‘And bread for toast. I’ve had some – you should probably do the same.’
‘I don’t need reminding to eat.’
‘Whatever,’ he mutters, heading for the bathroom. ‘I’m going to take a bath.’
Is it wrong of me to hope there isn’t quite enough hot water left in the tank for him to have a really good wallow?
I glance at the rain lashing the windows and sigh because it’s time for me to act like a grown-up. ‘You can stay inside tonight.’
‘Thanks.’ He turns to me in the bathroom doorway. ‘You can too.’
‘Are you always this annoying?’
‘Apparently so,’ he says, after a slight pause. He looks at me and for a moment he reminds me of someone, but I can’t think who. ‘Take the bed, I’ll use the sofa.’
Once he’s gone, I help myself to coffee and sit at the small, square dining table, warming my hands around the mug. I feel as if I’m trapped in the opening scene of a clichéd old movie, him a young Robert Redford, me the dewy-eyed Jane Fonda waiting to fall head-over-heels in love with him after our classic meet-cute. Except I’m not. I might make a living writing about love, but I’m no wet-behind-the-ears romantic, and there’s nothing cute about this encounter. The American is abrasive. Beardy. And then it comes to me who he reminds me of, and I close my eyes and sigh. My brother is a massive Star Wars geek, he watched those movies on a near loop when we were younger. I can’t say I shared his enthusiasm, but there’s no denying that a young Harrison Ford looked like he ate pure charisma for breakfast and could save the world before lunch. I’m holed up at the end of the world with Han Solo. I can only hope that Darth Vader comes over the mountain hill and takes his head off with a lightsaber.
I haven’t been to bed at seven o’clock since I was old enough to choose my own bedtime. I’ve always been more night owl than early bird, and there have been a few too many mad Saturday nights with Rubes when I haven’t been to bed at all, or else I’ve woken up in places I don’t remember falling asleep. But after the day I’ve had, my eyes keep drifting shut of their own accord.
I’ve just poured myself a second cup of coffee in an attempt to stay awake, and I’m perched on the edge of the bed. The American is still in the bath; I’ve heard the water running every now and then so I know he hasn’t nodded off and drowned.
Oh my God, the bed is divine. Suede-backed furs and heavy knitted throws all contribute to the hygge vibe. I relax back against the pillows in the low lamplight and close my eyes, and it’s easily the most blissful moment of my day. I’m not sleeping here though, regretfully. I’ll take the sofa, thank you very much, and the higher ground that goes with it. I’ll claim the bed tomorrow once he’s hightailed it out of here.
The high ground doesn’t stop me from stealing a couple of pillows and a thick blanket to make myself up a nest on the sofa; it’s kind of cosy. I settle in and finish my coffee in peace, basking in the warmth from the fire he must have lit while I was in the bath. Heaviness slides through my bones as I put my empty cup down and close my eyes, then I jolt straight back up again because the bathroom door flies open and I’m no longer alone.
‘I’m taking the sofa,’ I say primly, pulling the blankets up to my chin.
He glances from the sofa to the bed, and for a moment it feels as if he’s going to argue the toss, but he just shrugs. ‘Up to you.’
I shrug too, like kids caught in an ‘I’m less bothered than you’ competition as he roots around in his massive bag.
‘I’m gonna have a beer.’
‘Suit yourself.’
‘That’s what I’m here for.’
‘I’m sorry?’
He digs out a four-pack of Budweiser, cracking one open before stashing the rest in the fridge. ‘That’s what I came here for. To suit myself.’
I nearly engage, then take a deep breath. I don’t need to know. ‘You can stay in here tonight, but come tomorrow you need to suit yourself somewhere else.’
He stares out of the dark kitchen window and takes a long drink, huffing under his breath. ‘It’s been a hell of a day.’
I don’t appreciate that he’s swerved the conversation, but I’m too weary to have this battle now. It’ll keep until morning. I flick the table lamp out and plunge the lodge into sudden darkness, and I don’t know if it makes me a terrible person but I get a small flush of satisfaction when he bangs into the table as he navigates the unfamiliar space for the bed. I wait as he swears and jostles around; the sound of clothes coming off, blankets being pulled up, pillows being punched.