CHAPTER 23
SHERIDAN
Brinsley pounces on me the second the door to her place is shut behind me. “Talk to me, baby sister of mine,” I try not to roll my eyes—there was barely a minute between us, “why have you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t been avoiding you.” I sniff indignantly through my bald-faced lie.
“Yeah, sure. My fifty unanswered texts and calls beg to differ.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Busy fucking our brother’s best friend.” She mutters as we file into her kitchen.
“Not true. I haven’t seen Myles since Monday. I only got back from York this morning.”
“Bet you’ve had time to call and text Myles multiple times, though. And before you even try to deny that, I know for a fact that you have because I was sat next to him when you texted him to say you’d stopped at a services on your way home.”
I lick my lips as if that’ll help me avoid the inquisition that’s about to hit me. “He asked me to give him an update whenever I could…”
“And what about me? Huh? I’m your sister. Your twin. We shared a womb!”
“You know full well that if I started updating you with my every move, you’d get irritated real quick.”
“I still deserve a reply!”
I blink at her after her outburst, a little bewildered. “Er… Sorry?”
She blows out a breath. “Thank you. Sorry.”
I can’t help but eye her warily. “Are you okay, Brin? You seem a bit…stressed.”
“I don’t know, Shez,” she whines, leaning over the kitchen island. “Andy has been super weird recently, work is a bit overwhelming, Mum won’t leave me alone, Beau has been kind of awol, and now you won’t answer a text!”
I close the space between us and wrap her in a hug. “I’m sorry, Brin. I just…didn’t want to talk about Myles yet, and that’s kind of all you texted me about. If you’d have said things are getting a lot, I would’ve answered.” And I mean that wholeheartedly. Of all of us, I know best what it’s like to be stuck in that dark place in your head. The thought of Brin on her way there unsettles me. “You know that, right?”
She pulls back but doesn’t completely let go. I am looking in a mirror, except it’s warped and not quite accurate. Sometimes it startles me how different we are in every way except our genetics. “I do know, Shez,” she tells me. “I just wanted to talk about something exciting. Someone finally sees you for how awesome you are, and I wanted to gush with you. Also, Myles? God, that man is so lovely and I’m so happy you’re getting to enjoy some real time with him.”
I groan, head lolling back. “Now I feel like a twat for ignoring you.”
“As you should,” she says primly. “I was rooting for you from day one, as you know. Speaking to Myles on Friday about you gave me a distraction from all this shit.”
“I guess we can talk about him after dinner,” I concede.
“Hell yes. And I want all the dirty details. If only to distract from the fact that my own relationship is on rocky terrain.”
I try not to turn my nose up at the mention of John Andrews. The only reason I agreed to dinner at theirs instead of my house tonight is because I’ve been assured that he’s out of town. The flat is his and the decor gives me a migraine. It’s so…white. Clinical. It reminds me of a morgue. He refuses to let me touch it.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” She sighs, turning the oven on. She moves around the kitchen robotically as she speaks, prepping to start cooking. “Ever since we got back from Lerwick he’s been getting more and more distant. He works late, he barely talks when he’s home, always on his phone. I don’t know what to do.”
I chew on my lip thoughtfully. “You don’t think he’s… Christ, I hate to suggest it, Brin, but do you think he might be cheating?”
“It’s not a ridiculous assumption, and I had the same thought originally, but honestly, Shez, he doesn’t have the libido to cheat.”
I wrinkle my nose. Information I could’ve done without. “Hm… Maybe you should just talk to him? Avoiding the problem won’t make it any better.”
“I know, he’s just… You saw how he was with Myles at Dad’s birthday. Sometimes talking to him can be like trying to get a conversation out of the God damn wall. He’s a pig-headed bastard at times.”
You don’t say.“Has it happened before?”
“No, never.”
I purse my lips. “I don’t know then, Brin. I still say at least try and talk to him. You can’t live with him not knowing where you stand.”
My sister pulls a face. “Of course you’re right. I’m just whining.”
“Hey, we all need a good whinge every now and then. Let it all out.”
“Mum has been worse than usual.” Brinsley doesn’t even hesitate. “I don’t know what is wrong with her, but she will not stop pestering me. Sometimes I have to wonder if working in the same school as her and doing the same subject was a smart choice. She’s incessant, Shez. Now she’s a deputy head she’s got less classes, which apparently means more time to harass me. She sits in on my lessons! At least once a week! Honestly it was cute the first time, but now…”
Brinsley rants about our mother for the next thirty minutes, and I barely manage to get a word in.
