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I know that pulse isn’t just the shock of the brakes. Because mine is racing too. And it started long before the noise broke the spell.

I’ve never understood what people mean by a moment. What is life but one moment after another? But Louise and I are racking up plenty of them. And tonight, here in this bumfuck little town, with the last woman on earth it should happen with, I understand the gravity of what sharing a moment means.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Louise

Sharing a tiny hotel room with your bosses’ bosses’ boss? Awkward. Sharing a room with your bosses’ bosses’ boss who you’re crushing on? Excruciating.

I lie awake for hours in my narrow little bed. Not just what feels like hours, but actual hours, because I watch the red numbers on the ancient alarm clock beside the bed tick over. Slowly.

I don’t know if Jasper is asleep. Certainly his breathing is quiet and even. But he’s on his side with his back to me, so I can’t see if his eyes are open.

I’m lying on my back. Every muscle tense. Trying not to shift and squirm and rustle the covers. Is it any wonder I can’t sleep?

I made the mistake of telling him to use the bathroom first when we were getting ready for bed. I needed a moment to collect myself after what happened between us when we arrived back at the room. He took another shower, so the bathroom was full of steam and the smell of his body wash. Which I now can’t get out of my nose.

It hasn’t escaped my notice that three times we’ve almost kissed. And three times we’ve been interrupted. Good luck or bad luck? You be the judge. Because I can’t for the life of me decide.

I really wish Jasper hadn’t got into that dart game. There’s nothing quite like competency porn. Huh. That’s an interesting thought. Eddie wasn’t a bad player. In fact, he’s more than competent. And yet … nothing. Jasper on the other hand? Maybe competency porn is a cumulative thing. The more competent you are, or the more areas you’re competent in, the stronger it gets.

There’s certainly a correlation between the way a man looks and his level of attractiveness on the competency scale. There are probably women who would choose Eddie over Jasper. He has that whole lumberjack vibe going on, which I totally understand. But for me, it’s no contest.

Someone should do a study on that. What is the optimum formula for appeal vis-a-vis looks, competency and any other metric you want to throw in?

Whatever it is, Jasper has nailed it. Even his slightly stand-offish manner is like catnip. To me, at least. And let’s not forget that accent. It lands right where it hurts. In a good way. Close your eyes and you could be talking to Tom Hiddleston. Or Henry Cavill. Actually, if you squint a little, there’s something of a resemblance to Tom Hiddleston. Only hotter. If that’s even possible.

Shut up, brain. Seriously, just shut up.

I try what I used to do as a kid, and tell myself a story.

My brother got sick when I was six. Mum was, understandably, frantic. She no longer had the time, or the energy, to read me a bedtime story. So until I taught myself to read proper chapter books, which I had plenty of time to do since I was left mostly to my own devices, I used to tell myself stories. Sometimes out loud, but mostly in my head.

More often than not, I was asleep before I got to the end, whatever that was going to be. Although I’m pretty sure they would all have had a happy ending. Life was confusing and confronting, and I longed for the happy resolution I knew in my heart, even at the age of six, wasn’t going to happen for my brother. I was nine when I realised there would be no more bedtime stories from Mum.

Unfortunately, the story I tell myself tonight is not about a talking koala befriending me, or going on an adventure with a stray dog. Without my permission, it turns into a romance. A steamy, spicy, all kinds of hot romance. And yes, our hero—who has remained nameless—looks an awful lot like the man stretched out on the narrow bed a couple of feet away.

“Could you not think so loudly, please? I’m trying to sleep.” Jasper’s voice is slightly hoarse, which doesn’t decrease its sexiness. At all.

“I’ll think quieter if you snore quieter,” I snap, annoyed at being called out. And at not being able to sleep.

Jasper barks out a laugh. “I wasn’t snoring.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t. And do you know how I know that?” He pauses, but not long enough for me to answer. “Because I wasn’t asleep. On account of your loud thinking.”

Fair point.

“I’m sorry. I just can’t seem to settle.” I’m mortified. How did he even know I was awake? I’ve been lying still as the proverbial statue.

He shifts, and there’s just enough ambient light to see he’s moved onto his back. He folds his hands behind his head.

We fall silent. Which is deadly for me. For some reason I always need to fill silences. And there’s something I’ve been wanting to say, but haven’t been able to, since he realised who I am. Here in the quiet and dark is maybe a good time to do it.

“I know we said we’d carry on as if we’d never met, but there is something I want to say. I was really sorry to hear about your mum. She was always so lovely to me.”

A few months after their last visit, Jasper’s mum died of cancer. My mother was gutted. Losing her oldest friend to cancer, having lost my brother in a similar way, was doubly painful.