Chapter Fourteen
Sam
After what felt like a dozen turns down winding country lanes, Sam squinted at the satnav, fully convinced it was taking the mick.
‘Left again? We’re going in circles.’ He glanced over at Clara, who was looking at maps on her phone.
‘We must be missing something. But try going left again.’ She bit her lip. ‘We came through this village before, and there was a track. Maybe the cottage is up there.’
‘Possibly. That’s the hotel they’re having the reception at, so we’re in the right area.’ He leant forward a little as they approached the track. ‘Is that a sign stuck in the hedge?’
‘Yes.’ Clara almost jumped out of the car. ‘It says Hawthorn House. Is that is?’
‘Yeah, the directions the owners sent said the cottage was next to that. Thank goodness for that.’ He pulled onto a narrow track and rounded a bend, the view hidden by a high hedge.
At the top was the gateway to a large, rather fancy looking stone house.
But tucked away in a wooded copse to the right of the gates was a tiny, slightly rundown looking stone building.
‘Oh dear.’ Sam pulled a face. ‘Looks a bit worse for wear. No wonder it was cheap.’
Clara laughed. ‘Do you think it’s haunted?’
‘Do you?’ He threw her a look.
‘Oh gosh, I don’t know. Sometimes I say crazy things.’
‘Only sometimes?’ He winked, and she gave him a hard prod in the arm, but she was giggling.
He parked, climbed out, and went searching around the outside wall for the lockbox.
‘Apparently it’s hidden behind a bush, but there seems to be more bush than house.
’ He moved a few jaggy branches out of the way.
‘Oh, here we go.’ Crouching down, he held back the plants, keyed in the number, and opened the box.
‘I’ve got some serious misgivings about this place.
The photos made it look a lot nicer than this. ’
‘They always do.’ Clara laughed, watching him as he pushed the key into the lock. ‘But I think it’s quite cute. The garden just needs a little tidy up.’
‘Let’s hope the same isn’t true for the house.’ Sam pushed the door and held it open. ‘After you.’
Clara chuckled and peered inside. ‘I appreciate your manners, but I’m not sure I want to go in first.’
‘I’m right behind you.’
She stepped in and he followed, glimpsing low beams, an empty wood burner, and slightly tired décor that was nonetheless quite homely and rustic.
‘This isn’t bad.’ Clara peered around. ‘Cosy.’
‘Yeah. It’ll do.’ It seemed to be mainly one room with a small kitchen area at one end and the living area at the other.
Towards the far side was a door that led to a tiny back porch, which housed the washing machine, and off the side of that was a very small shower room. ‘It’s a bit like a caravan.’
Clara poked her head around the door beside him. ‘Well, I’m little, so it’s fine for me.’
‘Yeah.’ He gave her a small smile as they returned to the main room. ‘It’ll be fine for me too. It’s more the ceiling height I was worried about. Some of these buildings are very low, but this isn’t too bad. I’ll just have to duck the beams.’ He reached up and gave one a slap.
In the corner was another door. Clara opened it and peered inside. Sam followed, leaning over her shoulder to get a look.
‘Oh, you’ve got to be joking.’
Clara’s laugh burst out bright and musical. The room looked like something from a quaint country style Pinterest board – all soft lighting, white broderie anglaise, and an avalanche of mismatched cushions. It was cosy, charming… and unmistakably furnished with only one bed.
‘I asked for it to be made into two,’ Sam said, sighing.
Clara turned, her grey irises sparkling, fingertips pressed to her lips as if she might burst out laughing again. ‘Maybe they thought you meant for two, not into two.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Who knows? That doesn’t even look like the kind of bed that can unzip. But I’m sure it said that in the description.’ He edged past her, lifted the duvet, and let out another sigh. ‘Nope. I’ll take the sofa.’
Running a hand through his hair, he tried not to think about how ridiculous this was – or how small the sofa had looked in the other room.
