Chapter 8 #2
‘No, you’re right, Derek, as always. Total waste of time,’ I backtracked, trying to pander to his already oversized ego. Anything to avoid having to be in the same postcode as Luca Patel.
‘OK, you’ve twisted my arm,’ Derek conceded, flat-out ignoring what I’d just said.
My jaw clenched some more. ‘Have an outline on my desk by the end of the day,’ he barked, squeezing himself into the chair next to me and shovelling a forkful of lasagne into his mouth.
A globule of tomatoey mince dropped down his shirt, another landing on my notebook.
Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse.
‘So, are you going to knock any time soon or did we just come to admire the cornicing?’
Joe was leaning against the wall at the top of the stairs, one ankle slung over the other as he stared amusedly at me.
My watch informed me I’d been stood in front of Luca’s front door for twelve agonising minutes now.
The very fact that somewhere along the way I’d started referring to it as Luca’s front door only fuelled my rage further.
‘I mean it is technically his front door now, seeing as he lives here.’
I scowled at him, hating it when he read my mind. ‘Whose side are you on?’
Joe chuckled. He was clearly enjoying this.
‘Never thought I’d see the day that Jenny Thompson was afraid of a man.’
‘Please. I am not afraid of Luca Patel,’ I scoffed, my scowl deepening.
‘Whatever you say, baby.’ A smile played on his lips, his dimples cutting two endearing divots into his cheeks. My eyes narrowed. I knew what he was doing. He was goading me.
‘Buk buk buk buk ba-gawk!’ Joe squawked, hands buried in his armpits as he flapped both elbows like an overgrown chicken.
‘OK, OK,’ I huffed, taking a step towards the front door. But the door swung inwards before I even had a chance to knock. A floppy-haired teenage boy stood blinking back at me in the doorway.
‘Really, this guy? What are you so afraid of? That he’s going to tell everyone not to sit next to you at school?’ Joe teased, clocking the kid’s Marvel t-shirt and neon Air Jordans.
‘That’s not him,’ I hissed over my left shoulder, although apparently not subtly enough, as I watched the boy’s expression shift from one of confusion to evident concern at the strange lady talking to herself.
‘Harry, you forgot your sheet music again. How are you going to practise if you don’t have your – you’ve got to be kidding me.
’ Luca appeared behind the boy, his ink-stained fingers clutching several sheets of paper, and his face doing some weird scrunched-up thing that made it look like he was sucking a lemon.
‘I’ve come to talk to you,’ I said. Obviously.
Luca sighed, already sounding exasperated. ‘Well, it’s a relief to hear you’re not here to break in – again .’
Joe sucked his breath in between his teeth. ‘Ooh, burn, Jenny.’
I took a deep breath, wishing for once that Joe was not here right now. A sentiment that poor Harry clearly shared as he grabbed the sheet music from Luca’s hand, shoved it carelessly into his backpack and made a speedy exit down the staircase.
‘I didn’t know you taught private lessons too.’ I didn’t bother to hide the tone of surprise from my voice.
‘Pays the bills.’ He shrugged, his shoulders filling the width of the doorway as he leaned against the architrave. ‘Besides, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.’
I snorted. ‘I highly doubt that.’
‘It might be hard to believe, but there’s a lot more to me than just my good looks and obvious charm.’ He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively, his mouth curving into a frustratingly symmetrical smile as he clocked my discomfort.
‘God, this guy’s positively dreamy.’ Joe fake swooned to my right. Momentarily forgetting where I was, my head snapped to face him.
‘ You are not helping! ’ I hissed angrily.
I turned back to see Luca frowning at me. This in itself was not unusual. It was his facial expression for 99% of our interactions. It was the apprehensive flitting of his eyes to my right, where Joe was stood, that was a cause for concern. I gulped.
‘That’s not helping,’ I repeated, this time staring unwaveringly at Luca as though he’d been the intended recipient of said statement all along.
