Chapter Four
Oliver
By the time eight o’clock on Monday rolled around, I’d already been up for two hours having given up my battle with sleep. There were nervous butterflies fluttering around my insides, and my emotions felt like they were in a constant state of flux.
I wasn’t sure if it was because I was going to see Lane again or because the renovations were starting and that meant saying goodbye to Nan’s house the way it was. I’d spent so much of my childhood there and it was going to be hard seeing it reduced to an empty shell.
It was for the best, though. The house desperately needed an upgrade before I could sell it, and although I could have just marketed it as a project, I felt a sense of duty to Nan to make sure the house looked its best before I passed it on.
I knew she’d left it to me so I could live there, but my life was in London, and I couldn’t afford to keep the place out of pure sentiment.
I’d spent the whole weekend weeding the garden and getting settled in, trying to keep my mind off the whole situation.
I’d even ordered myself a little gas camping stove, a camping kettle, and a solar powered lantern I could use on the days they turned the power off.
Although, I’d probably just order pizza instead of trying to cook.
My culinary skills in an actual kitchen were pretty good, but given my questionable history with outdoor cooking, I wasn’t convinced I’d manage to make anything that was far above vaguely edible.
I could still taste the ghost of cremated sausages on my tongue from our teenage attempts at barbecuing.
There was a knock on the door, just as I’d put the kettle on, and I opened it to find Lane on the doorstep again. This time there were a couple of vans parked on the street outside, and two men were pointing up at the windows.
“Morning,” Lane said too cheerfully for the time of day. “Ready to get started?”
“Yeah,” I said. “Please do. Do any of you want tea? I’m just boiling the kettle.”
“They’ll never say no to tea.” Lane looked over his shoulder and called something to the two men by the van.
One of them gave him a thumbs-up and opened the large double doors at the back of one of the vans to start unloading.
“We’ll start with the windows and doors, get those done today and tomorrow.
Then Phil’ll be here Wednesday to start the wiring.
Are you sure you’ll be okay without the power on for a few days?
We won’t be able to turn it back on until we’re done. ”
“I’ll be fine,” I said, heading back to the kitchen to start making endless cups of tea. “It’s only for a few days, and it’s not going to be cold. Plus, has handily come to my rescue with camping supplies.”
“If you’re sure.”
“Positive.” I gave Lane a smile, which he returned. I tried not to think about what that might mean. He was just being friendly, nothing more.
He seemed to be in a better mood today, or maybe that was just me.
It did feel like some of the previous awkwardness had dissipated.
“There’s biscuits in the tin,” I added, pointing to the second floral tin that had appeared on my kitchen counter.
I hadn’t even finished the rock cakes, but Mabel had insisted on leaving me a huge tin of homemade biscuits yesterday afternoon before talking my ear off about her grandchildren, her garden, and her hip replacement for nearly an hour.
“Please take some. Mabel seems to think I’m feeding a small army. ”
Lane chuckled, and the sound seemed to light up the old room. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you a hand.”
I heard him walk across the room to stand next to me, and my whole body froze. The faint scent of something herbal filled my senses as Lane collected a couple of the mugs before moving away again.
“By the way,” Lane said, and when I turned, I saw him grinning at me from the kitchen door. “As funky as your socks are, you’re going to need to wear shoes while we’re here. It’s a health and safety issue otherwise. Wouldn’t want you getting glass in your foot.”
“Oh… yeah, sorry. Will do.” My palms suddenly felt sweaty, and I knew I was going beetroot red around my ears.
I glanced down at the mismatched socks I’d grabbed this morning.
One was navy with wide zig-zag stripes across it in pink and white while the other was black with hundreds of multicoloured polka dots scattered across it. Not exactly subtle.
I left my tea on the counter and ducked out of the kitchen to head upstairs, making my way to the room I was using to dig out the old pair of trainers I’d packed.
I knew the builders would have to come in here to take out and refit the window, so I carefully stacked my few possessions to one side, made sure the bed was made, and zipped my suitcase shut.
Not that there was anything wildly inappropriate in there, but I didn’t need anyone seeing my underwear or the dildo I’d carefully stashed under my t-shirts.