Clara stepped closer and patted his arm. ‘We can’t have you doing that. It’s not fair. I think it’s hilarious that we’ve ended up in our very own one-bed saga.’
He shook his head. ‘You think? You actually want to share?’
‘Of course. I’ll happily cuddle up next to my fake date all night.’
He rubbed a hand down his face and glanced at the tiny window, fighting the smile tugging at his mouth. Would he ever get used to how easily she said things like that – how she made a minefield sound like a picnic?
‘Ok,’ he said finally.
‘I hope you’re not a duvet hogger.’
‘I…’ He gave a half shrug. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think so.’
‘Well, I apologise in advance.’
‘Because you are?’
‘Yes, that, and I have very cold feet.’
‘Well, just don’t go putting them on my back.’
‘Can’t make any promises.’
He sat down on the edge of the bed and yawned through his chuckle.
The journey had been so tiring he didn’t really care where he slept.
And Clara was a friend – not actually his date.
If he just kept telling himself that, they’d be fine.
‘I should text Mum and let her know I’m here, and that we’ll see her tomorrow. ’
‘Good idea. I’ll message my sister and tell her we made it.’
Sam typed out his message.
Arrived safe. Cottage is cosy. See you tomorrow. Love you xx
Then another one to his sister: Got here fine, looking forward to seeing you. Tell Alisha and Mina their favourite uncle is here. xx
Once he hit send, Sam set his phone down and glanced over his shoulder to where Clara stood by the window, her own phone in hand. The light outside had faded completely now, the world beyond the glass turning to a deep, soft grey.
‘I’ll get the bags in,’ he said, pushing up from the bed.
The air outside was still and heavy, the kind of quiet that made every sound seem amplified. A faint breeze stirred the branches of a nearby tree, but otherwise, the night was motionless. When he opened the boot, the sharp click of the latch cracked through the silence.
By the time he came back in, Clara had the kettle on.
‘Shall we have a hot chocolate or something before bed?’ she asked, reaching for a row of sachets on a high shelf.
‘Yeah, ok. Just a little one though – I’m pretty wasted.’
He carried their bags into the bedroom, dropped them by the wall, then returned to find her stirring the drinks. She passed him a mug with a smile, and he wrapped his fingers around the warmth. His gaze caught hers and, for a moment, neither of them looked away.
Her pupils were wide, dark, reflecting the low lamplight as she took a sip. Sam’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say – or do – but it was impossible to look anywhere else. The connection between them pulsed, raw and magnetic, spreading through him like wildfire.
He’d once told a group of students off for using the phrase eye-fucking about each other, but now he understood exactly what they’d meant – and god, it was intense.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing. Did I say something?’ He frowned and took a sip of his hot chocolate.
She shook her head. ‘I’m not sure. I thought…’ She rubbed her forehead. ‘I don’t know what I thought.
He gave a tiny shrug. ‘We must be tired.’ He sank into the sofa in the small living area and drank his hot chocolate. When it was done, he put the mug on the side table and rested his head back. ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m going straight to bed.’
‘Yeah. Me too.’ She lifted his mug and put it and hers into the sink.
Sam brushed his teeth in the cramped little bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The light was harsh, showing every line around his eyes, every strand of grey creeping through his hair. It wasn’t a youthful face staring back at him – not anymore.
He spat, rinsed, and rested his hands on the edge of the sink. Thoughts of dating had barely crossed his mind since things ended with Olive.
But what if?
For a moment, his mind wandered down a path he usually kept firmly closed. What sort of person might he even appeal to now? Someone his own age, perhaps – someone with a similar history or an equal amount of baggage. Or someone older.
He gave a quiet, humourless laugh. He certainly wouldn’t appeal to anyone younger – like Clara.
And yet… she’d agreed to the fake date, so she obviously didn’t see it as something too far-fetched.