His brow smoothed; any previous doubt washed away with a smug smile of satisfaction.
He took a step closer. He smelt of coffee – earthy and strong – and shower gel, that musky sandalwood scent you just know comes in a blue bottle.
‘Am I making you uncomfortable, Thompson?’
‘Nauseous is the word I’d use,’ I said indignantly, but my cheeks burned. I could feel his smile. The way it made my insides squirm. It annoyed me that he thought he was the source of my discomfort. Not my dead fiancé stood four inches to my right. ‘Look, I’ve come to talk to you about something.’
‘So you keep saying,’ Luca drawled. He was humouring me, which just riled me up even more. I took a deep breath, counting to ten before I trusted myself to respond.
‘My boss wants me to do a bigger feature on the community centre – keep the public updated on your fundraising efforts, interview some of the parents, maybe even the staff?’
Luca’s eyes narrowed, that one strand of hair that corkscrewed at the end falling just so across his left eyebrow.
He was clearly as conflicted as I was. Desperate to do anything he could to protect the future of the community centre, to make a difference to those children’s lives, but equally would rather walk across hot coals than spend a single second in my company. Well, the feeling was mutual, matey.
‘So, I’ll need to come by the community centre again?’ I added, looking impatiently at my watch rather than his face, as if I had someplace else to be.
His cupid’s bow quirked. ‘How .?.?. convenient.’
That flicker of amusement dancing behind his eyes made my teeth grind. It annoyed me that he thought he knew what was happening here, when he didn’t have a fucking clue. But it bothered me even more that I cared. That he got under my skin so easily, leaving it prickling.
‘Trust me, it was not my idea.’
He leaned closer, shielding one side of his mouth with his hand as he whispered, ‘I’ll pretend I believe you.’
God, he was incorrigible. I rolled my eyes, throwing Joe a warning look as he snorted with laughter beside me. When I turned back, Luca’s expression was fixed, his lips slightly parted.
‘What?’ I frowned, my arms crossed defensively.
‘Why are you doing this?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Helping me. You hate me.’
‘True,’ I admitted, with a level of sarcasm that hid more complex emotions.
Emotions like fear of what might happen if I lost my job.
Whether I’d finally crumble into a million pieces like a game of Jenga, the one remaining constant in my life being pulled out from under me enough to send the already swaying tower crashing down. Game over.
The fingers of my right hand found my engagement ring, twisting the cool, platinum band round and round, forcing myself not to look in Joe’s direction. ‘I know this is probably a foreign concept, but this isn’t actually about you .’ I smiled with mock sweetness.
‘1-0 to Miss Thompson,’ Joe intoned, licking his finger and drawing a 1 on an imaginary scoreboard.
‘You’re right,’ Luca said stiffly. I blinked, taken aback by him agreeing with me. ‘It’s about you tragically looking for any excuse to spend time with me . It’s not your fault, really. I’m told I’m next to impossible to resist.’ He winked at me, eyes sparkling with amusement.
‘And the underdog comes from behind to even the scoreboard at 1-1.’ Joe tittered, his voice rising and falling like an overexcited sports commentator.
‘Forget it, I knew this was a waste of time. I’ll tell my boss he made a mistake—’ I turned on my heel, purposefully whacking Luca with my handbag as I hoisted it onto my shoulder. I was four steps down the worn carpeted staircase when he caved.
‘Fine!’
I paused, my back to him. ‘Fine, what?’
Luca sighed impatiently. ‘You know what.’
‘I honestly don’t know what you mean,’ I said innocently, descending another one, two, three steps.
‘Are you really going to make me say it?’
I turned, fingertips drumming against the banister.
‘Fine. Yes, I would like your help. I need your help. There, are you happy?’ His hands smacked against the sides of his jeans in frustration, jaw clenched with discomfort at having to ask for it. I took a mental picture in my head.
‘Ecstatic,’ I grinned triumphantly, before continuing down the stairs.
2-1 to me.