Chapter Twenty-Six
Alex
Jess seems to have lost some of her sparkle when she comes back from the kitchen, tea in hand.
Alex is instantly concerned – about her, and then about himself, about how quickly he is becoming attuned to the tiniest shift in her moods.
He likes to think he is good at reading people, and the more he cares about them, the more effort he puts into it.
This is precisely what is worrying him. He cares too much, probably. Too much, and too soon.
But also, it is kind of nice. To care like this about someone outside his family.
To be getting to know Jess – her bright, electric, enthusiastic self.
To be let in on her wider world – chatting to Lily has felt a little like reading a prequel to a favourite novel, the kind that zooms in on the backstory of a beloved character, so you can understand them better, be even more invested in what happens to them.
Jess talks of Lily the way he does of his family; he knows she is important to her.
He suspects, too, that Lily’s approval of him could potentially make or break whatever this is between them.
So he turned on his most charming, most witty self – the self that, to be fair, seems to naturally come out when he is with Jess.
And it seems to be working. He’d kill to see the report card Lily will give him later on.
‘What’s new with you, anyway?’ Jess asks Lily, handing over the tea when she comes back into the room.
Lily swats the question away with a hand wave.
‘Oh, let’s not talk about me,’ she says brightly.
A bit too brightly, maybe, Alex thinks, and by the looks of Jess’s quizzically raised eyebrows, it seems he is right.
But then Lily reaches into her handbag and pulls out a book.
‘Although, I just finished this book on the way here, and let me tell you, it blew me away.’
Alex lets a gasp escape. It’s the same book he was reading on the train to Godalming. He didn’t think Jess had noticed, but the way her eyes are boring into the side of his face now suggests otherwise.
‘So good, right?’ Jess says, a sigh in her voice. ‘I need to reread it. But, you know, so many books—’
‘So little time,’ Lily finishes for her.
This time, Jess turns to face him. Like him, she’s no doubt relieved that they’re on safe ground now – books.
‘I think Alex has read that one,’ she says. ‘He was trying to hide it from me on the train, for some reason.’ She nudges his foot with hers. ‘Probably too proud to admit he was reading romance.’
‘I was absorbed,’ he lies. The book was making a valiant attempt at holding his attention, but with Jess that close, smelling that good, not even Infinite Jest would have stood a chance.
Lily swivels towards him. ‘First romance novel?’ she asks.
Damn her. He’s going to have to watch out for this one. ‘Maybe,’ he says.
‘Welcome to the party,’ Lily says, throwing up her arms. ‘Better to turn up late than not at all. Was it Jess’s influence?’
Yes, it was, and also no, it wasn’t. Eventually, he is sure that Jess would have pressed a book into his hands, and he would have been too weak-kneed and addled to say no to her about anything.
Not to mention that he would have welcomed the opportunity to explore her world, to find out what makes her tick, what it is exactly that she loves and why.
But this was Nathan’s doing – his attempt to open Alex’s mind, help him draw from other genres to lighten his own writing.
Then again, working with Jess was part of that, too.
‘Let’s say yes,’ he says.
‘And?’ Lily says. The weight of expectation feels crushing. There is only one correct answer here. Luckily, the right answer also happens to be the true one.
‘Yeah, it’s great,’ he says. ‘I really liked it.’ He doesn’t mention that when they got back from their weekend, he went straight to bed with the book to finish it.
That if he hadn’t been so busy – so distracted – all weekend, he would have been itching to do nothing but lie on the sofa, flicking page after page until he reached its satisfying resolution.
Or that if he’s really honest with himself, he’s a little envious of the writing, of the ability of the author to evoke a depth of emotion in the pit of his stomach that he certainly hadn’t expected.
‘Well, well, well,’ Jess says, letting him know with another gentle foot nudge that she is playfully teasing. ‘Character growth. I like it.’
Lily laughs, then slurps her tea and makes a show of draining the dregs.
‘I better be going,’ she says. ‘I don’t want to hold you back from working your magic on this book.’
Internally, he breathes a sigh of relief.
He had looked forward to being back in Jess’s company, just the two of them.
Working together, and who knows what else.
Getting to know her. He’s enjoying being in her flat, observing her in her natural habitat, letting his eyes wander over towards the books on her shelves, the pictures on her fridge of herself with various authors he recognises from bookish social media, the corner of the room where she sets up her Instagram flat lays – right by the window, where she has explained to him that it gets the best natural light.
Once upon a time, he would have rolled his eyes at her rainbow bookshelves; he would have said that colour is a ridiculous way to organise novels.
But he has to admit – it looks good. Plus, it is just about possible that Jess is changing him.
Is that terrifying? Perhaps a little. But it’s not unpleasant.
Meeting Lily is a valuable and important part of the Jess jigsaw puzzle, but he’s glad she knows not to overstay her welcome.
Apart from anything else, it speaks well of her and shows a degree of self-awareness he admires, even if he can’t always emulate it himself.
In turn, having a friend like Lily speaks well of Jess, too.
‘Think I passed the test?’ he asks Jess after the door has closed and he’s counted seventeen seconds.
On the table, Jess’s phone lights up.
I thought you might be exaggerating about how hot he is.
She blushes from her cheeks all the way up to her ears and then, disappointingly, puts her phone face down to protect herself against further incrimination. ‘Looks like it,’ she says, not quite meeting his eye.
He makes a show of checking his watch – a reminder that time is ebbing away. ‘We should probably do some work.’
Jess looks disappointed. She was clearly hoping for further distraction. But she nods, and says, ‘You’re right.’
She’s just out of his reach, sitting across the table from him so he can’t kiss her without some uncomfortable leaning – and that’s better for everyone; it’s certainly better for the book deadline.
When he writes at home, he puts his phone in another room, temptation out of sight and out of reach.
Sitting just far enough from Jess is his best approximation of that in this situation.
He should not have used the phrase falling in love on the train.
It’s true, and they both know it, but the fact that he’s said it implies some kind of commitment, some kind of intention on his part.
And he’s not there, not ready for that. His mind knows it.
And yet neither his heart nor his body are inclined to agree, and he knows that Jess would be well within her rights to imagine that they are now a couple, or at least hurtling towards the stage where they can call themselves one.
If he hadn’t said falling in love, he’d be able to claim that they had got their mutual attraction out of their respective systems in Godalming and it was time to focus on the work in hand.
But he did say falling in love, and now it feels as though he is leading her on.
Which is the last thing he wants to do. It feels like a giant mess, one he should probably discuss with his therapist. But at the root of it all is the simple fact that he finds Jess very attractive and that he enjoys her company; if he felt able to entertain the thought of a relationship, it would be a no-brainer to be with her.
But as excuses go for slowing down, the deadline is all he’s got.
‘Remember your ice dancers?’ he says, somewhat feebly. ‘The tension being good for their art?’
He can’t read her face. If he had to guess, he’d say that she is crestfallen but also touched that he’s remembered her convoluted story, her initial reluctance to follow through on their feelings so that their passion and chemistry would feed into their writing instead.
And also, perhaps, that he is out of the woods, that she won’t be angry that he is slowing them down.
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘I wish I’d never mentioned that.’
‘No, no. You were right. It’s a good plan – to channel our energy into the task at hand. We can get to know each other. We can talk. That might be a healthier way into this anyway.’
He can’t believe these words are coming out of his mouth – that he’s the one suggesting talking first, when if he’s honest, he’d be happy for that to come later. Maybe this, too, is character growth?
‘You’re right,’ she says, nodding earnestly, perhaps trying to convince herself. ‘Talking is probably healthier. We don’t really know each other.’