Chapter Thirty-Nine
There’s barely a sound as I push down on my bedroom door handle ever so gently, easing the door open so I can peer out into the hallway.
My ears are pricked to detect any hint of noise, but there’s nothing coming from Jonah’s room.
Realising I want to kiss Jonah is mortifying so I’ve been doing my best to avoid him over the past few days, heading out of the flat whenever he steps inside (usually with Paris clamped to him) or hiding in my bedroom with my earphones in and the volume turned up to the max to avoid the chirping.
Out of sight, out of mind really does seem to work, and I’d convinced myself that Rhys was wrong and it was only him planting the seed that made me think I fancied Jonah, but then I walked in on Jonah and Paris snogging on the sofa a couple of days ago and the red-hot jealousy I felt drop-kicked that theory out of the window.
So now I’m creeping around my own flat, sneaking out into the hall and tiptoeing on slippered feet to the living room, pausing to push my ear to the door before easing it open and creeping into the empty kitchen.
I make some sounds as I put the kettle on, but I do my best to carry out the tea-making task as quietly as possible.
‘Morning.’
I jump a mile as Jonah’s voice breaks the silence, and the teaspoon clatters into my mug, scattering sugar on the worktop. It turns out that I’m not the only one who has taken to sneaking around the flat.
‘Morning.’ I try to push a smile on my face but fail miserably, and I’m forced to snap my head back round to concentrate on wiping up the spilled sugar as Jonah is wearing nothing but a pair of pyjama bottoms and it’s doing funny things to my insides.
‘Is there enough for a couple more?’ I don’t see Jonah nod at the kettle because I can’t bring myself to look at him, but I assume he does and I check the water level.
‘There might be enough for one more, but you can have this one. I’m not really in the mood for tea, actually.’ I drop the sugar granules in the bin and slide past Jonah in the doorway, trying so hard not to look at him.
‘We’re meeting up with some of Paris’s friends at the Christmas markets later.’ I’m almost across the living room when Jonah stops me with his words. ‘Do you fancy joining us? We’re going to get those giant filled Yorkshire puddings and hot chocolates.’
‘I can’t.’ I pull my gaze from Jonah’s body, because resisting has proven too difficult, and focus on his face. ‘I’m busy.’
‘You’re not working.’
‘I know. I have other stuff.’
Jonah quirks an eyebrow. ‘Stuff? What kind of stuff?’
I shrug. ‘Just stuff.’
There is no stuff. My only plans for the day involve avoiding Jonah while simultaneously mooning over him.
‘Is this because of the meet-cute thing? Because I can be your meet-cute shield again.’
I snort and flick my gaze up to the ceiling. ‘You weren’t much use the last time you made that promise.’
Jonah pulls his chin back, hurt flashing across his face. ‘I’m sorry, but what was I supposed to do? Leave Paris falling all over the place?’
I shrug, before I sigh and shake my head. ‘Of course not.’
‘Then why won’t you come to the markets with us? You love the markets. And you love, love the filled Yorkshire puddings. Last year, you said you’d marry one if it was legal.’
I shrug again as I pick at my fingernails. ‘I just don’t feel like it.’
‘Christina.’ Jonah takes a step closer to me and I can’t help but look at his torso. ‘What’s going on?’
‘What do you mean?’ My cheeks start to glow at the thought of Jonah clocking me perving on him.
‘You’ve been acting a bit… weird.’
‘No I haven’t.’ I fold my arms across my chest. I wish Jonah would do the same, so there was less flesh on display. ‘I’m acting normal, like a normal person, because that is what I am, a normal person with normal behaviour.’
The corners of Jonah’s lips rise. ‘See, that was weird.’ His smile widens as Paris passes me, heading for Jonah and kissing him on the lips. It isn’t a full-on snog, only a quick peck, but still my stomach clenches. ‘Hey, babe. Cup of tea?’
‘I’ll make it. Is Christina coming to the markets with us?’
I want to gag. Does she have to be so nice and inclusive? How can I hate on her when she’s done nothing wrong, other than be a fan of the worst Christmas film ever made?
‘No, but thanks for the invite.’ With my eyes to the ground so I’m not tempted to ogle Jonah on my way out, I scurry to the safety of my bedroom.
I’m slumped on the bed, searching for a suitable playlist on Spotify when there’s a knock at the door.
I think about ignoring it, but Jonah has already accused me of acting weird, and I don’t want to give him any more ammunition.
I tell Jonah he can come in and he pokes his head through the door.
‘Are you sure you won’t come with us? It’ll be fun, and you can get to know Paris a bit better.’
