Chapter 5
five
KIT
Back In My Body - Maggie Rogers
The silence around the cottage was deafening. No cars, no footsteps, not even a distant dog barking, only the wind scraping along the windows like it was trying to claw its way in. Then, somewhere in the far-off distance, a single sheep bleated, as if to tell me I was never really alone.
“I think that could be an overreaction,” Cece, my best friend, said down the phone. This wasn’t exactly how I’d envisioned spending my Christmas Eve, but being so cut off from the village had really put a kink in my plans.
Normally I’d be getting ready for some elaborate holiday event, the glam team working their magic for hours.
Instead, I was half hanging out of the bathroom window, bundled up in a thick blanket, my feet resting on the closed toilet lid.
Since arriving, this was the only place I’d found mobile signal.
“It hit minus twelve here last night.”
“Oh shit.”
“Exactly,” I retorted.
My outlook upon arriving had been surprisingly positive.
The cottage was cute enough, with small furniture and a basic kitchen, but the beautiful claw-foot bath was the real draw.
And I’d been sure that once I got the radiators cranked up, the bath filled, and the fire roaring, the travel miscalculations, wardrobe malfunctions, and numb extremities would all be a distant, frozen dream.
And then the hot water didn’t work. And the heating didn’t turn on.
And just like that, I felt the universe laugh at me again, at my dream of peace and rejuvenation.
Worse yet, I searched everywhere for wood for the fire in the living room, but there was none to be found.
Not even a lumberjack with his trusty axe in sight to save me.
Suffice to say I quickly gave up on my dream, threw on several thick layers, and went to bed.
“Why didn’t you come here?” Down the line, I heard a seagull squawk, and I could picture her basking on the deck of her 150 ft yacht. “It’s wonderful. Frank has the helicopter, I’m sure we could pick you up.”
I rolled my eyes at the mention of her much older husband. If he weren’t a complete bore, I might have given the idea a second thought.
With another mouthful, I washed the thought away. “Honestly, I’m in the middle of nowhere. I’m pretty stuck.”
“Can you call for help?” she asked. “It sounds like you need mountain rescue, darling.”
“I tried to call the owner this morning. She sounded about ninety. I didn’t know what was worse, facing the outdoors to find better signal or hanging out the bathroom window, shouting down the line while trying not to fall in the toilet.”
“The bathroom?” she repeated. I really didn’t want to recount how I realized that this was the only spot to connect with the outside world. “Jesus, where are you?”
On the other end, I could hear whispering, her husband or whatever badgering her to hang up, and suddenly I became desperate to hold onto this sliver of human connection.
“I think I’ll be able to hit the slopes in a few days,” I said, changing the subject.
“Why Scotland, Kit? You could’ve chosen anywhere. The Alps?”
“I know.” Sadness seeped into my tone. “I just couldn't stand London a second longer”
I had really needed to get out, and coming here seemed like the answer. After the nightmare of getting here in the first place, of Jonah and the walking, talking reminder of my last serious ex, I wasn’t so sure.
My eyes caught on the lodge across from mine, a propped window open, steam floating out of it.
Ah, hot water. You are a distant memory.
Then I saw him. A flash of bare skin through the gap in the window, the sound of rushing water turning off, and the wrap of a white towel being wrapped around a rather cute arse.
As soon as my eyeballs registered what exactly they’d caught, I nearly fell out the window, having to collect myself before I plummeted to my death.
I managed to slide back, averting my gaze before I saw any more. It was too late. That behind was burned into my retinas.
“What happened? Did you die?” Cece’s voice crackled in my new position, the signal strained.
“I’m fine. I just…have a problem.”
The problem being the image of my tennis coach neighbour’s bare arse stuck in my mind.
“Worse than the broken heating?”
Way worse. I swallowed, fighting the temptation to return to my perch. “I have a hot neighbour.”
“Oh?” She sounded infinitely more interested than when I was complaining. “Tell me more.”
I thought back to the pub, of turning around and finding him there, that smile playing on his lips. The way he drove me here, the nervous drumming of his fingers against the wheel. Of the flash of skin I’d witnessed.
Taking a long sip from my glass, I recounted. “Well, he’s tall. Brunette. Cute in a bashful way.”
“Love a dark-haired man,” Cece said. “So, what’s wrong with him?”
“What do you mean?”
“You always have a but. I’m waiting for it.”
“He has the fundamental flaw of being a tennis player.”
She made a noise, as if wounded. “Not with the tennis again.”
“I know!” I said too loudly, my gaze ducking out of the window to check I hadn’t been heard. My stomach lurched when I saw that his bathroom window was closed.
Had he seen me?
“Kit, I know he broke your heart,” she said. “Whatever happened, you’ve got to get over it.”
Got to get over it. The words replayed over and over.
It felt impossible. I’d been too young. Too dumb.
Too trusting. After having a difficult relationship with my parents, I’d clung too much to the first person who’d shown me affection.
And in the end, he’d stolen away too much.
Even so many years on, the wound he left still stung.
“And maybe this is fate,” she continued. “A hot Christmas hook-up. Who needs hot water when you have a hot bod to keep you cozy.”
“Gross.”
“All I’m saying is don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
I huffed a laugh. “You think my tennis neighbour is a gift from the universe?” Not bloody likely.
“I think he’s an opportunity,” she said, trying to convince me, and I was ready to argue back when the doorbell rang.
Suddenly, warmth seemed like it could be back on the cards, and I thanked the Lord for on-call plumbers.
“Well, whatever he is, it’s a terrible idea,” I said as I tumbled out of the bathroom.
“I’m only here for a few days, and I didn’t come here to sleep with the locals.
” Cece continued to argue as I walked through the cottage towards the front door.
“I think the owner has sent a plumber to help with the water! Gotta go—” The line went dead, the signal lost as I reached the door handle.
Without checking, I yanked the door open, but instead of help, I found the six-foot-something man I’d been talking about. Cheeks rose-red from the cold, a tool bag held in one hand, wet hair peeking out from under his hat.
Jonah.
And I knew then, for the second time in twenty-four hours, I should’ve let myself freeze to death.