Chapter 18
Chapter 18
I wake up the following morning to the sound of birds chirping in the tree outside my window, pleasantly piercing the continual low hum of city traffic. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafts through the crack at the bottom of my door, and I breathe it in, savoring the fond thoughts it elicits of the Cozy Cottage, of my friends, of my job.
Of Jason.
I sit bolt upright in my bed.
Jason.
All the conflicting and confusing feelings I’ve had about him over the last twenty-four hours come crashing back, like a truck smashing through a wall of empty cardboard boxes.
The way he stood up to my family last night in my defense.
The way he told me he had faith in me.
The way he’d looked at me.
I press my lips together to stop a smile in its tracks. Something moves in my chest, all the same.
And then, my mind darts to an earlier image that has my guts twisting: the way he looked with Megan at the Friday Night Jam, all cozied up together and couple-y, like they were made for each other.
I scrunch my eyes shut and shake my head in some sort of deluded attempt to shove the scattered cardboard boxes of feelings into a neat, hidden stack. It’s no use. My internal conflict rages, my feelings about Jason becoming more and more confused. Jumbled boxes everywhere.
Why does Jason being with Megan bother me so much? I’ve seen him with loads of women, all carbon copies of one another: young and pretty, usually nurses or fellow doctors, always totally enamored of him. I’ve never been bothered by any of them before.
Maybe it’s because Megan has stuck around longer than the women in Jason’s life usually do? Yes, that’s got to be it! I let out a relieved puff of air. Solved it! It’s totally clear: I feel weird about him and her together because I don’t like Megan.
My fleeting feeling of euphoria evaporates. The problem is, I do like her. It’s hard not to. She’s sweet and kind. There’s nothing to dislike.
Then what the heck is it?
A little voice in the back of my head tells me I know exactly what it is.
Only, I thought I was past all that.
Here’s the deal. A long time ago, when I first met Jason, I had a bit of a thing for him. I was a fresh-faced graduate, with two and a half boyfriends to my name (the half was due to the fact he lasted less than two weeks, so I didn’t think I could count him as a full boyfriend). I responded to Jason’s advertisement for a roommate for an inner-city apartment. The place looked ideal, close enough to the Cozy Cottage, in a part of town with plenty of cafés and bars and restaurants nearby.
When we met, I admit I had full-blown symptoms of attraction. You know the ones: elevated heart rate, butterflies batting their wings in my belly, a frankly ludicrous amount of giggling. You get the picture.
Jason was this older, much more worldly guy who knew exactly what he wanted to do with his life and was already going after it. He had charisma that smacked you right between the eyes, plus, there was the small fact that he was better looking than pretty much any guy I’d seen in the flesh before. Call me shallow, but that sure as heck counted.
We hit it off straight away, despite all my incessant giggling, and it came as no surprise when he asked me to be his roommate. I moved in that weekend with the full expectation that a grand romance between us would ensue.
I was wrong.
All too soon, my hopes came crashing down around my ears when he introduced me to his date on my first night in the apartment, a very sweet and pretty nurse. When she was replaced by the next in line and then the next, I made the decision that to keep my sanity, Jason could only ever be a friend. I confided in Darcy and Erin, and they both agreed. Jason was a roommate and a friend. Anything more would only end in heartache for me.
And that approach has worked perfectly for all this time.
And now? Now I’m thoroughly annoyed with myself for allowing past, unreciprocated feelings to grow once more.
I push my hair behind my ears and bite my lip. I know what I need to do. I need to give myself a stern talking to. Tell myself well-considered, logical things. Things like:
Jason isn’t interested in me romantically
We’re best friends, and that’s more than enough
His girlfriends may come and go, but I’m not going anywhere.
There. Done. All I’ve got to do now is remind myself of these very valid, very true points and the status quo will be preserved.
No more scattered boxes of confusing feelings for Sophie.
Easy peasy.
I push my covers off, swing my legs over the edge of the bed, and stretch. I slip my kimono-style dressing gown on and pad down the hall, lured to the kitchen by the tempting coffee aroma.
A puff of steam wafts out of the bathroom in front of me as Jason steps into the hallway. I stop in my tracks as his eyes land on mine.
Of all the days . . .
“Ah, McCarthy. Top of the mornin’ to ya,” he says in a terrible rendition of an Irish accent before his face breaks into a totally knee-weakening smile.
