Page 20 of One Bed

‘I could say the same for you.’

Shock at his words glued her feet to the courtyard’s large cobblestones. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded.

‘You’re hiding something,’ he said, in a voice so bland he could’ve been ordering coffee. ‘You watch your words, as if you’re scared to let something slip.’

How…?Howdid he know that? Did he suspect she was Parker Kane? But how could he? They’d only recently met! Was he just super perceptive or did every emotion skitter across her face? She suspected it was a combination of the two, a little of the first, and a lot of the second.

‘I’m not interesting enough to have secrets,’ she told him.

‘Oh, I disagree,’ he drawled. His gaze drifted over her face, making her feel hot and cold and her heart rate accelerated. Why did he have such an effect on her and how was she going to get herself under control?

Bea blushed. Suddenly she was standing on the edge of a bubbling volcano, both mesmerised and terrified. She stepped back and whipped her eyes away. She desperately needed to put some distance, mental and physical, between her and Gib.

‘You’re a lot spikier than you were when you were six.’

‘There’s this new concept, I don’t know if you’ve heard about it, it’s called growing up.’

He almost smiled. ‘More sarcastic, too. And you’re still a neat freak. I remember you making your bed every day and stacking your books in perfect piles.’

‘And you barely remembered to brush your teeth,’ she shot back. ‘Did you shower once during those six weeks?’

He smiled. ‘I was swimming so much, I didn’t see the point. Dad and I had a few arguments about that. And about me coming home way after curfew.’

‘I know, dinner was delayed night after night,’ she grumbled.

He didn’t seem to hear her. ‘God, that summer … it was amazing.’

‘Life is easier when you’re young. Ten or eleven is the perfect age. Not old enough for hormones to have kicked in, young enough not to care what people think about you. Insanely curious, deeply loyal. Energetic and interested in the world around you.’

‘You must’ve had a hell of a year when you were ten,’ he said.

Actually, no. Ten was when she’d segued into becoming a mini adult, when she realised that other kids didn’t know how to make scrambled eggs and macaroni cheese, or how to order food and household necessities online using their father’s credit card. It was the year she’d realised she lived in a different world from her peers, an adult world, and started to pull back from her friends, to create her own world on paper. Shortly after her tenth birthday, Bea started writing letters to Pip, her imaginary penpal. Describing the adventures they could have was her steam valve, a means of escape. It was from those lonely letters that the Urban Explorers were born

She now clearly remembered Gib back then, his hair lightened by the sun, his light eyes a perfect contrast to his nut-brown body. He must have been lurking in her subconscious for years, manifesting as her beloved Pip down the line.

And, yes, that freaked her out. She’d think about that later, (possibly never), it was too much to take in, to work through, now. She crossed her arms over her chest and rocked on her heels. ‘We should go in, Golly is a stickler for punctuality.’

And because life kept throwing shade at her, she still had to eat Reena’s fiery Chicken 65.

Joy.

ChapterFive

The kitchen in the villa was, by far, Bea’s favourite room. A battered, well-scrubbed twelve-seater pine table with mismatched chairs tucked under it stood in the middle of the room, its sturdy legs resting on greeny-ochre limestone tiles. Herbs grew in pots on the windowsill. The granite counters mimicked the floor and bright colours in the splashback – Mediterranean reds, oranges and yellows added pops of colour. There were two copper sinks and a huge sea-blue fridge. Like so much in the house, the contrasting colours shouldn’t work, but they did.

Bea drained the glass of freshly squeezed lemonade Reena handed her, and after kicking off her sandals, she lifted the lid to the serving dish sitting on the table, wincing when the smell incinerated the inside of her nose. She could tell, from the colour and the aroma, that the fried chicken was way hotter than normal.

‘What happened?’ she asked.

Reena grimaced. ‘A slight measurement problem.’

Bea took the clean fork Reena held out to her and peeled back a sliver of chicken. It was barely warm and would be a perfect filling, if edible, for the thick slabs of freshly baked sourdough Nadia made earlier. Bea lifted the fork to her lips and took a cautious bite.

The heat rolled over her tongue and caught at the back of her throat.Hoo-boy!She waved her hand in front of her mouth, thinking that she might end up with blisters on her tongue.

Reena sent her an anxious look. ‘Too hot?’

‘Holy crap, Reen,’ Bea replied, still waving her mouth.

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