I shake my head. I don’t want to get to know her better. I want her to go away. Far, far away. And I know that’s selfish of me, that all I’ve ever wanted is for Jonah to be happy, but now I only want him to be happy with me.
‘It isn’t the meet-cute thing, is it?’ Jonah steps fully into the room and closes the door behind him. ‘You don’t like Paris.’
I can’t look at Jonah, and not because he’s still only wearing a pair of pyjama bottoms. If I look at him, I’m afraid the truth will be written all over my face. The truth that I don’t dislike Paris, beyond my petty, jealous bitchiness, but I don’t like her being here, with him.
‘You’re always sighing and rolling your eyes around her, and you’ve been avoiding her – us – and making things weird and uncomfortable.’
My cheeks are burning, because what Jonah is saying is true. I have been doing those things, only I wasn’t aware how much and that Jonah had picked up on it.
‘Paris is lovely, and you’d see that if you got to know her. So why don’t you spend the afternoon with us? I’ll even buy you one of those giant marshmallows.’
I shake my head because I can’t spend an agonising day with my crush and his girlfriend, no matter how much I enjoy those giant marshmallows from the Christmas markets.
‘What is your problem?’ Jonah shakes his head now, in disappointment rather than the rejection of his invitation, and the look of disapproval on his face makes my stomach twinge. I pull my knees up to my chin in a defensive move.
‘My problem is you.’
‘Me?’ Jonah jabs a finger to his bare chest.
I could say I like you, a lot, and I think you could be the thing I’ve been craving from my meet-cutes.
You could be the one person who could make me happy, but I don’t say any of that.
Instead, I make up some rubbish about him being disrespectful by parading half-naked women around the flat, which understandably leaves Jonah flummoxed.
‘First of all, it’s one woman, and she isn’t half-naked. She’s wearing my dressing gown.’
There’s that pang of jealousy again, because I want to be the one wrapped up in Jonah’s dressing gown.
‘I don’t know what’s going on here, Christina.’ Jonah perches on the edge of my bed. Close, but not close enough, and I have to resist the urge to shuffle so we’re sitting side by side.
‘Nothing.’ I inch away from Jonah under the pretence of picking my phone up from my bedside table. ‘There’s nothing going on.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
I don’t say anything, because Jonah is right to not believe me and I don’t know how to convince him otherwise.
‘You don’t like Paris.’ It’s a statement rather than a question. ‘And I don’t understand why not. She’s fun and sweet and so kind. She could be a really good friend to you if you’d let her.’
‘If she’s so perfect.’ I lean towards Jonah, my voice low and mean. ‘Why are you here, begging me to spend the day with you?’
Jonah jolts away from me. ‘I’m not begging. I just want you to get to know Paris better.’
‘Why? To rub your relationship in my face?’
The furrows that have been lining Jonah’s face smooth out and his shoulders relax. ‘You’re jealous.’
Fear at being caught out sends me on the offensive, and I snort with derision.
‘Of you and Paris? As if. I don’t want to be with you.
The thought is icky and gross and…’ The words of revulsion dry up in my throat as Jonah pushes himself up off the bed, his jaw slack and eyes wide as he stumbles away from me.
‘I meant you were jealous of our relationship because your dating has hardly been successful lately.’
Ouch. I’m about to rail against this harsh assessment, but Jonah isn’t done.
‘But you’re actually jealous of us. Of Paris. Because… what? You want to be with me?’
I pick at my fingernails; my eyes fixed on the action and nowhere near Jonah.
I want to shake my head, to deny what he’s saying, but the words won’t come.
The lie won’t come. Silence blankets my bedroom as Jonah watches me as I continue to pick at my nails.
I won’t look at Jonah. I can’t. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to again.
If Jonah thought things were weird and uncomfortable around here already, I’ve just dialled it up a million notches.
‘You’re jealous?’ Jonah’s voice is low, barely a sound at all, when he finally breaks the silence. ‘Of me and Paris?’
I swallow the massive lump in my throat, not sure that when I open my mouth any words will come out, but they do. ‘Of you and Paris. Of you and anyone.’ I flick my eyes towards Jonah, but they don’t make it past his chin. ‘I sort of like you.’
‘You sort of… like me? Like me like me?’
I don’t say anything else. I’m not sure I’m capable, and confirmation isn’t required.
It’s blatantly obvious what I meant, and Jonah doesn’t push it any further.
We sort of remain in stasis, me picking at my fingernails, Jonah trying to internally handle the bombshell I’ve just delivered.
We both jump when there’s a knock at the door.
‘Babe? Tea’s ready, and we need to be getting ready soon. I said we’d meet the others at eleven.’
I drop my face onto my knees and squeeze my eyes shut as Jonah quietly leaves the room.
What have I done?