Chapter Twelve
Twelve
Later that afternoon, after a relaxing day of hot tubbing and strolling around the forest, I’m in the kitchen helping Priya cook a curry she’s very excited about.
We’re drinking wine like it’s going out of fashion.
Sara is sitting on one of the stools opposite, eyeing up the whole venture while topping up our glasses without us knowing.
So, honestly, I have no clue how much I’ve had to drink.
Sara is a proud anti-chef. If she ever invites me over for food, I know it’s going to be a takeaway.
She once said that there is nothing worse than reading instructions for an hour on how to make a dish that will take five minutes to eat.
I sort of get it. But I’ve always enjoyed the accomplishment of cooking.
Same with running. I enjoy the moment at the end when you can look back at what you’ve just achieved.
It’s about the input, not the output.
“How many bottles have you guys drunk?” Sam asks, walking across the living space where there’s a big central log burner with a chimney. As usual, he’s dressed like he does sport – gym shorts and an Adidas t-shirt – but I’ve never seen him exercise.
Sara shrugs. “Three or four.”
“Three or four?” I sputter. “You’re in charge of the bottles. How drunk am I going to be in ten minutes? One bottle drunk, or two? There’s a major difference.”
It’s the difference between fun Hattie and loose-lipped, occasionally lairy Hattie.
She eyes me. “You’ve not been complaining, have you? This is a party! Drink up, it’s fine.”
I go back to stirring the sauce, which is simmering slowly, and watch her curiously – noting that she too is drinking plenty.
I will get to the bottom of whatever is going on with her eventually.
I’m just conscious of any confrontation ruining the getaway for the rest of the group. It has to be the right time and place.
And I don’t want to be marked as the difficult one.
After dinner, we all make it to the hot tub, except Freddie, who is once again staring at his laptop.
We reminisce about university, particularly about Sara’s ex boyfriends.
Maybe it’s because she’s such an independent and strong woman that she would always pick the ones who needed babying. Or imprisoning, in some cases.
She shrugs it all off good-humouredly until we reach Mike, the man who finally stood tall and strong enough for her to lean on instead.
She changes the subject and leaves the hot tub before the conversation can venture back that way.
I frown at her damp, golden hair as she wraps a towel around herself and hot foots it back to the lodge.
I’m sure I see her swallow nervously just as she closes the door.
And so there it is – Mike must be the issue.
I’m tempted to follow her, but the conversation drags my attention back to my friends in the tub.
It’s almost midnight when Priya starts snoring beside me. I nudge her awake and she calls it a night. Then it’s just Sam and me left.
“You went running with Freddie this morning,” he says, and it isn’t a question, just a statement.
I startle inwardly. Was I not allowed? Should I have shunned him on account of not crossing a line with Sam? “Yeah. But it wasn’t planned. We were just both running in the morning.”
Sam doesn’t seem bothered. “Yeah, he said.”
Did he? Why did Freddie feel the need to tell Sam?
I nod, taking another sip of my prosecco. Ok, I’m extremely tipsy now. I think if I tried to get out of the hot tub without assistance, I’d probably fall. I like a glass of wine here and there. A few cocktails with Fliss. But really, I’m not much of a drinker.
My tongue feels loose.
“What’s going on with you two anyway? I thought you hated him?” My words are all drawn-out and sleepy.
Sam grins at me. “You’re such a lightweight these days.”
But I’m warm and giddy and I don’t care. “Bite me.”
He laughs. “We’re good. We’re trying to not let our parents divide us. It’s not easy, I’ll admit.” He rubs his face. “It was Freddie, actually. He’s trying to fix things between us. Says our relationship is more important than anything else.”
I nod to show I’m impressed but I spill some prosecco in the process.
Sam snorts at me.
“Oh shit, this is glass. I’m not allowed glass in here.”
“It also says not to tub drunk, but here you are.”
“What? That’s bullshit.”
“You’re so drunk,” he says, shaking his head.
“I’m not drunk. You’re just blurry.”
“Right. Well, I just wanted to make sure Freddie was nice to you this morning. I know he can be blunt at times.”
“Oh, he’s always nice to me. Just frowny.”
Sam tilts his head. “Frowny?”
“Always frowning. You must’ve taken all the smiling genes.”
“Uh huh,” he nods. “That is exactly how genetics work.”
I raise my glass to him. “To DNA and clever things.”
“To random shit that comes out of your mouth,” he toasts back.
“Thanks for coming with me. I needed this.”
