Page 137 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

It felt like he was, out on that dancefloor.

I breathe in and open the bedroom door.

I lounge nonchalantly.

At least I would have done if I hadn’t misjudged completely where the door frame was and stumbled backwards my hands flapping in mid-air like a demented pigeon.

I’m super-glad it’s dark as I’m pretty sure there’s a gigantic smile on George’s face as he reaches forward to catch me. Again.

‘I was beginning to think I’d learned your deepest secret,’ George says, large hands righting me before dropping away again leaving me bereft.

‘Huh?’

‘That you sleep standing up in your shower, instead of in a bed?’

Oh. ‘Um, right. That’s me. A bat.’

‘You sleep upside down as well? Does that mean I get the bed?’

‘You should absolutely take the bed,’ I say instantly. ‘Because—’ Don’t look down. Do not look down. ‘Big.’ The word comes out on a half swallow as my gaze betrays me to take in a sightseeing tour of his torso in the light from the bathroom. There is absolutely nothing cheesy about the tour.

‘Kidding,’ he chuckles. ‘There’s no way you’re taking the trundle. I’ll be perfectly fine on it.’

For a few seconds it’s like we’re daring each other not to let our gazes drop again to greedily feast. In the atmosphere, thick with promise, my heart beats crazy fast and it feels like I lean in closer but then he’s moving away, leaving me off balance and with no other choice but to cross the bedroom floor to slip into my childhood bed, alone. In the darkness I turn onto my side to stare at him and can just about make out his biceps on arms folded back behind his head. Biceps I remember feeling when his arms wrapped around me on the dancefloor.

‘I think I was expecting boy band posters.’ His voice is quiet in the dark.

I think I was expecting sex! It takes me a moment to accept that I got it majorly wrong. That while I was in the bathroom with my excited feelings, George was wandering around my room soaking up the teenage atmosphere. ‘You don’t like my covers of Interior Design Weekly and Best Home?’ I manage to ask.

‘Are you kidding? They’re a fascinating insight into the younger you. I particularly like the handwritten list of cleaning hacks,’ he says. ‘Especially the one where you talk about shoving everything under your bed for instant results.’

I can’t help a smile forming. ‘That might have been more about annoying my mother than flexing my design skills.’ I strive for different territory. One where my eyes aren’t gawping and my ears aren’t straining for the sound of the beat of his heart – is it mimicking mine? Is it steady? Thready? ‘What was your room like growing up?’

He’s quiet for so long I wonder if he’ll answer at all, and then I hear him say, ‘It was still and spotless.’

‘You already know I crush over spotless, but I guess at frantic times, stillness can be soothing. Healing.’

‘I guess.’

‘Not so for you?’

There’s a heartfelt sigh and then, ‘It’s hard to feel alive when you have to be so…’

‘Still?’

‘Yeah. But then, that stillness helped provide a good study environment as I got older.’

‘And probably fostered a good imagination.’

He laughs and it gets me all tingly. ‘How did you manage to turn that into something dirty?’

He laughs again and I close my eyes and think that along with all the heady anticipation, the closeness and the intimacy on that dancefloor, there’d been something even more syrupy seductive. There’d been laughter.

So much laughter.

As warming as being enveloped in a silk comforter.

Of course, even better would be wrapped up in a silk comforter with George.

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