The Piano Man Project Page 0,34

lighten the conversation. His brooding silence implied that she may have got it wrong. Eventually, he shrugged.

‘I’m not an expert. Not anymore.’

She swallowed, sensing him open and then close, clam-like. ‘But you used to be?’

‘I used to be lots of things. Now I’m just your miserable neighbour who taught you to make bolognese so you don’t burn the house down on Friday.’

He’d opened up the line of conversation about his previous life, and then neatly shut it down. A win, and then a lose. Honey noticed and didn’t push him, but all the same she hoped the day would come when he let her in closer.

‘Will you ever let me live the bacon incident down?’

‘Probably not.’ He slid from the stool and stood up. ‘I should go. You’ll be alright on your own with that now.’

‘Stay and eat it with me?’

He shook his head and drained the last of the wine from his glass. ‘It needs hours. If I stay, we both know you won’t be able to avoid talking about that kiss again.’

Honey laughed softly, relieved he’d made light of it. ‘Stop bringing it up then. I can’t even remember it.’

He smiled, one of his rare, real, gorgeous smiles that melted her knees and made it hard to stay upright.

‘Good to know,’ he said. ‘Me neither.’

‘Then we’re cool,’ she said, watching him leave and wishing he’d stay. He turned back as he opened his own door.

‘Remember the rules, Honeysuckle. Low and slow.’

Honey stared at his all-too-familiar closed door after he’d closed it and shook her head. Dinner for one it was then.

Later that evening, Hal heard a tap at his door and stiffened. It could only be Honey, and he couldn’t handle any more of her today. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy her company; the opposite, in fact. Little by little he was allowing himself to rely on her, and that wasn’t fair. The more time he spent with her, the more he looked forward to the next time, and that was only ever going to lead to problems for both of them. Maybe she saw him as a challenge, or, being uncharitable, maybe she saw him as a novelty, but she certainly didn’t see the man he really was. She didn’t see the darkness in him, the anger, the abyss he teetered on the very edge of much of the time. He was using her in a way that was wholly unacceptable, she just hadn’t realised it yet. She didn’t see that he was using her as a guy rope to stop him from falling over the edge altogether.

Honey was screwing him up with her funny-girl lines, and her good intentions, and her kisses that made him forget about the bad stuff. She’d practically begged him to be the man who helped her find her orgasm, and in the heat of the moment he’d wanted to be that man too, not Deano the unchivalrous one, nor Robin who still lived with his mother, or anyone else, for that matter. Him. He’d wanted nothing other than to take her to bed, to learn her curves with his hands and his mouth, to build her up until he felt her body shudder and break underneath him. He could do that for her. He’d kissed her only once, but it had been enough for him to know that he could make that girl come, and come, and come.

But then what? He didn’t want a relationship, so he’d hurt her, and how could he live here after that? The harsh truth was that he had nowhere else to go, and nothing to offer.

He’d come here to learn how to stand on his own two feet, and he was increasingly learning how to lean on Honey’s shoulder, and it had to stop. And so he sat on the edge of his sofa and listened to her call out his name, lightly at first and then tinged with panic when he didn’t reply. He couldn’t go out there. She’d brought him dinner, she said. Too much bolognese for one, she said.

‘You’ve got a fucking freezer,’ he called out, to let her know he was still alive. ‘Use it for something other than vodka for a change.’

He could feel her confusion, and her ensuing silence told him that his harsh words had probably hurt her, which only pissed him off more. He didn’t have the energy to think of someone else’s feelings; yet another reason not to let her any deeper under his skin.

‘I’ll