Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Theo
I got up to buy myself another cup of coffee, but the way my guts were squeezing, I didn’t think that was such a good idea and opted for a smoothie instead. As soon as I’d retaken my seat by the window, the onslaught began.
Call Gary back. Tell him you’ve changed your mind.
The more that thought persisted, the calmer I became.
This was a mistake, one I don’t intend using as some kind of life lesson. I’m going to nip it in the bud right now. Tell him there’s no room at the inn.
Despite my clenched stomach, my lips twitched. Okay, that was kinda biblical. Where did that come from?
My phone vibrated, and I glanced at it. My stomach plummeted.
Gary Walters: Gave Cam your number. You’re a lifesaver. Owe you big time.
I groaned inwardly. Aw fuck.
A second text, another text arrived, this one from an unknown number.
Hey. It’s Cameron. Gary told me. Thank you. I can come by any time that works. I promise I won’t be in your way.
I was suddenly aware of my own breathing. A fragment of memory rippled up to the surface.
‘You’d look good out of order.’
My heartbeat quickened.
Too late to pull out now.
I typed: Come by at six. I’ll make space. Somehow. I stared at the sentence, then added: Bring only what you need for the night. We’ll figure the rest.
Three dots appeared, vanished, reappeared. I envisaged Cameron worrying at his lip, or maybe that was my own projection.
Cameron: Six is perfect. Thanks again, Theo. Really. A heartbeat later… Hey Theo? This might seem like a dumb question but where do you live?
I told myself it had been an accidental omission, nothing more.
My thumbs slid over the screen. Take the Tube to Hammersmith. Right out of the station. At the lights, left onto Glenthorne Road. Turn right after the Stonemason’s Arms. Cambridge Grove, first house on the left, facing the church. Flat 2.
I put the phone face down because I couldn’t look at it without feeling like a traitor to my own boundaries. Through the window, a woman in a yellow coat laughed under an umbrella, and for a second the colour of the world shifted, growing brighter.
I picked up the plastic cup containing my smoothie and headed out into the drizzle.
By the time I exited the Tube, that drizzle had softened to a mist. Hammersmith wasn’t what I’d call a picturesque neighbourhood, but the flat was a five-minute walk to the station, and from there I could get anywhere.
I kept a city pace out of habit, but it felt as if the pavement had been tilted a fraction, as though gravity had decided to pull in a different direction.
I unlocked the front door and climbed the narrow stairs.
Once inside the flat, I stood in the doorway before switching the light on, and listened to the silence for the last time as it was: mine alone.
I might not have lived there all that long, but I could identify my own space by sound.
There was the fridge’s hum, and the freezer’s periodic exhale that sounded exactly like a cow mooing.
Every time my downstairs neighbour took a shower, the pipes started singing.
And in the background was the constant hum from the street, filtered through glass.
Except now there will be new sounds.
The thought didn’t repel me—it terrified me, and I had no idea why.
I removed my boots and left them beside the door mat.
In the kitchen, I wiped down the counter that didn’t need wiping, straightened the stack of unopened mail, and moved a plant two inches to the left and then back again.
In the bathroom, I opened the cupboard above the boiler and reached up to grab clean sheets.
There were four pillows on my bed, and I only ever used two, so that was a no-brainer.
The spare blankets were folded neatly on a high shelf in the wardrobe.
A glance at my bedside alarm clock told me there was an hour to go until six.
Enough time to rewrite the rules again, to draw a line in thicker marker, to practice the face that said welcome, stay, be safe, and not the one that said I’ve been thinking about your smile for four years and pretending I wasn’t.
Except I was lying to myself. It was more than Cameron’s smile that had occupied my thoughts.
Those same thoughts that filled me with shame.
In the bathroom, I caught my reflection. Max wasn’t wrong; my face defaulted to emergency. I practiced neutral, but it made me look vaguely constipated. I huffed and leaned closer.
“You are a competent adult,” I told my mirror in a hushed tone. “You are helpful. You are safe.”
Whatever the mirror thought, it wasn’t saying.
Back in the kitchen, I placed a second mug near the kettle, then moved it, then put it back where it had been. I opened the cutlery drawer and realised I’d rearranged the spoons three times in as many minutes.
What the hell is wrong with me?
It wasn’t the size of the flat, although God knew it wasn’t huge. It wasn’t the schedule. It wasn’t even the group, because Cameron wouldn’t be there when we rehearsed.