“Hey” is about all I can manage as my heart thuds loudly in my ears. I try my level best not to stare at him. And I fail. Spectacularly . But come on, people! I’ve only just started to feel things for this guy again and he turns up looking like he’s been photo-shopped to male Adonis perfection, like Ryan Gosling in Crazy Stupid Love . The key difference is he’s here, right in front of me in the flesh, wearing nothing but a towel. Let me repeat that.
Nothing.
But.
A.
Towel.
That’s right, the guy I’m trying super hard to shake some thoroughly inappropriate feelings for is naked but for a piece of material loosely wrapped around his middle. His washboard abs, broad shoulders, and muscular arms are highlighted by glistening pearls of water scattered across his beautiful skin.
Come on!
I glance skyward. What are you trying to do to me?
Really, it’s a testament to my steely resolve that I don’t swoon in front of him, right here and now.
Sure, I’ve seen him in not much before. He spends summer in shorts and a tank, sometimes shirtless when we’re at the beach. But this feels different. It is different.
And I don’t like it one little bit.
I swallow, hard, and force myself to tear my eyes away. It takes a Herculean effort, but I manage it. Just.
If they were giving out medals for self-control, I’d get a big, shiny gold one with the words “First Rate Kicker of Jason Christie-Related Temptation” emblazoned on it for what I’ve just achieved.
He cocks an eyebrow, his eyes narrowed. “You okay, McCarthy?”
I clear my throat. “Yes, fine. Just woke up, that’s all.” I aim for a nonchalant shrug.
“Well, the coffee’s in the pot. Go help yourself. I’m gonna go get dressed.”
Yes! Get dressed! Put that Jason lusciousness under as many layers of fabric as you can find. Layer it up. Undershirts, over shirts, sweatshirts. Every kind of shirt you can imagine. And when you think you’re done, add another stack for good measure. I’m thinking Joey on Friends , wearing every item of clothing in Chandler’s closet.
Yes. That ought to do it.
“Err, okay.” I take a step closer to him so I can get past and he stands back for me.
Hot and a gentleman? Seriously?
“Pour me a mug. ’Kay?”
As I slink past him, I hold my breath to stop myself breathing in his scent like some kind of stalker. “You got it, roomie!” I reply in a super light and breezy way.
I reach the safety of the kitchen and bury my face in my hands. Why today? Why? Has someone up there got it in for me? Are they, in all their mysterious wisdom, trying to force me to grow the seed of my feelings for him? To make me want him more? To torture me with this?
Of all the days in the hundreds and hundreds of days we’ve been roommates, to run into him wearing just his towel and a knee-weakening smile, it had to be today? Darcy will be so pleased, her prediction I’d get a Jason eyeful one day come to life.
I let out a sigh as I pull a couple of mugs out of the cupboard and pour some coffee into each one. I add enough milk to cool mine down to an easy drinking temperature and down the whole thing before Jason arrives back in the kitchen. Call me a coward, but until I can get on top of these feelings for him once more—and vanquish that image of his perfect, wet torso—avoiding Jason Christie has got to be my best move.
“Oooh, look at this, Darce. They’ve got caviar blinis!”
Darcy pulls a face. “Caviar whats?”
I peer over the top of my menu. “Blinis. I think they’re like little pancakes. Blini sounds so ritzy, doesn’t it? We definitely need to try them.”
Darcy and I are sitting in large, comfortable armchairs at a table with a crisp white tablecloth. Soft piano music fills the air, and the atmosphere is one of elegant refinement.
Darcy’s concentrating on her menu. “Let’s do the high tea that comes with champagne, okay?”
“Don’t you have to work this afternoon? I didn’t think celebrities took too kindly to their personal assistants turning up drunk in the afternoons.”
Darcy waves her hand in the air. “Work schmork. Ingrid will survive without me for a couple hours, and I’ll only have a glass.”
I beam at her. “Consider my rubber arm duly twisted. Champagne high tea it is.”
A few moments later, we place our order with our server, thankful our glasses of champagne are delivered almost immediately. I lean back in my seat and study the room. With its soft, high-backed seating, grand chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and sweeping opaque curtains framing the windows, this place could not be more different from Cozy Cottage High Tea’s relaxed, homey vibe.
“You look like you’re taking mental notes,” Darcy says.
“That’s the whole point. I need to check out the competition, see what they’ve got that we don’t. Look.” I gesture around the room. “Every table is full on a Monday. Every single one. Cozy Cottage High Tea isn’t even open today.”