“Hatter, I’ll always follow you on any adventure.” Sam starts to rub his eyes. “Although I might head to bed, to be honest. I’m no spring chicken anymore.”
“Nooo, I’m not done!” I point to the bottle balancing precariously on the balcony rail beside us. “There’s still half a bottle to be drunk. Sara bought so much! And oh shit! Is it midnight now? Happy birthday, Sammy. You’re so old.”
“Ok, thank you. Maybe you should leave that for tomorrow.”
“It’ll lose its fizziness.”
Sam tips his head back with a laugh. “I’m so tired, Hatter.
I’ve been working mad hours.” And I know that’s true.
Sam becoming a secondary-school teacher was never on my bingo card for him.
Partly because I don’t trust Sam with his own safety most of the time, let alone a bunch of teenagers, but it seems to be giving him purpose and drive I didn’t know he had.
“We’ll celebrate my birthday in the morning, yeah? ”
A new, deeper voice interrupts before I can complain further. “I’ll sit with her,” Freddie says. And I guess this is where I discover Sam was just being polite. I was being babysat out here. Well, that’s embarrassing.
I twist around to find a topless Freddie climbing into the hot tub. I bite my lip then release it immediately, turning to see if Sam noticed my reaction, because holy hell! My cheeks feel hot. So do my thighs, come to think of it.
Freddie is all shoulders and lean muscle. I catch a glimpse of his chest as he takes a seat below the bubbling water. He leans back, lifting his arms out and resting them on the edge.
To my surprise Sam smiles at his brother, nodding and leaning across to kiss me on the head.
“Goodnight, trouble,” he says, before climbing out and grabbing his towel hanging on the back of the chair.
He’s not quite as lean as Freddie but you can definitely see the resemblance.
He’s shorter and cuter, whereas Freddie is all tall and sharp.
Sam points to his brother. “Don’t leave her out here. And be nice.”
“I’m always nice.”
“You’re working on it,” Sam says, winking at me before heading to the door. He slides it closed then I’m alone with Freddie and the forest and the hum of the tub. I finish off the rest of the prosecco in my glass and offer him some.
He grabs Sam’s empty glass and holds it across to me. I have to lift my top half out of the tub in order to fill his glass. He doesn’t let his focus drop to my bikini top, which shows how practised he is.
Too practised.
Or maybe he’s really not interested and I’ve just been fawning over him all these years.
Doubly embarrassing.
I spill more fizz into the tub.
Once I finally sit down again, letting the bubbles close in like a scarf around my neck, I allow myself a moment of eye contact.
His green gaze surges against mine in a way that has my heart racing.
He takes a sip of his drink then places it down, leaning back again, his gorgeously toned arms, all ripples and curves of muscles, stretching out beside him.
“You ok?” he asks.
“Me?” I squeak.
He nods. “You’re determined to stay out here. Even if it means enduring my company. So, what’s up?”
“I don’t mind your company. I’m not sure why you don’t join us more often. You seem to prefer your laptop, I suppose.”
He rubs his chin. I notice he has a light smattering of stubble, whereas he was always clean-shaven before. I want to run my knuckles over it gently, feel the scrape against my skin. I wonder how it would feel in other places too.
I drop my head a little into the water, covering my mouth to hide the colour building in my face.
“It’s work,” he says, and I can tell by his tone that isn’t a good thing.
“What do they want? Didn’t you take annual leave?”
“Yeah. They don’t really operate like that, though. I’m always expected to be on. I need to check on things regularly or the whole team could be screwed.”
I pout. “Sounds stressful.”
He looks at me again and this time, my tummy dips. I squirm under the water, praying he can’t see.
“It pays well.”
“Does it make you happy?”
“Sometimes, my pay cheque makes me smile.”
I laugh. “Oh, mine doesn’t do that. So, I guess that’s nice.”
He grins and it brings that glint to his eyes, the one he always used to have whenever we sparred in our younger years.
I gasp, pointing at his face. “Oh, you smiled!”
He goes back to frowning but it’s forced, I can tell. He’s having fun. “I just realised you expertly dodged my question. I asked if you were ok. How did we end up talking about me?”
I touch my nose. “It’s all about misdirection.”
“You’re not getting away with that this time. Come on, spill the beans. What’s up with you?”
“Why do you care about me?”
“I’ve always cared about you.”
I pull a face. “No, you haven’t!”
“Hattie…” he says, before dipping under the water enough to grab my foot. He runs a rough finger up the middle which does something unholy to my core muscles.
I gasp, kicking him off. “Dick.”
“Come on, talk. Or I’ll tickle your other foot.”