I do feel guilty for ignoring her. She clearly doesn’t have many other people to confide in when it comes to her stress. The fact that she doesn’t even feel like she can rant to Andy about things is another strike against him. Currently, on the pros and cons list I keep of him in my head, the pros list is looking pretty short. It might be awful to say, but I hope she dumps him.
By the time we’ve sat down and are eating, we’ve moved onto the topic of Beau, who is in the doghouse with both of us over the Myles thing.
“Does he know you’re seeing each other?”
“Not as far as I know,” I say, just before I shove my face full of spaghetti.
“Well, I haven’t told anyone, not even Mum, so he can’t know.”
“I reckon he’s sulking over not having Myles in his corner. Apparently, Dad’s birthday is the first time they’ve seen each other since the summer, and we all know it was rather frosty between them.”
Brin whistles, cringing. “All your fault, Shez.”
“It’s fucking stupid, is what it is. Beau is a grown man. I’m a grown woman. I’m allowed to make my own choices about who I do or don’t see.”
“Amen, sister.” Brin raises her glass of water at me.” But you’re preaching to the choir. I do think you should tell Mum, though.”
“She’ll just run straight to Beau about it, though, and I’m not ready for that fight yet. I don’t even know how serious this thing is between us—I just know we like each other.”
Brin seems to have hearts in her eyes. “God, it’s so fucking cute. I love the start of a relationship. Everything is just so new and nice.”
“‘Relationship’ is a bit of a stretch. We’re just…”
“Fucking?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Well, yes, but I meant more like…getting to know each other better.”
“While fucking.”
I let out a heavy breath. “Yes.”
“Is he good in bed?”
Now I’m blushing. “Maybe.”
“That’s a yes.” My sister cackles. “Good for you, Sheridan. Shit, do I miss the days when I was having really great sex every day,” she says wistfully.
I can’t believe I ask it, but I do, “Is Andy good in bed?” I’ve never wanted to ask before.
“When he bothers, yeah. But tell me more about Myles. I know I work with him, but I won’t say anything, I swear. Stays between us.”
I know she’s good for her word. So, I take a deep breath, and I unload the goods on my sister.
* * *
Maybe it’s cute. Maybe it’s cringeworthy. Maybe it’s eye-wateringly pathetic. But I don’t care.
When Myles knocked on my door five minutes ago, I basically launched myself at him, and we’ve had our lips locked ever since. Somehow, we’ve managed to make it halfway down the hall and the front door is closed, but I’m pressed against the wall with my legs hooked around Myles’s waist like I’ve never known the taste of a man before.
And I. Don’t. Care.
“Am I crazy in saying I feel like it’s been weeks since I last saw you?” Myles pants into my mouth.
I shove my hands through his sandy hair. “I missed you, too.”
“I feel like a teenager. Being around so many has sent my hormones out of whack.”
“You certainly don’t feel like a teenager to me,” I mumble, referencing the rather large erection currently pressing hard against my centre. Nope, he feels all man.
He groans, moving his hands from my waist and down to my backside, taking it in a tight grip. “I am so out of control around you, it’s fucking embarrassing.”
“I think it’s cute.”
He lightly wets my nose with his tongue as he pulls me away from the wall. “You’re a terrible distraction, Birdie. I came here to see some interior designs.”
I sigh, resting my head against his shoulder. “Fine, if we must.”
“Where am I going?”
“My office.” I tidied away all my web show stuff this afternoon, knowing he wanted to see my real work.
Myles carries me through the cottage with ease and lets himself into my most sacred room, with me still clinging to him like a koala, sponging kisses into his neck. He gently places me back on the ground when we’re inside, and I don’t miss the way he readjusts himself in his work slacks.
Going over my bookcase, I pull out two photo albums, “These are projects that are now all completed. Residential,” I tap one folder, “and non-residential. Or commercial if you like.”
Myles takes the heavy albums off my hands and sits himself down in the office chair at my desk to start flipping through them.
He’s silent for a while, but he pays such great attention to each photo, I feel weirdly judged. And the pathetic thing is that I want to please this man more than anything right now. He spends a lot of time on one particular flip, leaning over the photos so closely that I debate asking him if he needs a magnifying glass.
