Chapter 26
CHLOE
‘Hey.’
‘Hey.’
I lie on my bed, looking up at Ben as he stands there with a tray of food and drinks, staring at me worriedly.
There are many reasons for that. One, he pushed me in a swimming pool because we were all worried about ants crawling on my face and into the crevices of my brain.
But two, he added a little too much turmeric to the face mask so yes, I am smooth, but I am also a touch yellow.
Not in a glowing sort of way, more in a worrying, ‘my-liver-might-be-failing’ way.
At least it matches my nails, I guess. His smile hits his eyes and I return the look to let him know I see the humour in all of this too.
‘I brought you some refreshments,’ he says.
‘I think I got the ultimate refreshment when you pushed me in the pool,’ I tell him.
He tries not to laugh. ‘Again, I’m very sorry about that. I was trying to save your life.’
‘From the teeny tiny ants?’ I ask.
‘Well, you were the one screaming,’ he says, smiling.
After my ceremonial pushing into the pool, we both had to get out of the water.
This was maybe when the embarrassment hit us the most. I was wearing a see-through pastel vest top and knickers that became completely transparent while Ben was similarly in white which fully showed off the contours of something I don’t think Jess and Zara needed to see.
So I grabbed a towel and came here to dry off, laugh and have a lie-down but also to run a brush through my hair to catch any stray ants, just in case.
Ben comes over to where I am on the bed, placing the tray down carefully on a side table. I spy melon again. I hope he thinks I like more than just melon. I like how his hair is slightly curled with the damp. He puts a hand through it.
‘Think of this as a peace offering,’ he says.
‘Gladly received.’
‘Do you think you might want to come back down? I won’t smother you in honey and push you in the pool again,’ he says, making a weak salute.
‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I say. His eyes shift to the laptop beside me despite the fact I’m just in a robe looking like I’m set for a day of lounging.
He seems hesitant to say anything given that the last time he did, I actually shut the laptop, stopped working for once in my life, and lost my job.
‘I’m not working. I’m just writing some emails. ’
He smiles and sits beside me on the bed.
I look at him curiously as he makes himself comfortable.
I’m not sure what my work contract says but it makes sense to get the feelers out about work, milk my contacts, refine my CV.
I have about ten tabs up: an accurate reflection of how my brain is firing off at the moment.
‘I was worried. You’ve come up here again, escaping us. I can go if you don’t want company?’
‘No, you’re good,’ I tell him, patting the cushions next to me.
He scooches in. I like how even after yesterday he doesn’t assume familiarity.
He still waits to be invited in and he is patient with me.
But there’s also a feeling I want to voice – I like you here.
Not even in a sexual way, it feels like you belong here, next to me. ‘How yellow am I?’ I ask him.
‘You look like a really sexy minion,’ he tells me and I laugh. He said sexy. It feels wrong to just jump his bones immediately so I pull my computer on to my lap. ‘Can I say something? Not that I’ve been snooping but 8,585 unread emails?’ he says jokingly.
‘You were snooping then,’ I say.
‘I had a quick glance.’
‘Are you judging?’ I ask, looking down at his legs, crossed on my mattress.
‘You’re very organised in every aspect of your life so I expected your inbox to be—’
‘Neat and small?’ I say, giggling.
‘Nicely curated,’ he says, leaning over. As bizarre as it sounds, he smells like butter. It’s a rich and homely scent and I inhale it for a moment, hoping he doesn’t think I’m weird.
‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those people with folders who deals with everything straight away?’ I ask him.
‘Perhaps. Do I not look the type?’
I smile because he doesn’t look like anything I expect in many ways. ‘My work email is incredibly organised and I deal with things straight away,’ I explain, ‘but my personal email is more of a—’
‘Raging bin fire?’ he jokes.
‘I just never have the time to sort through it,’ I tell him.
He tips his head to one side. ‘So now you have the time?’
I nod. ‘I also need to sieve through the rubbish, tidy up so I can start sending out my CV and ensure no work emails get lost in—’
‘How did your courier do? messages from Evri?’ he says cheekily.
‘Snooper…’ I say, turning my laptop to one side. I delete that message on the sly.
‘Do you want some help?’ he asks, looking over to me.
‘With…?’
Ben arches his eyebrows at the presumption. ‘I could help you tidy up that sprawling inbox? Baby steps. We could cancel some subscription emails? You get a lot from Deliveroo. We could adjust your settings.’
I pause for a moment because, very strangely, I don’t think I’ve ever been this aroused in my life. He leans into me, placing his hand on the touchpad.
‘Fifty percent off on Tuesdays though, just bank that for another time,’ he says, placing his other hand on mine.
He wants to do something small to help, to relieve some stress in my life. He wants to clear all of the clutter that can make modern life so hard.
‘You’d do that, for me?’ I ask.
He looks me in the eye. ‘I’d do it with you. I don’t want to unsubscribe you from your emails and then get told off.’
‘It was a Christmas gift for my brother,’ I explain.
‘Cheese?’ he asks me.