When he got to the bedroom, Clara was dressed in a baggy pale blue nightshirt with sleepy foxes printed on it. ‘Very cute,’ he said.
She raised an eyebrow.
‘Um… your…’ He pointed at her nightshirt, ridiculously aware that he’d probably directed his finger straight at her breasts.
‘Thanks.’ She gave him a little smirk, then left with her wash bag.
Sam sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face.
Seriously, what was going on with him? He got dressed in his very boring grey and black short pyjamas, then with a sigh, pulled back the cover and got in.
He scrolled his phone for a few moments.
When Clara came back, she grinned as she flipped back the duvet on the other side and jumped in.
The bed was not the biggest, and there really wasn’t a chance they’d be able to put any distance between them.
Turning off the light on his side, he kept close to the edge, giving her as much space as he could, but Clara seemed completely unbothered, rolling onto her side to face him.
‘Night-night. If you feel something cold creeping up your spine in the night, don’t worry, it’ll just be my feet.’ She giggled.
‘We should have brought you a hot water bottle.’
‘They don’t work… as soon as they get cold, my feet do too.’
‘Shame.’
‘It’s ok though, you’ll be warm all night.’
He let out a half laugh. ‘No doubt. Now, night-night. I need to sleep.’
‘Yeah, same. That was a long way to drive.’ She leaned over and pressed a quick peck to his cheek. ‘Good night, Sam,’ she whispered, rolling over, settling back against her pillow, and pulling the duvet tighter around her.
‘Night, Clara.’ His fingers strayed to his cheek, and he closed his eyes, lying still, listening to her breathing as she drifted off.
It took him a while to follow, but he must have managed, because the next thing he knew, he was waking up far too warm under the duvet. For a few dazed seconds, he couldn’t place where he was. Then it came back – the cottage, the one-bed situation, Clara beside him.
He shifted, sliding one leg out from beneath the covers to catch a breath of cool air.
It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and he’d forgotten just how much heat another person could generate.
Trying not to wake her, he pushed himself upright, peeled off his T-shirt, and let it fall to the floor.
The air against his skin felt instantly better.
He lay back, eyes on the low ceiling, listening to the quiet. Only Clara’s slow, steady breathing broke the silence. Something about that sound tugged at him – peaceful, almost soothing.
When he turned his head to look at her, the thought hit him hard. She was beautiful anyway, but like this – hair fanned across the pillow, face soft with sleep – she was something else entirely. Almost angelic.
His eyelids drooped, and he fell into a half sleep, where he wasn’t fully gone, but he wasn’t awake either.
What was probably hours later, the soft creak of the door opening made him stir, and he realised Clara had got up.
Maybe he’d woken her, though he hadn’t meant to…
Or maybe it was morning, and he’d actually been asleep for hours.
He blinked. The room was still dark, but the glow around the closed curtains looked a little brighter.
When Clara came back, she slipped under the covers again, with a soft rustle of sheets.
‘What time is it?’ Sam rolled his head to face her again.
‘Ten past six,’ Clara said.
‘Too early.’ Sam yawned, rolling to face her, his hands clasped on the pillow by his face. ‘Did I wake you?’
‘No. I just needed the loo.’ Her hands brushed against his, and he realised she must be mirroring his position. ‘Are you naked under there?’
Sam huffed. ‘No, I just took my shirt off. I got too hot.’
‘Oof.’ Clara nudged his hands. ‘We can’t have you getting too hot. That would be very dangerous for a poor girl like me.’
Sam groaned. ‘You’re not funny.’
‘Then why are you laughing?’
‘I really don’t know.’ He pressed his knuckles to his mouth to hold back a yawn.
‘Let’s grab some more shut-eye before morning,’ she whispered.
‘Lets.’ Not thinking too much about it, he closed his eyes, still facing her. There was something simple about being this close. Nothing suggestive or sexy, just comforting. Two friends happy to be together. He let the warmth envelop him and take him to a happy place.