From downstairs, I heard the sounds of chatter and the scuff and scraping of tools.
I knew it was going to be a job to replace all the windows as well as both the external doors, and I grimaced at the thought of the cost. Luckily, I’d been able to get some finance to cover it, which I’d then be able to pay off when I sold the house.
It was all going to be a bit of a balancing act, but I’d manage. This place was worth it.
Outside the large window that ran along the back wall, I saw the early summer sunshine dancing across the water, making the waves glitter as they washed upon the shore.
I’d always loved this room for its view over the bay, and now it was making me want to skive off work and go down to the beach.
But unfortunately, I had a list of deadlines as long as my arm to work through, which meant the beach would have to wait until later.
Tearing my eyes away from the view, I reached for my backpack to retrieve my laptop and the notebook tucked alongside it.
I’d always found writing out my to-do list was far more effective than putting it in a digital planner.
There was something about the act of putting pen to paper that helped me remember everything that needed doing.
I set the laptop on the old vanity table I’d commandeered as a desk, then reached for my tea. Which wasn’t there because I’d left it downstairs in my hurry to find shoes.
“Just my luck,” I muttered to myself.
Shaking my head, I headed downstairs to retrieve my errant tea, noticing there was now a dust sheet across the wooden floor. From the sounds behind me, it seemed like they’d decided to start with the windows at the back of the house and work forward.
It meant the kitchen, which was at the front of the cottage, was empty except for Lane. He was looking at some paperwork on the table, which had been moved to one side and covered in a sheet of its own.
It made me want to laugh because the table was so battered and scarred I doubted it could be damaged any further.
“Hey,” I said, not wanting him to catch me staring.
Which I had been. It was hard not to. I’d always thought Lane was gorgeous, ever since I was about eight or nine and had started developing a crush on him, and now my libido was fanning the flames of my attraction back to life.
Lane looked up, his expression serious where he’d been concentrating.
I pointed at the abandoned mug on the counter. “I just… I was… I forgot my tea.”
“No worries. I was just looking at the order for the kitchen. Did you design it, or did your mum?”
“Mostly Mum, but I was allowed to make suggestions,” I said, walking across the room to retrieve my tea and a shortbread biscuit from the tin.
The mug was lukewarm at best, and I wasn’t sure if the tea would be drinkable or not.
“It needed redoing because I don’t think it’s been done up since the nineties, but I’m not that great at design.
Mum pointed me at Pinterest and sent me some links, but since she was here, I’m not sure how much of what I wanted ended up in the plans.
Even if the house is technically mine these days. ”
Lane’s expression flickered for a second as if the cottage’s current ownership was new information. Then he snorted. “If it’s your house, shouldn’t you get final say?”
“Yes and no. Apparently, my taste is questionable,” I said with a smile, remembering the endless conversations I’d had with Mum about the cabinets. “Even David said he wasn’t sure, and his favourite colour is grey.”
Lane’s lip twitched, and he nodded. “I’ve only met him once or twice, but he seems nice. And I’m glad your mum is happy.”
“Yeah, he is…” I felt a blanket of unease starting to descend over the conversation.
The reason Lane hadn’t met David was because he and Mum had met seven years ago, just after I’d started my third year at uni.
I hadn’t been sure about David at first, and it had been one of those situations where I’d desperately wished I had Lane to talk to about how I felt.
I’d even written out a whole message to him because even if I’d deleted his number, I’d still known it off by heart. But I’d chickened out on sending it.
“His jokes are awful,” I said. “And he always burns things when he’s cooking because he gets distracted, but he dotes on Mum, and that’s the important thing. It’s nice seeing her smile again.”
There was another pause, broken only by some loud swearing from the back of the house. Lane shook his head, and I chuckled.
“It’s going to look nice when it’s done,” Lane said as he looked around at the cream and brown cupboards that had probably been questionable when they’d first been fitted. “Different but nice. Do you still like cooking?”
His question caught me by surprise, and I couldn’t believe he’d remembered that about me. But at the same time, I didn’t know why it seemed like a big deal. I still remembered everything about Lane.