“This one is really cool,” he says, looking up at me.
It’s the first hotel I ever did. Not massive—a twenty-bedroom boutique country place in the Cotswolds. They wanted a contemporary twist on traditional Edwardian decor, and every room had to be different yet cohesive somehow.
“That’s the very first project I did that got me an award,” I tell him.
“I can see why,” he says with such earnest honesty, my chest tightens a little.
While he continues fingering through the albums, I dig around for the plans I’m sending out next week.
“These are my mood boards,” I tell him as I set a couple down beside him. “When a client sends me a brief, once I’ve seen the property I come home and start digging around for all the elements I want to use. I go through a lot of changes before I’m happy, which is why I’ve got such a big whiteboard.” I thumb the monstrosity over my shoulder, now empty until I need to start using it for the York house.
“When I’ve made a decision, I put together these mood boards,” I take each board out of the box to show him. “This is for a small cottage in North Wales, right on the coast. I’m only doing the lounge and the kitchen, but I give them a visual,” I point at the digital image of the lounge, “of how it’s all going to look, and then I attach all the fabrics I want to use on another, and then furniture and accessories on another.”
He paws through the boards as if they’re some kind of delicate jewellery. “And you do this for every project?”
“Yep. It’s probably my favourite part of the job—clipping it all together.”
“Fucking hell, that’s a lot.” He blows out a breath. “Do you get a choice in the projects you do?”
“Mostly. Marina—my boss—tries to distribute the projects to the person she thinks it suits best, but it can be a lot at times. This has easily been my busiest year since starting. Not just because we’ve been a designer down, but also because I’ve been—” I grimace, hating to say it, “well, I’ve been requested a lot.”
“I’d request you too.” He winks, and I blush like a fool. “I’d love to know what you’d do with my flat.”
“Well, I’d have to see it first.”
“That can be arranged. But I have to warn you,” he stands, and twiddles with one of the curls brushing around my ear, “it’s very boring.”
“Most rented places are. Are you allowed to do anything to it?”
“I can paint it. But I have to paint it back white if I ever decide to leave. Why, what are you thinking?”
I purse my lips. “Don’t know. But it could be fun to see it, and then come up with something just for funsies.”
“You want to see my flat?” He seems bewildered by the thought.
“Sure, why not?” I shrug.
* * *
“Oh, wow.”
Myles looks at me as if to say “I knew it”. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. Rental properties can be anything from mouldy, damp, leaking dungeons to clean and dry and bright bachelor pads.
Myles’s flat takes clean and bright to the next fucking level.
First of all, it’s whiter than John Andrews’s flat. In fact, it’s so white that my eyes are starting to hurt. It’s a boring person’s dream. A bachelor pad for the tasteless. Even the carpet is off-white, which is just a disaster waiting to happen.
“Well?” Myles prompts.
“It’s got two bedrooms. That’s good.”
“We didn’t come here to talk about the layout, Birdie.”
“No…” I bite my lip. “God, it’s so white. You really need some pictures or art or something ‘cause it’s starting to give me a headache.”
He snorts. “I’ll only take advice from you. I can’t use nails or screws, though.”
“Oh, boo.” I huff. “I just want to lob buckets of paint at it—all different colours. Pastels or summat. Anything to make it less white.”
“Is there anything you like about it?”
“Yes. It’s a blank canvas. I have more ideas than I know what to do with.”
“That must be good for motivation, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Fucking marvellous. Except I’m not allowed to touch anything. I’m itching to get my hands on a paint roller.”
“It’s fine to paint. But as much as I like the idea of you doing this beautiful mural for me, I’d have to paint over it eventually, which would not only make me said, but it would also be hard work.”
I stare at the large wall for a minute, chewing on my lip. “Okay, no murals. I don’t have time for that anyway. But I’m thinking we paint this wall a nice pastel colour—like sage or duck egg. And then we find some nice artwork, or make some pieces ourselves, uniform sizes, nice black wooden frames and use those tabs to hang them up that just pull off.”
My brain is running a mile a minute. “And we can do the same in your bedroom. Paint one wall, cover the rest in artwork.”
“I love how your brain works, but how much money is this gonna cost me?”
“Don’t you worry, handsome.” I pat his arm. “I know all the right places to go to get a good deal.”