Chapter 38
38
‘Do you think we have everything we need?’ Caleb asks, flashing me that irresistible grin of his.
‘Absolutely,’ I reply. ‘I suppose pancakes are the kind of meal where you can just buy endless ingredients to put on top of them. But we have the basics, and if I buy any more fruit, spreads or sauces I will officially be eating more topping than I am pancakes.’
Caleb laughs.
I feel like I’m in a bit of a dream today. I mean, Caleb Carney is cooking me brunch, which is something I never thought I would say, but everything feels strangely perfect. It’s like the scene has been set, just for me. The air is crisp, the sky is a perfect shade of blue, and I’m pretty sure I hear upbeat music playing somewhere in the distance as we walk back to the chalet, from the food shop in the resort.
We’ve been talking about his books all day – and ideas for future books too. I feel like my suggestions for how to give his books more universal appeal have lit this creative fire under him, and now he can’t stop. He’s got so many ideas, and I’m genuinely surprised by how well we riff off each other. It’s like we’re on the same wavelength, each idea rolling back and forth between us, like a snowball, getting bigger each time.
‘Okay, how about this,’ Caleb starts, his eyes darting around with excitement. ‘A famous chef is found dead in his own kitchen. The detective assigned to the case is this brilliant but reclusive guy with a twisty backstory. He starts falling for the chef’s sous-chef, who is also the prime suspect.’
‘Oh, that’s tasty,’ I say, naturally moving closer to him as ideas pop into my head. ‘And maybe the sous-chef has her own twisty past. She’s been running from something, and she’s got secrets that make her look guilty, but she’s not.’
‘Exactly! And as the detective digs deeper, he realises that the chef’s death is connected to a string of unsolved murders from years ago,’ he continues. ‘The sous-chef’s past might hold the key to solving them all. Oh, I know, I’m a big fan of Vertigo , so what if the sous-chef looks exactly like the detective’s dead ex-wife, to the point where he is suspicious that it might actually be her.’
‘Oh, I love that!’ I exclaim. ‘And the romantic tension builds as they work together. Maybe they start out distrusting each other, but there are all these moments where they have to rely on one another. They realise they misjudged one another, and it’s only through working together that they get the chance to realise they should be together.’
‘Yes!’ Caleb says, practically dancing on the spot. ‘And there could be this big twist where they discover that the real killer has been watching them the whole time, trying to manipulate them into turning against each other.’
‘I have about ten different ideas, for who the real killer could be,’ I tell him.
But then my logical brain catches up with my creative one, when I remember that this is Caleb’s work, not mine.
‘Right, I’m making brunch, you just relax,’ Caleb insists as we step into the warmth of the chalet.
‘I feel bad, you doing all the work,’ I say. ‘Is there anything I can take photos of?’
‘Have a look through the bag of stuff,’ he tells me. ‘There are some skincare products – face masks and stuff like that – if you wanted to have a play around with those. We’ll have to get creative, with the angles, maybe photograph the product on your hands, the back of your head as you reach to apply it – I don’t know. See what you can find, and what you think we can make work.’
‘Okay, sure,’ I say.
I rummage through the case full of things to promote and notice some lingerie mixed in with the skincare products. Caleb had mentioned that these items come with the biggest price tag, and while I always thought he was all about the money, knowing how much he donates to charity makes me more eager to help out. Plus, you know, with my own latest project being destroying my own career, my share of the proceeds will definitely go to good use.
I figure I can wear the lace cami and use some of the skincare products at the same time, killing two birds with one stone. The focus on my face (while still trying not to show too much of my face, bizarrely) will make the underwear shots more subtle? Maybe? The voice in my head doesn’t even sound convinced, but it’s worth a go.
Holding my glasses in one hand (they don’t fit the character I’m playing, and I have a sticky green face mask on), I wander into the living room to get Caleb to carefully snap the photos for me.
‘Hey, I have an idea,’ I say, explaining my plan. Caleb seems to be staring at me, but without my glasses, I can’t see his expression.
‘If you’ve got a spare minute, I thought we could combine the lingerie shots with the skincare ones? It feels like a sneaky way to plug the undies, without me having to go full glamour model, because I am neither glamorous, nor a model, so…’
I can just about tell that he’s looking at me but I still can’t make out his expression, and he seems awfully quiet.
‘Yeah, that sounds great,’ he eventually says. ‘I’ll grab my camera. You look amazing, by the way.’
Hmm, I’m not sure about that one. I feel like my general awkwardness is making me look stiff and strange, like I’m not at home on this planet, never mind in fancy underwear. But I’m being motivated by the money. More money for me, more money for Caleb, more money for charity. Can you think of a more noble reason to slip on a nightie?
I blush, glad he can’t see my face clearly under the mask.
‘Thanks,’ I mumble, feeling a mix of nerves and unexpected excitement.