It was the fact that the drawer marked Not Yours hadn’t stayed shut permanently. I’d prepared for the rattle, for the occasional midnight shudder. I had not prepared for opening it myself and saying, Come in. Find a shelf.
I put both hands on the counter, locking my arms, head bowed.
I thought of the summer sun on my forearms, the smell of overcooked onions, the way oh had sounded in my skull like an instrument tuning to itself.
I thought of the leather bar, the way Cameron had said, Maybe you just don’t know me yet, and how the line had been both invitation and boundary, and I’d chosen the boundary.
That was the wise decision.
I would choose it again. I could hold two truths close to my heart: desire and discipline. I’d done harder things than this. I’d kept worse secrets from myself.
And yet, when the buzzer sounded downstairs two minutes early at 5:58—Of course he’s early—my heart still knocked the way it did before a performance, not out of fear or excitement, but that precarious, electric space in between.
A second line was about to overlay my life. I could feel where it would fit without seeing it. I wondered if I could hold it. I’d drawn it thick enough, and I would draw it again if I had to. I would be safe, even if that meant making diamonds out of coal with nothing but pressure and time.
I swallowed hard and stepped back, my heart slamming against my ribs.
This is temporary, I reminded myself. Two weeks. No more.
But as I headed down to open the front door, I couldn’t escape the terrible, exhilarating certainty that nothing about this was going to be temporary at all.
Cameron
I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder, trying to breathe around the knot in my chest. I’d rehearsed this in my head all the way across town.
Knock. Smile. Act normal.
I could do normal. I was great at normal. Only, my hands were sweating, my pulse wouldn’t stop tripping, and the closer I got to Theo Sinclair’s front door, the less I believed any of it.
51 Cambridge Grove looked as if it had once been owned by the council, but instead of one wide front door, there were two narrow ones.
It was on a quiet little side street, facing a church, with buses trundling along Glenthorne Road.
I walked up the red-and-black diamond-shaped tiled path to the doors and pressed the doorbell for Flat 2.
A second later, something buzzed, and Theo’s voice came through the speaker, low and even.
“It’s open.”
Two words, clipped and polite, uttered in the kind of tone that said you’re safe here and I’m already regretting this all at once.
Then Theo was there, standing at the top of the stairs. He wore dark jeans, a black T-shirt, his forearms bare, his expression carefully neutral, exuding that same aura of control that made me want to ruffle it just to see what would happen.
“Come on in.” Theo held the door for me, and I brushed past into the living room, the bay windows looking down into the street.
There was even a fireplace, although I couldn’t see any evidence it had been used recently.
Bookshelves lined the walls, and I peered at them, hoping they’d tell me more about my temporary landlord.
“A lot of those belong to my aunt,” Theo said from behind me. “This is her flat.” In the bay window sat a keyboard, and next to it a little table, neatly stacked with music scores. The place was small but immaculate, and it was so Theo it hurt.
I felt as though I was walking inside Theo’s head, a precise, efficient space that managed somehow to be warm at the edges. The air held a faint trace of coffee and cologne.
“Tea? Coffee?”
I flashed him a grateful smile. “Tea would be good.”
Theo didn’t return it but headed into another part of the flat.
I followed.
I watched Theo move. Everything about him was deliberate, even the way he reached for the kettle. He stirred sugar into a mug as if he was conducting an orchestra no one else could hear. I wanted to say something easy, to cut through the tension humming between us, but my tongue wouldn’t cooperate.
I shouldn’t still feel this way. I’m twenty-two, for God’s sake. I’d had crushes since. I’d even dated a bit, not that those had gone anywhere or lasted all that long. But none of it had ever hit like this, the slow gravitational pull that was Theo Sinclair.
What came to mind was the leather bar. The flicker of surprise in Theo’s eyes. The sharp, low warning.
You shouldn’t be here.
At the time, it had stung. Now, seeing Theo again under the soft kitchen light, I thought maybe it had been fear more than judgment.
Theo set the mug down on the counter and pushed it toward me. “One sugar.”
I smiled before I could stop myself. “You remembered?”
Theo’s hand stilled for a second before he stirred it again, removed the spoon, and slid the cup closer, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder. “Of course.”
Our fingers brushed as I reached for it, nothing but the slightest touch of skin on skin, brief and electric, but it was enough to make every cell in my body light up.
I took a breath to steady myself.
It didn’t work.
“Thanks.” It was all I could manage.
