Chapter 13
This storm is intense. Send me a message when you’re home from the restaurant.
Message from Henry to Logan
Henry
I finished showering long before Kate was done.
As I waited, I stowed away the sports bag I’d taken bouldering the day before and took Kate’s dirty blankets down to the hotel laundry.
They were wet and caked in mud. I returned and waited for Kate to emerge from the guest room.
The locked guest room. I’d heard the click of the key right after I’d left.
I didn’t mind her locking it—the room was hers for the night, after all, and she could do as she pleased.
Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d been through to make her so tense and cautious.
She said she trusted me, but her body language told a different story.
Half an hour later, I finally heard movement from the guest room, and I knew Kate had finished her bath.
I retrieved a frying pan from the cupboard and got to work in the kitchen.
I hadn’t thought it was possible, but the storm had grown even worse in the last few minutes.
The rain beat almost horizontally against the windows, and the wind whistled through every little crack.
Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed directly overhead, as if a portal to the underworld had opened up and was ready to devour London.
“I hate storms,” I suddenly heard Kate say.
I looked up from the frying pan and froze at the sight of her in the doorway, dressed in my clothes.
She was wearing my old high school rugby team hoodie, which was now far too small for me.
I’d kept it purely for sentimental reasons.
On Kate, however, it was too big, and the trousers looked ready to slip from her narrow hips.
She had the build of someone who was naturally slender, yet she still looked underweight. Unsurprising, given her circumstances.
She approached cautiously and perched on a barstool at the kitchen island.
Her towel-dried hair was dishevelled, and a delicate blush coloured her cheeks.
My chest tightened. Kate was utterly enchanting.
I, on the other hand, was an insensitive arsehole .
. . I couldn’t help but think how her hair would be even more dishevelled and her cheeks even rosier if she spent the night in my bed instead of the guest room.
Kate craned her neck to squint at the frying pan. I had sautéed tofu, peppers, and onions before adding Himalayan black salt and soy yoghurt. On the plate next to the cooker, I’d arranged toast with vegan cream cheese and grapes. Kate looked at me, her surprise evident. “You cooked for me?”
“Isn’t it a bit of a stretch to refer to making toast as cooking?” I asked, ladling the golden scrambled egg substitute onto the plate. Kate watched me with wide eyes, and I saw that they were slightly dull, as if she had been crying.
“I thought you’d order something from the kitchen.”
I frowned. “Would you prefer to have something else?”
“No! It’s just that . . .” She hesitated and bit her lower lip, as if she wasn’t sure whether she should voice what was on her mind. She stopped biting her lip and met my eyes. “I don’t get it.”
“What don’t you get?”
“You,” she said, uncertainly. “I don’t get you.”
“I’m not that complicated.”
“You are. You don’t make any sense.” She frowned and watched me so intently, it felt as though her gaze had cut through my skin and bones, baring my soul. “Why the hell are you so nice to me?”
“Because . . .” I began, but I wasn’t sure how to end the sentence. The truth was that I didn’t know either. I liked Kate, and I liked even more how normal I felt around her. Maybe I was just trying to prove I was a better person than my dad, even if helping Kate was only a drop in the ocean.
She sighed. “It doesn’t really matter. You should know I have nothing to give you, even though I am grateful. I can’t even pay you back. The money is all gone. I used it to settle some debt.”
I stepped closer and, placing my hands on the countertop, I leaned towards her until our eyes were level.
Her gaze searched my face expectantly. But I waited to speak until her eyes finally locked with mine.
“I don’t want my money back. And I don’t expect anything from you.
I chose to bring you here. All I want is for you to eat the damn tofu scramble before it gets cold, because I really made an effort. ”
Kate’s stony face relaxed. “Fine.”
I straightened up. “Are we good?”
She nodded.
“Great.” I pushed the plate toward her. “Do you want something to drink?”
“Do you have orange juice?”
Wordlessly, I turned to the fridge and poured two glasses of orange juice before setting one down next to Kate, who had started to eat. I had no idea if she really liked it or was simply famished, but she ate as though she was afraid I’d take the plate away.
“I took your blankets down to the laundry service. I’ve flagged them as priority, and you should have them back by midday tomorrow. If you want, we can send your clothes down too.”
“I already washed them in the bathtub.”
“It really wouldn’t be any trouble,” I assured her.
“Thanks, but it’s not necessary,” she said with a terse smile, and I understood.
It wasn’t about the effort or inconvenience—it was about control.
She wasn’t willing to part with her clothes any more than she was ready to let go of her rucksack, in case she had to make a sudden getaway. Whether from the hotel or even from me.
I leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Can I ask you a question?”
She looked up from her food. “Sure.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“And how long have you been homeless?”
“Almost a year.” Her answer turned my stomach. “My mum and I lost our apartment two years ago. After that, we moved in with her boyfriend. When she died, he kicked me out. I’ve mostly been sleeping in parks since then. I had a tent until a few weeks ago, but some kids destroyed it.”
“Aren’t there homeless shelters?”
Kate snorted. “There are, but they’re usually overcrowded. And even if you’re lucky enough to get a place, they’re not exactly safe places to be. Especially not for women. Most people just want a warm, dry place to sleep, but not everyone.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
She took a sip of her juice. “Why would you? I bet you’ve never had to worry about where to spend the night.”
I shook my head. “You mentioned your mum. What about your dad?”
“I never got to know him. My mum had a tough childhood. Her dad hit her. She ran away when she was seventeen and ended up homeless for the first time. She found shelter in the beds of random men and got pregnant by accident when she was eighteen. My biological father didn’t want to know.”
“Did you ever try to contact him?”
“No, why would I? I don’t need someone in my life who doesn’t want me in his.” She shrugged and popped the last bite of food into her mouth. “That was really good, by the way. You should think about becoming a chef.”
I laughed. “Better not. That’s pretty much the only thing I know how to cook.”
“So you admit it qualifies as cooking?”
“Call it what you like, but it’s all you’ll ever catch me making. Logan is the chef in my family,” I said as I stacked the dirty plates into the dishwasher, empty aside from two protein shake bottles.
“Logan is one of your brothers?”
I added the two glasses to the dishwasher. “Yes, the middle one. Ethan is the youngest.”
“And Logan is a chef?” she asked with interest.
“Yes. He owns a restaurant. The Meridian.”
“Are you close to your brothers?”
“It depends. Ethan is six years younger than me, and our lives couldn’t be more different right now.
I’m closer to Logan, but it’s not like it used to be.
We both work a lot, and we only manage to see each other for a couple of hours every month.
” I could see in Kate’s eyes that she had more questions, but I steered the conversation away.
“Enough talking. It’s late. We should sleep. I have to wake up at five.”
Kate slid from her stool. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to keep you up.”
“You didn’t. I’m sleeping pretty badly at the moment,” I admitted.
Kate offered a sympathetic smile. “Me too, but something tells me tonight will be different.”
I made my way around the kitchen counter, catching Kate giving me a once-over.
We crossed the living room together, and at the point where our paths diverged, we stopped simultaneously, almost as if we’d agreed on it.
Kate stood right in front of me, and without the kitchen counter as a buffer between us, I could smell the delicate scent of the hotel’s lavender soap.
I’d grown so used to the smell that I hardly noticed it anymore, but I was acutely aware of it on Kate.
We stood in silence, neither of us seeming ready to say goodnight.
I cleared my throat. “Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Kate smiled. “You too, Snowflake. And thank you for everything.”