‘Honestly, you look great,’ he says again, clearly picking up on my body language. ‘And you know you don’t have to promote this stuff if you don’t want to, we’ve got plenty of other bits.’
‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I insist, literally trying to shake it off – but carefully, so I don’t flash him. ‘I was thinking you could just get arty shots – just glimmers of what I’m wearing, rather than body shots. Either way… I just feel a bit silly.’
‘Hey, if you feel silly, I’ll just do my best to focus on your face this time.’
‘Fab,’ I say, feeling more at ease already.
He starts lining up shots, and although I don’t feel uncomfortable with him, I do feel a bit like an underwear model. Oh, if my parents could see me now.
‘Amber?’ I hear my dad’s voice call out.
I freeze on the spot. I imagined that, right? My dad isn’t here, he can’t be, and even if he were, how would he get in the chalet?
‘Amber,’ he calls out again.
Right, that’s definitely my dad’s voice.
I grab my glasses from where I set them down on the table, next to my laptop, and pop them on my face – face mask be damned – and that’s when I notice my dad’s face on my laptop screen. Oh, shit. He’s right there, in real time, looking bewildered, and I am just gawping back at him.
Panic mode: activated. I bolt from the living room, sprinting to the bedroom, and then into the bathroom, slamming the door behind me. What just happened? I try to piece it together, my heart racing. My laptop must have heard something that sounded like a request to FaceTime my dad, I’m guessing, because there he was. Oh God, there he was. And there I was, in full view of the camera, posing for photos in my underwear.
I wipe off the green face mask, hoping the redness on my face is from some kind of reaction to it, but no, it’s sheer embarrassment.
I can hear voices in the other room – my dad and Caleb chatting. Oh, why are they still chatting? Great, just great.
I lean against the bathroom door, debating my next move. I can’t stay in here forever, can I? Can I? No, I can’t.
Eventually, with a deep breath, I put my top back on – a real top – and reluctantly head back out into the living room.
As I approach the dining area, I see Caleb and my dad deep in conversation. Caleb spots me and grins, then turns to the screen. ‘Ah, Johnny, here she is.’
I approach the laptop cautiously, like I’m a teenager again, and like my dad has the power to reach through the screen, grab me, drag me home, and ground me for catching me with a boy.
‘Hi, Dad,’ I say, trying to sound casual, like this isn’t the most embarrassing moment of my life – and, believe me, there are some other strong contenders this week alone.
Dad looks… happy? That’s odd. I’m not sure I’ve seen my dad look happy since, I don’t know, the nineties.
‘Amber, Caleb explained everything. I get it – good work if you can get it,’ Dad tells me.
I laugh awkwardly.
‘Erm, thanks, Dad. Are you okay?’ I ask.
‘Yes, I’m fine. Just checking in,’ he says. ‘Nice to meet you, Caleb. Thanks for the chat.’
‘Nice to meet you too, Johnny,’ he tells him. ‘Anytime.’
After a bit more small talk between the three of us, we end the call.
Caleb turns to me, still smiling.
‘Your dad is great,’ he tells me.
‘Is he?’ I reply, almost suspiciously. ‘I feel like the two of you were talking for ages, while I was dying of shame in the bathroom. Historically, the longer people chat with my dad, the less likely they are to refer to him as great…’
Caleb just laughs this off.
‘We were just chatting,’ he tells me again. ‘And he really does seem great. You’re lucky to have him.’
I don’t think he was trying to make me feel bad with that comment, I think he genuinely meant it, but it does give me a reality check. I’ll bet Caleb would love to have a dad like mine and, jokes aside, I know that I’m lucky to have him really. Even if he is stressing me out lately.
‘Thanks for smoothing the awkward situation over with him,’ I tell him. ‘I don’t know what I would have said.’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ he replies. ‘He really was chill about it and, look, we don’t need to take any underwear photos. To be honest, we’ve taken plenty of photos, we don’t need to do any more. I know you’ve only got a couple of days left so I thought I would take you out for the day tomorrow, what do you say?’
‘Oh, you don’t have to do that,’ I reply.
‘I’ve got it all planned out,’ he insists. ‘Plus, it might be good for book inspiration – bad or good. What do you reckon?’
He smiles at his little joke and I can’t help but smile back.
‘Okay, yeah, sure,’ I say, my excitement building. ‘Sounds great. Just when I think I’ve seen everything the resort has to offer…’
‘Well, I don’t want to ruin the surprise, but I’m taking you out of the resort,’ he tells me. ‘But that’s all I’m saying.’
Oh wow, outside the resort. This place has so much going on, I hadn’t even considered the idea of leaving. Then again, I am supposed to be on a writers’ retreat, but also, it turns out it’s a writers’ retreat where no one actually writes, they just drink wine and try to bang the staff.
I wonder where Caleb could be taking me, and I can’t wait to find out, but first it’s time for pancakes. This day just keeps getting better and better.