“Girl, that’s a good thing. Otherwise you couldn’t be here with me.” She raises her champagne flute and we clink glasses.
“I’m checking out what sort of customers come here. There are the ladies who lunch over there,” I nod at a group of well-to-do looking older women, dressed almost exclusively in Chanel, “to business people,” I nod at a table of men and women in suits, “to, well, us.”
“The ones who really can’t afford to do this, you mean. Why aren’t you open on Mondays?”
“Paige and Bailey think people only want high tea Wednesday through Sunday.”
Darcy gestures at the room. “Clearly, they’re wrong.”
Our server materializes at our table, holding a tiered cake stand full of delicious bite-sized treats. She places it on the table and we thank her.
Darcy surveys the stack of deliciousness in front of us. Everything is exquisitely made, from the small tartlets, topped with pretty flowers, to the caviar blinis and smoked salmon rolls. “This looks amazing.”
My mouth waters, right on cue. “Oh, it does.” I shoot her a quick smile. “Two, four, six, eight, dig in, don’t wait.”
Darcy rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you said that in a fancy place like this.”
“I guess I’m trying to lighten the mood. It’s very quiet and refined here, don’t you think?”
“Maybe people like that? I mean, high tea isn’t like going to a regular old coffee house, is it?”
“It is at Cozy Cottage High Tea.” I chew on my lip as Darcy’s observation rolls through my mind.
She puts one of the caviar blinis in her mouth. “Holy crap, this is good!” she announces, her voice loud enough to attract attention from a couple of the nearby tables.
I widen my eyes at her. “Shhh, Darce. People are looking at us.”
She swallows her mouthful and leans closer to me. “That’s because this place is so stuffy and everyone’s too freaking scared to talk louder than a whisper. You’d think we were in the presence of royalty or something.”
I scan the room.
An older lady in a pants suit raises her eyebrows at me before she turns back to her equally pant-suited friend.
I shoot her an apologetic smile.
Darcy’s right. No one is talking at normal volume. They’re all behaving in a formal and polite manner. It’s almost like being at St. Peter’s with my family, only with significantly better food. No offense, Father Jarrod.
“You know what? You’re totally right, Darce. I feel like we need to be on our best behavior here. It’s like we can’t be us.”
“Exactly,” she says, her mouth full of tartlet.
Together, we get stuck into enjoying the delicacies, the champagne, and even the pot of tea. My conversion from coffee addict to tea connoisseur is gaining ground, but it’s still a work in progress, that’s for sure.
“What’s happening on the date front? Have you got your eye on anyone new? I’ve got zero prospects, and it’s starting to depress me.” She selects one of the mini cupcakes from the top tier of the cake stand.
My mind instantly darts to Jason in his towel in the hallway this morning, and my belly does an involuntary flip-flop. “No one,” I reply without looking her in the eyes.
I pretend I’m concentrating hard on my next selection.
“Are you sure?” she asks, her tone suggesting I’ve failed to convince her.
Damn my inability to lie effectively!
I shoot her a breezy smile. “Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She narrows her eyes at me, and I avert my own as I squirm in my chair. “Because you’re blushing and you’re finding it hard to look at me. Come on, Soph, spill.”
I aim for a nonchalant shrug. “There’s nothing to spill. Have you tried these mini cupcakes? I think they’re chocolate mud.” I pop one in my mouth, and add, “They’re so good.”
“Sophie McCarthy, I know you, and I know full well when you’ve got something to hide. If you don’t tell me, I’ll go on the search and find out anyway. You should save us all some time and tell me everything right now.”
My sigh is resigned. Darcy is famous among our friends for her sleuth skills. The last thing anyone wants is to have Darcy Evans on their case.
“If I tell you something, you can’t make a big deal about it, got it?”
She nods, her eyes bright in anticipation of new and possibly scintillating information. “Tell me everything.”
I clasp my hands together as I work out what to say. “First up, I think it’s only temporary.”
Darcy gives me an encouraging nod. “Only temporary. Got it.”
“It’ll pass and I’ll look back and laugh at how silly I was.”
If I were truly honest with myself, as in totally, completely, no holds barred honest, I’d have to say I’m not too sure quite how “temporary” my feelings for Jason are. I mean, he’s one of my favorite people. Maybe it’s a natural progression for us? Maybe it’s even meant to be?
Wait, what? Have I gone insane ?