‘It was a cheese a month for a year. I think I overegged how much he actually liked cheese though.’
‘Unsubscribe?’
‘Yes,’ I say confidently, knowing that I haven’t opened an email from them since I sent the gift. Three years ago.
Ben presses delete and at least fifty emails disappear into the ether. The relief is strangely lifting.
‘It is quite easy, isn’t it?’ I say, surprised.
‘It can be,’ he says, taking control of the computer again. ‘But you do have emails here dating back… crumbs, ten years.’
‘Don’t you?’ I ask him.
‘No,’ he says incredulously.
‘It’s not just marketing spam in there. I keep emails from friends, old relationships, my mum. Like a digital scrapbook.’
‘So receipts and old dick pics, interesting. Anything juicy in there?’ he asks.
‘No… I keep the dick pics on my phone,’ I say, narrowing my eyes.
Ben nudges me with his elbow. ‘Oh, we can tidy that up later too,’ he says, still smiling at me.
He stops for a moment, his fingers hovering over my keyboard in case he comes across anything too personal.
‘Before I do the deep dive though… and just for honesty’s sake, none of these old relationships are a thing, right?
Or in the picture? For clarity, honesty, in the interest of clean slates.
’ He says this so warmly, not out of jealousy but in a way which says that whatever this is, he wants to do it properly without complications.
‘I am single. My last long-term relationship was an accountant called Beau and that didn’t work out.’
‘Why?’ he asks.
‘For many reasons but especially because I found some saucy texts from someone he worked with and that knocked that on the head.’
‘Saucy?’ he asks. ‘Did it involve béchamel?’
‘That’s a terrible joke,’ I say, laughing.
‘I’m sorry he was such a dick,’ he says, his concern kind and authentic.
‘But no one of significance since,’ I tell him.
‘You?’ Maybe this is the in, this is where I find out what’s wrong with him.
There’s a wife, a love child, a crazy ex in prison.
Worse, this is a simple fling, a summer romance to be forgotten when I return to the cold and grey climes of London. I feel my chest freeze in panic.
‘No one. My sisters used to joke that I’m married to my restaurant. There was a florist but that didn’t—’
‘Bloom?’ I suggest.
He side-eyes me.
‘You literally just made a joke about béchamel.’
Ben laughs. ‘I spend too much time with work so really you and I have more in common than you might think.’ He reaches over and puts his hand in mine.
‘I love what I do and I think I’m decent at it.
I work hard and I want to do things well.
I see that in you too. How you’ve come here and you’re always scrutinising the villa, the landscape. You don’t switch off from it—’
‘Because it’s a passion, part of who you are…’
‘Exactly.’
We go quiet for a moment, considering what this means for both of us.
‘But when these things become stressful, it’s not always bliss.
I bloody love my restaurant but it’s hard work.
Sometimes I think it owns me, not the other way round.
The last few months have been a bit mad. I’m glad for the space from it.’
He laughs and for once, it’s nice to get a glimpse into him, into his life and the little foibles that maybe don’t make him that perfect. It makes him more attractive, more relatable.
‘Maybe being out of the restaurant for a while has made me work out what’s been missing from my life,’ he says, squeezing my hand a little tighter.
And we don’t have to say it. What was missing was this, not even the sex, but feeling connected to someone.
‘Someone to empty my inbox?’ I say.
‘I’ve never heard it referred to as that but let’s go with it.’ We laugh and he moves closer, letting me rest his head on my shoulder.
I need this.
‘There are a lot of tabs here. CV? Applications? You’re buying a suit?’
‘For possible interview situations.’
‘I like this black one with the cigarette leg. It would suit you.’
‘It would, would it?’ I smile to hear him talk so perceptively about fashion.
‘I think you’d look exceptionally hot in it,’ he says, still staring at the screen. ‘I’d give you the job.’
‘Without even looking at my credentials?’ I ask judgementally.
Ben smiles, blushing as he looks down at the screen. ‘Your credentials are perfect.’
What is it about that voice? The sincerity there, the way his tone drops. I put a leg up and untie my robe so one of my breasts is exposed. ‘Which credentials are those then?’
‘This is why your inbox is full, isn’t it? You get easily distracted, eh?’ he says, refusing to look over, his eyes fixed on the screen, a grin creeping across his face.
‘And you don’t?’ I ask. I don’t normally tease like this. It’s not like me to be so playful, so coy, to invite this to happen again. I slide a hand between my legs and I’m surprised to feel that I’m already quite aroused. I feel my nipples harden, my spine tingle.
‘Here? Now?’ he asks.
‘Please.’
He bends down and puts the computer gently on the floor before allowing himself to look at me.
He reaches down and takes the hand I was touching myself with and puts those fingers in his mouth, sucking them gently, his eyes fixed on mine.
Oh my. Then he kisses my neck, running his tongue along my jaw, and hovering his body over mine.
He doesn’t act straight away. He takes a pause and looks me in the eye.
I can feel him brushing up against my thigh, the proximity of his breath and skin makes me exhale slowly.
The inbox can wait.
It really can wait.