Chapter Twenty
Oliver
“Which one do you think?” I asked, looking at the four oddly shaped squares we’d painted on the wall of the cottage’s primary bedroom.
I’d thought it would be weird being in there again considering it had been my grandparent’s room for so long, but with the furniture gone and the old wallpaper stripped from the walls, it looked completely different. It felt like stepping into another place entirely, one that was empty and cold.
“I still think you should have gone with the blue,” Lane said with a shake of his head, his hands on his hips as he surveyed my paint choices. I sighed.
“I can always go back for the blue. I just need to find something to use as the base that I don’t totally hate until I decide what to do.”
“I guess.”
“Are you just mad because they’re all cream?” I asked teasingly. It had taken us two hours in Scotty’s on Saturday to decide on sample colours, and that wasn’t just because Lane and Scotty had spent forty minutes talking about work.
I wanted to say I was being indecisive because I had terrible taste in paint colours, but the reality was I still didn’t feel like I should make decisions about the cottage’s future without knowing my own plans.
And that meant I couldn’t commit to a colour scheme because what I’d want personally would be different from what would help the place sell or work for a holiday rental.
That was where the blue had come in—a gorgeous deep teal that had burst off the colour card and swept into my soul. Lane had clearly seen me agonising over it because he’d asked me why I refused to get a sample as soon as we set foot out the door.
“No,” Lane said. “I might’ve teased you about cream being boring, but it’s a practical choice if you’re still deciding.
It’ll show you how big the room is, really give you a feel for how much light the space gets, and it’s easy to cover up later.
And some rooms actually look better in a neutral tone than with too much colour.
At least, that’s what Frankie tells me.”
“Frankie?” Lane threw so many names around I struggled to keep track of them sometimes, but I was getting better at remembering everyone who was here regularly, and Frankie wasn’t a name I recognised.
“Sorry, Frankie’s the decorator. You’ll know her actually. She’s Wellsy’s sister.”
“Oh, I know. Used to dye her hair pink and fight with Mrs. McConnell constantly about it. Always had paintbrushes tucked in it too.”
“That’s her,” Lane said. “She took over her dad’s decorators about three years ago. She does a cracking job of it too, one of the best I’ve worked with, and she’s got a good eye for colour.”
“Then why didn’t you get her to help us?” I said teasingly.
“Because I didn’t want to inflict you upon her. I like Frankie, and I’d rather she didn’t stop working with us.”
“Very funny,” I said. Then I paused, pulling my lip between my teeth. “I’m sorry. Am I really being that much of a pain? It probably shouldn’t be this difficult to pick a shade of cream.”
“Hey, I’m teasing.” Lane’s boots echoed on the polished hardwood floor as he walked over to me.
His arm slipped around my waist, and he pressed a kiss to my temple.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. That wasn’t my intention.
I get that it’s hard, especially if you’re not sure what you’re doing. ”
“Yeah. I just…” Now would be the perfect moment to talk to him, to tell him about all the things I was feeling. To tell him that I was starting to have doubts about moving back to London.
“Lane?” A deep voice sounded from the hallway, and I shivered as Lane detached himself from me.
“Yeah? Just in here.”
I turned my head to see Gary appear at the door. “Hey, Gary.”
“Hey, Oliver. Didn’t expect to see you here too.” He waved a hand in greeting before turning back to Lane. “Bathroom is all fitted. Thought we’d come and fit the en suite in here next. Then they can make a start on the tiling tomorrow.”
“Sounds great,” Lane said. “We’ll get out of your hair in a second.” He turned back to me with that damn smile that always gave me butterflies. “Made your choice?”
“No,” I said, trying to pretend I was just thinking about paint. I glanced back at the squares again. “I’ll sleep on it and pick one tomorrow.”
“I’ll hold you to that.” Lane grinned. “You’re terrible at making decisions. You know that, right?”
“I just like to make sure everything is thought through,” I said as I followed him out into the hallway.
“Did it take you this long to choose the bathroom?”
“No, actually.” I looked down at the floor and smiled to myself, remembering the conversation I’d had with my mum. “I saw the design online and fell in love with it. I didn’t consider anything else.”
“Guess you’ll just have to find that feeling with the rest,” Lane said. I nodded. “Come on. Let me show you what it looks like. It’s still going to look a mess, but it’ll give you an idea.”
I followed him down the corridor to what we’d converted into the main bathroom.
The cottage had six bedrooms overall, one which had been Nan and Grandad’s, and the other five had been used for the B & B.
Two of the other bedrooms had tiny en suite shower rooms, which Grandad had quickly installed with a builder mate, while the other three had shared the primary bathroom.
I’d had Lane check out the other two en suites for structural soundness, and when he and their contracted plumber had issued a less than stellar report, I’d decided to pay extra to have them completely gutted and refitted.
It had been a toss-up between refitting them and removing them entirely, but that would have meant taking down a wall, which Lane had admitted to being the only well-done part of the installation.
It seemed like when it came to structural things, Grandad had been happy for someone else to handle it, but with everything else, he’d decided his DIY manual and a can-do attitude were enough.
Lane gestured through the open door on his right, and I poked my head inside.
“Wow, it’s gorgeous.” As Lane had said, it was still rough, but it was finished enough to give me an idea.
