the fact that I have to blink to draw myself back to reality. Back to the fact that my ex-boyfriend is standing at the bar in the hotel where I happen to work, and that he has just seen me kiss a man who is pretending to be my boyfriend.

Which he did to help me out, I tell myself. It was only to help me out.

“Ali,” Adam says for the third time, glancing uncertainly between me and Leo. He is the same Adam—tall and broad-shouldered with Bambi brown eyes and dark-blond hair, darker than my own blond, so at least we avoided the comparison to siblings. Movie-star good looks, my mum always said—and she was right. Adam wouldn’t look out of place on a film set, playing the romantic lead, even if he’d given up on acting since the one and only play he performed with Robyn because “he couldn’t handle the egos.” But is he a bit too good-looking, I wonder now? Can someone even be too good-looking? It’s something to do with the symmetry of his face—I’ve never noticed before, but it is very symmetrical.