Theo’s jaw flexed. “There isn’t a spare room here, so you’ll have to sleep on the sofa bed.
” He pointed to the wide grey sofa along one wall.
“But it opens into a double bed.” He took a step back, putting distance between us.
“The sheets are fresh.” Then he pointed to the desk on the left of the chimney breast. “You can use that when you need to work.”
“Won’t you need it?”
Theo shook his head. “There’s a table in the bedroom, like one of those you find in a hospital.
It slides on wheels. I think my aunt got it for my uncle before he died.
And I’ve already set up my PC in there, so I won’t be in your way.
” A faint frown creased his brow. “I work from home. I wasn’t sure if you knew that. ”
“I didn’t, but I do now. I won’t disturb you when you’re working.”
I wanted to tell Theo it didn’t have to be awkward, that I wasn’t a kid anymore, that I could handle this. But one look at Theo’s face—composed, guarded, beautiful in that understated, impossible way—and all the words died on my tongue.
“I’ll show you the bathroom.” Theo led me through another door.
I peered inside. “This is great,” I said, trying for lightness. “Better than my last place. No mushrooms growing in the shower.” It was a decent size too.
Theo’s lips twitched. “That’s a low bar.”
“It’s London,” I said with a grin. “The bar’s several feet underground.”
For a second, something eased in Theo’s face. It wasn’t a smile exactly, but close enough.
A tiny crack in Theo’s armour, and I longed to reach through it.
We returned to the living room. I dumped my bag by the desk and turned back. “Seriously, Theo. I owe you big time.”
Theo stood in the doorway, one hand braced against the frame, watching me with that unreadable look, the one that made my stomach flip. “You don’t owe me anything.”
Maybe it was the way he said it, quiet and flat, but it sounded like a warning.
I nodded slowly. “Okay.” I gazed at my surroundings, trying to picture the rest of my belongings, and panicking a little. “I know you said to only bring stuff for tonight, but…” I swallowed.
“What’s wrong?” Theo’s voice lost a little of its edge.
I bit my lip. “I was thinking about my easel. There’s no room in here for it.”
Theo put his hands on his hips and surveyed the space. “It can go where the keyboard is. That’s probably the best place for it anyway.” He cocked his head. “Natural light, right?”
That touched me. “Yes. Thank you.” Thanking him seemed to be all I could do today.
Theo hesitated for a second. “I’ll leave you to unpack.
” He indicated the large wooden coffee table.
“That’s actually a chest. You can put stuff in there so it’s out of the way.
Dinner’s going to be a takeaway. I’ve got rehearsal notes to write.
There are menus next to the fridge. Pick something, then let me know and I’ll have it delivered.
But first I need some tea.” He headed toward the kitchen.
“If you need anything, I’ll be in my bedroom. ”
I smiled at his retreating back. “You never stop, do you?”
“Someone has to keep order,” Theo said over his shoulder.
The echo of the words hit me like déjà vu. Theo had said those same words at the bar a month ago. Back then, I’d teased him.
That someone doesn’t have to be you all the time.
Now, standing in Theo’s flat, I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shiver.
I unpacked slowly, my sketchbook landing open on the desk, my pencils rolling loose from the side pocket.
I could hear Theo moving in the kitchen behind me, the rhythmic clink of a spoon, the low hum of the kettle, small domestic noises that shouldn’t have sounded intimate but somehow did.
Then a door opened, closed, and Theo was gone.
When I sat on the edge of the sofa, my pulse still hadn’t settled.
This is supposed to be temporary. Simple. A couch to crash on.
But when I closed my eyes, the picture that filled my head wasn’t a couch—it was Theo leaning over the counter, his sleeves rolled up, his voice soft as smoke.
I exhaled hard and scraped my fingers through my hair.
Don’t be an idiot.
Theo was Gary’s best friend. Theo was off-limits.
But there was the way he’d said my name. The tiny, startled pause when our fingers touched. The look in his eyes, as though he was seeing a ghost he’d never expected to meet again.
I swallowed. Maybe I imagined it. Then again, maybe I hadn’t.
Either way, I was here now, under Theo’s roof.
And whether Theo liked it or not, two weeks was a long time for something to break.
Or for something to start.
I stared at Theo’s bedroom door, then at the sofa. I laughed under my breath.
“I’m crashing on Theo’s couch,” I murmured to myself.
And God help me—
“What I really want,” I whispered, smiling at nothing, “is Theo’s bed.”