Page 62 of One Month's Notice

“Please wait!” She heard his voice in the air, but it was too late. She was exhausted and wanted nothing more than to just disappear into the night.

Chapter twenty-six

Saturday 28th May, morning

Nat’s eyes blinked open to the harsh morning light, her head pounding like a drum. She groaned and pulled the covers tighter over her aching body. The events of the previous night replayed themselves in her mind. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing the memories to blur and dissipate. The argument with Michael had escalated quickly. Her response to finding out he had confided in Clara about her shortcomings at work—a trusted old friend—felt like an overreaction more suited to a teenager. Her tongue felt like sandpaper, and the room spun slightly as she shifted under the covers. Last night’s mascara itched against her cheeks, a grimy reminder of the tears shed.

A knock interrupted her self-pitying thoughts.

“Nat? Are you awake?” Lucy’s voice drifted into the room as she opened the bedroom door.

Nat grumbled something unintelligible in response.

“You have a visitor downstairs,” Lucy said, her tone low and mysterious. Nat sat up, wincing at the pain in her head from the sudden movement.

“Who is it?”

“I think you need to find out for yourself.” Lucy pulled a face.

“Can’t they just leave a message?” Nat was not prepared for unexpected company. She hoped Lucy would have some sympathy and give her an easy escape.

“Trust me, you’re going to want to see who it is.” There was a pause and a shuffle of feet. “And, um… maybe wash your face first. You know, freshen up a bit. You look like a panda caught in a downpour.”

Nat exhaled, a wry smile tugging at her lips despite herself. Leave it to Lucy to deliver a brutal truth with the softest blow. With considerable effort, she peeled herself off the bed, every joint protesting.

“Fine.” She wriggled herself into a dressing gown. “But this had better be good.”

“It will be,” Lucy reassured her. Mischief danced in her eyes, suggesting she knew more than she was letting on. She closed the door and disappeared downstairs.

Nat made her way to the bathroom, grimacing as she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. She rinsed her face under the cold tap. The biting chill helped banish some of the fog in her head. With a squeeze of toothpaste, she began scrubbing her teeth vigorously, hoping the minty flavour would settle her queasy stomach. She swept a cotton pad dampened with make-up remover over the dark rings around her eyes, revealing puffy lids and bloodshot whites. After splashing some cold water on her face again, she felt a little more human, though her pulsing headache was a harsh reminder of last night’s overindulgence.

Nat rummaged through the clothes in her drawers, finding comfort in the soft fabric of her jogging bottoms and an over-sized sweatshirt. Both items were reassuringly familiar after a night spent in clothes she wasn’t used to wearing. The navy silk dress was beautiful, but it was definitely something just for special occasions. A pair of fluffy sock soothed her feet, still aching from dancing in high-heeled shoes.

She took a deep breath and made her way downstairs. The sound of muffled voices came from the kitchen and she paused at the doorway, bracing herself for whatever lay beyond. As she rounded the corner, the sight stopped her in her tracks. Michael was leaning against the counter-top, casual in a way that felt very unfamiliar to Nat. His usually perfectly styled hair hung loosely in waves, framing those intense blue eyes that could see right through her. As his eyes searched hers, Nat felt her cheeks heat up. She didn’t know if she was ready to deal with this right now.

“Hi,” she said finally, her voice coming out a little breathless.

“Hi.” Michael gave Nat an awkward smile. “I’m sorry to bother you on your day off.”

Simon stood next to him, taking the role of makeshift barista very seriously. His movements were methodical and precise, ensuring the perfect blend and temperature.

“Morning,” he said, without looking up. He was mid-pour, the rich aroma of coffee filling the space between them. “Coffee?”

“Please,” she croaked, her voice betraying the remnants of last night.

Simon slid a steaming mug across the island towards her, the black liquid sloshing perilously close to the rim.

“Thanks.” Nat reached for the drink, wrapping her hands around the warmth. She hesitated before taking a sip, allowing the bitterness to snap her awake.

“Right, I’ll leave you two to it.” Simon adjusted his glasses with an air of finality.

The air shifted with his departure, charged with an unspoken tension that buzzed between Nat and Michael. The silence stretched out, filled only by the tick of the clock and the occasional shuffle of their feet.

“Nice sweatshirt,” Michael said after a moment, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

“Um, thanks.” A hint of self-consciousness crept up into Nat’s cheeks. She pulled the fabric closer around her and felt an unexpected sensation in her throat. “What can I do for you?” She tried to swallow the lump down.

“I wanted to talk to you.” Michael’s jaw tightened and he took a deep breath. “About last night. I’m sorry for what Clara said. I’m sorry that I talked about you to her and made you feel like I don’t care.” He set down his coffee mug with a soft clink against the granite counter-top and ran a hand through his hair.

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