The old vinyl floor had been replaced with black and white mosaic tiles that made the room pop. To the left was a walk-in, waterfall shower with a white tray, glass door, and copper features, and on the far side, under the window, was an enormous claw foot bath with copper-style feet and taps.
They’d also installed the large, heated towel rail and the toilet as well, and I saw the plumbing for the dual sinks that would sit on top of a large, wooden cabinet. A mirror would go on the wall above them.
“Do you like it?” Lane asked.
“It’s perfect.” I’d dreamed about seeing the bathroom come to life ever since I’d first seen the pictures online, and now that it was real, it felt tinged with sadness. Because it wasn’t mine, not really. I’d designed it for me, but I wasn’t going to get to use it. Not unless I decided to stay.
My brain put another mark in the stay in Heather Bay column.
And then I realised that was exactly what I needed to do.
I needed to make a list.
It wasn’t hard to excuse myself from the cottage and slip away into town. Lane had work to do, and technically, so did I. The afternoon had turned overcast with thick grey clouds rolling slowly in off the sea, and as I slipped inside Novel Tea, a few drops of rain pattered on the back of my neck.
The coffee shop was quieter than I’d anticipated, but then again, it was a Monday afternoon. I tucked myself into the table in the corner, which I’d started to think of as mine, and went to order a coffee. Alex was behind the counter, and he gave me a shrewd look as I ordered.
“So,” Alex said as I moved along to the till to pay for my cappuccino. “How’re things with Lane?”
“What?” I stared at him, holding my card in mid-air. “We’re not… I…”
“Relax. I’m not going to throw you out,” Alex said with a wave of his hand and the hint of a smile. “But also, don’t lie to me, Ols. You haven’t changed that much, and you still can’t lie for shit.”
I felt a little burst of warmth in my stomach.
The last time Alex had called me Ols was before Lane and I had broken up the first time.
Alex didn’t really do soft. He was as grumpy and irritable as they came, but he was loyal and protective to a fault with the unfeeling wrath of a honey badger.
A nickname from Alex meant something, and it eased my fears that Alex would never forgive me or welcome me back.
Alex’s attitude had been one of the reasons I’d been using not to stay because I didn’t want to make things awkward between him and Lane. But if things were changing…
“Sorry,” I said.
“Don’t apologise. Just answer the question.”
“They’re good.” Because they were. I couldn’t deny that. Lane wasn’t the problem.
Alex nodded. “Are you still planning to leave?”
I winced. There was no escaping Alex’s directness. He’d never been subtle. “Straight to the point, then.”
“It cuts through the bullshit,” Alex said as he ripped my receipt off and handed it to me.
“Then I’ll be honest. I don’t know. I wasn’t planning to stay. I was just here to fix up the cottage, then I’d go back to London. But now…”
“You’re having second thoughts?”
“Yeah.”
Alex sighed and pursed his lips like he was debating what to say. I wondered if he knew something I didn’t. Given how close he and Lane were, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lane had talked to him.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m putting you in the middle.”
“You are, but it’s fine. It’s what happens when you run a coffee shop. You deal with everyone’s shit. It’s like running a bar, only there’s no alcohol to help me deal with everyone’s problems.”
“We can pretend this never happened,” I said. “I’ll deny all knowledge.”
Alex let out a dry chuckle and turned to reach for a large mug.
“We could, but I’m not going to. Instead, I’m going to say this, and I’m only going to say it once because I’m not your fucking therapist, and I’m not dealing with all this shit again.
You need to fucking figure out what you want, then you and Lane need to fucking talk to each other like fucking adults for once.
I’m not going to tell you how Lane feels because if you don’t already know, you need to ask him, but I am going to say I don’t think that whatever you’re doing is just some fling.
For either of you. So figure your shit out because I don’t have time for this. ”
“You know, you’re not the first person to tell me that,” I said, thinking back to my conversation with Bastian.
“Good. Maybe if enough people tell you, you’ll fucking do it.
” Alex’s expression turned serious for a moment, and there was a genuine note of concern in his voice.
“I’m serious, Ols, you need to think about it.
Because this means something to Lane, and I think it does to you too. So please, don’t fuck him around.”
“I won’t,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that to him.”
Alex nodded, but I didn’t know if he believed me.
“Can I ask one thing, though? How did you know about us? Did Lane tell you?”
Alex shrugged. “I have eyes. It’s easy to see when you’re together.”
“Shit, I thought we’d been careful.” We hadn’t held hands at the pub, or kissed, or done anything that might indicate we were more than just old friends hanging out. But apparently, we hadn’t been as subtle as I’d thought. “Do the others know?”
“Noah does. Will might, but I’m not sure about the others. Probably not Spencer. He’s too fucking oblivious,” Alex said. “But I’d have noticed anyway. I’ve known the pair of you for fucking ever. And when you’re around each other, you’re different… Happy, I guess. It’s kind of sickening.”
I snorted. “Cheers.”
“You’re welcome,” Alex said. The hint of a smile was back. “Now go and sit down and get your work done. I’ll bring your drink over.”
I grinned and walked over to my table, opening my laptop and pulling up the book I was editing. I pulled my notebook and a pen out of my bag, flicked to the back where I kept personal notes, and drew two columns.
Then I began to write.