Chapter 5
Chapter Five
When I wake the next morning, sun slants through my partly open curtains, casting onto my bed.
I lift my silk sleep mask, rub an eye. Too bright.
I roll over onto my back with a heartfelt yawn and a thudding in my brain, courtesy of my hangover.
Then, I get up long enough to down yet another glass of water and crawl back into bed till noon, a more civilized time to start the day.
At last, I get out of bed, reaching for my dressing gown to put over my boxers and slide my feet into embroidered wool slippers.
Soon, I go through the ritual of making tea, sitting at the aged oak plank kitchen table, trying to get my bearings as I swipe through my phone.
It’s blown up with messages about Aidan’s tell-all, which I can’t bear reading through quite yet.
Something for later me. Later, less-hungover me.
Ethan’s text is more interesting. We’re working on a project together to make over his sister’s home.
He’s an interior designer. I’m a creative consultant.
My sister says I fluff pillows for a living, to which I told her fluffing men’s the alternative career path for me, to which she accused me of being vulgar.
Check your email. New fabric’s dropped for the curtains. Drinks later?
It’s far too soon to think about drinks. But working on Emma’s house is a fun project. She’s given Ethan and me free rein, which is a bold choice.
5pm. Mine or yours?
Come down to the studio
Deal
I drag out my laptop and overflowing diary and set up shop on top of the battered old table, stained dark with time and many coats of varnish, a real find.
I flip open the plump brown leather diary bookmarked to this week.
It’s stuffed with fabric samples and notes, favorite takeaway menus and tickets.
I jot down tonight’s drinks, my hand hovering over yesterday. Then I write.