these thoughts pass through my head, I suddenly feel light-headed, almost scared. Because he is right for me. He is, he is.
“So…this is it?” I say lightly. “This is what it’s all been heading for? This is as good as it gets?”
“No. It’s only going to get better.” He pulls me toward him, his mouth gently finding the crease of my neck, his body warm and safe. “It’s only going to get better.”
Twenty
The light dazzles my eyelids and I feel a mouth softly kissing mine, and I find myself looking dazedly up at Seb’s face.
Seb…Oh my God…The whole thing rushes back into my disbelieving, joyful brain.
“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t know what time you wanted to wake up….”
“Yes,” I say, rubbing my face. “No. I…Thank you. What time is it?”
“Eight.”
“Right.” I think for a moment, then find my phone in the tangle of clothes on the floor and text Greg to take charge of opening up.
“OK.” I flop back on the pillows. “I’m off the hook.”
“So am I,” admits Seb. “I’ve called into the office, told them I’ll be late. I didn’t want to rush away.” He sits on the bed and looks down at me. “Right now I don’t want to go anywhere.”
We’re silent for a while, just looking at each other. Memories of last night are flickering through my head and, I’m pretty sure, his too. As though reading my mind, he reaches for the coffee sleeve, which is lying discarded on the floor.
We scribbled a bit on that last night. It was a bit of a thing. It was fun.
“How’s my debt payment coming along?” he says, tracing his finger down the entries. “I can’t quite tell from this….”
“Oh, you’re doing well.” I grin at him. “You did me a few favors, remember?”
“I think we were about even on that score.” His eyes widen as he reads the scrawled writing, and he looks up. “Miss Farr, you have a dirty mind.”
“You can talk!” I grab the coffee sleeve off him and feign shock as I read it. “This is X-rated.” I jab at his last entry. “And I don’t even know what that means….”
“I’ll illuminate.” His eyes gleam at me. “Later. Breakfast?”
As I follow him out of the bedroom, I glance around curiously. I didn’t get much of a look at his flat yesterday. There’s a big main reception room with a kitchen off it, where Seb is filling the kettle. It has wooden floors and some modern art on the walls and two low sofas, covered in gray felt. It’s impressive. It’s cool. Although, weirdly, it doesn’t seem very him.
It’s not as nice as his office, I realize. His office is full of books and ornaments and character. This is a bit sad-looking. A bit hotel-like. The only hint of character in the place is a massive stack of magazines piled against one wall. I mean, massive. In fact, it’s lots of stacks. They stretch nearly all the way along the wall, and are at least three feet high.
As I wander over to them, I realize that some of the magazines are still in their plastic—in fact, most of them are—and they’re all titles about music: Total Guitar. Vintage Rock. Country Music. Some are quite old, but the newest ones are from last week. Does he play the guitar? He never mentioned it.
“Cup of tea?” Seb says, bringing one out. “Or I can do coffee if you prefer?”
“Tea is great.” I smile back at him. “Thanks. Nice flat! Swanky!”
It suddenly occurs to me that he probably inherited some money or whatever when his mother died. Shit. It’s probably really tactless to say how nice his flat is.
“So…music!” I say, changing the subject. I gesture at the piles of magazines. “I had no idea.”
“Oh no.” Seb follows my gaze. “That’s not me. James was the music nut. My brother.”
“Right,” I say after a pause. “Of course.” I have no idea where to go next with this conversation, because my head is full of questions but I don’t want to ask any of them aloud. Why have you got so many magazines stacked up? Why are you still subscribing to magazines you’re not interested in? Isn’t this a bit…weird?
“I should cancel the subscriptions, I guess,” says Seb easily. “I’ll do it one of these days.”
“Right,” I say again, and his voice is so relaxed, I find myself relaxing too. It’s only a quirk of his. We all have quirks.