I swallow down my nerves and try my best to push such outlandish thoughts away. Of course it’s temporary. As temporary as a pimple at the end of your nose. It may feel like it’s going to be there, tormenting you forever, but it only lasts a few days, and then you’re like, “what pimple?” #AlreadyMovedOn.
“Sophie, so far all you’ve said is that it’s temporary. Are you going to elaborate, or should I play the ‘guess what’s eating Sophie McCarthy’ game?” Darcy raises her eyebrows in expectation.
“Look, before I say anything more, I know it’s a really, really bad idea, and I’m never ever going to do anything about it.”
“Ok aaa y.”
“Also, I need to say that I really think that—”
“Soph?” she interrupts, “Just spit it out.”
Before I have the chance to wimp out, I scrunch my eyes shut and blurt, “Jason. I’ve started to feel things for Jason.” I open my eyes a fraction and see Darcy’s hand fly to her mouth, her already big brown eyes so huge, she looks like a puppy begging for food.
When she fails to respond to my declaration, I place my elbows on the table and lean closer to her. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”
She lowers her hand and clears her throat. “I owe Erin twenty bucks.”
I knit my brows together. This is her reaction? I tell her something as momentous as I’ve got feelings for one of our besties, and all she can do is tell me she owes Erin money? Then I twig. And yes, I know I was being dense, but in my defense, my mind was still focused on my massive announcement, not on my friends betting on me. “You had a bet with Erin that I would fall for Jason?”
She nods. “Actually, I said you wouldn’t. It was Erin who said you would, hence the twenty bucks.”
“I can’t believe you bet on me. I’m your friend!”
“It was from a long time ago, when you first became roommates.”
“ That’s supposed to make me feel better?”
“Does it?”
I shake my head vehemently. “No!”
“Okay. I’m sorry. It was a dumb thing to do.”
I harrumph. “You’re only saying that because you were wrong.”
“But by the looks of you, you’d prefer I was right.”
My shoulders slump. “Falling for a guy who’s not only my roommate, but a nurse-serial-dater and totally not into me? Yeah, things could be better.”
She shoots me a knowing look. “You saw him in just a towel, fresh out of the shower, didn’t you?”
I press my lips together and nod.
“I told you that would happen! If you live with a guy long enough, one day you’re going to see him in nothing but a towel. How did he look?”
“Good. Great.”
“I bet he did.” She gets a far off look in her eye.
I snap my fingers. “Darcy? Focus. Massive problem here, remember?”
“Look, we all know Jason’s good looking and smart and charming and got that muscular physique of his—”
“Not helping, Darce,” I interrupt.
“My point is, you’re a woman, he’s a man. This was bound to happen, especially after you fell for him when you first met.”
“That was a long time ago. Three years! I thought I was on top of those feelings.”
“And now you want to get on top of Jason.”
I glare at her. “Darcy Evans.”
“I’m sorry. Low hanging fruit and all. Look, you got over it before, Soph. You can do it again.”
I’m less convinced. “Back then, I didn’t know him. It was only lust, you know? Now?” I let out a sigh. “Now—”
“Now he’s your friend and your roommate.” She shoots me a meaningful look.
“Yup. It’d be too complicated to go there.”
“Super complicated. Look, you’ve had some knocks in the romance department: Andrew, that merman guy.”
“The feeder.”
“The feeder. How could I forget about him? You’re looking for a guy to connect with, and Jason is the logical target. What you’ve got to do is simply direct that energy somewhere else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Find another guy. Not some guy who wants to feed you like you’re a baby, not a merman or any other mythical creature. Just a regular, run of the mill, normal guy you think is cute. That way, you’re focused on him, not your roommate.”
I tap my chin, running the idea through my mind. “You might be onto something.”
“Girl, you know I am. Redirect the energies. Find the right guy and it’s nothing but a chemical equation.”
“Nothing but a chemical equation,” I repeat. “Mrs. Forrester would be so proud of us,” I reply, naming our high school Chemistry teacher.
“See? You’re already making jokes. Bad ones but jokes all the same.” Darcy’s pretty face creases into a grin. “You’ve got this.”
In an instant, my mind turns to Jason saying those exact words to me over our coffee and cereal.
I blow out a puff of air. “You’re right. Redirect the energies, find a chemical equation with another guy. Got it.”
As I shoot her an optimistic smile, I ignore the little voice inside telling me it’ll never work.
Because it’s got to.