Page 90 of Someone Like You

‘Thanks, Gabs,’ he says, his voice choked with emotion. Now I’m blinking back tears of my own.

‘Sure,’ I say lightly. ‘Now go to sleep. Big day tomorrow.’

He rolls over again, the noise of the air mattress making us both laugh.

‘Dork,’ I say to the darkness, and Raff chuckles softly.

22

GABY

When I wake, I’m so groggy, it takes me a moment to remember where I am. As it starts to crystalise – I’m in Seattle in my old bedroom – there’s a jolt of panic as I sense someone else in my bed.

I crack my eyelids and Raff’s lying on his side facing me, fast asleep, his lips parted.

Oh, yeah, we’re sleeping together now.

Well, notsleeping togethersleeping together but after twenty minutes listening to Raff’s restless – and valiant – attempt to fall asleep on that shitty, farty air mattress, I sat up and said, ‘Just sleep up here with me.’

He objected, like he did when I offered him the front seat of Dad’s SUV, but I insisted harder than him. Eventually, exhaustion won the fight and he climbed into my bed. He was asleep in seconds.

I, however, lay awake for another half-hour, listening to him breathing and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to get through the next week. The man is now in my bed. All I want to do is snuggle up close to him and nestle into the crook of his arm.

It also hit me in the middle of the night as I tossed and turnedfor the umpteenth time that the last man who slept in this bed with me was Eric.

Raff inhales deeply and scrubs a hand over his face. Slowly opening his eyes, he says, ‘Morning, Gabs.’ Then he frowns at me. ‘Wait, is it morning? I feel like I’ve slept for two days.’

I reach for my phone, which is charging on the bedside table. ‘It’s a little after seven, so yeah, it’s morning. And fair warning, Gina and Roland will already be up, showered, dressed, and raring to go.’

He protests the arrival of the new day with a dramatic moan and I giggle. ‘Aren’t you supposed to be a morning person?’ I tease.

‘After flying long haul, it turns out I am a nothing person. I feel like I’ve been hit by a steam train.’

‘How very nineteenth century of you. Come on,’ I say, jostling him. ‘Don’t forget, there’s an action-packed itinerary today – Christmas tree shopping, decorating the tree –andthe house.’

‘Right. How much of that can be done from here?’

‘From bed?’

‘Mm-hmm. I could stay here all day.’

You and me both, I think – super unhelpful. I need to get up before I accidentally throw myself at my best friend. Because it turns out that sleep-rumpled and jetlagged Raff is sexy – right down to the gravelly voice.

His phone chimes with an incoming text and he reaches for it, navigating with his thumb. He smiles as he reads.

‘Julia,’ he says, his eyes transfixed by whateverJuliahas typed.

He doesn’t tell me anything else and although part of me wants to know what level of texting they’re at – friendly, flirty, sexy, explicit??? – the rest of me knows better than to torture myself trying to guess.

‘I’ll be quick,’ I say, heading into the bathroom and locking the door.

I gaze at myself in the mirror – unlike Seattle, it isn’t pretty. Raff may feel like he’s been hit by a train, but Ilooklike it.

Still, what’s the point of looking good for a guy who is currently texting another woman – a woman who is talented and renowned and (by any measure) really frigging gorgeous?

I open my mouth and silently scream, my hands clenched into fists and my eyes scrunched closed. It feels good to embrace the tension, taking it to the brink and releasing it, but the panacea is temporary and when I step out of the shower, my stomach is tied in knots again.

‘Hello? Anyone home?’

---