Page 87 of The Wake-Up Call

“On the hotel’s Kickstarter page.”

I stare at her.

“Poor Mandy set it up,” she says, laughing at my shocked expression. “She’s been doing all sorts with the internet on her shifts.” She sighs, settling back into her armchair as Izzy returns with cups of tea. “We’re making a little money on there. But it won’t be enough. We need real investment. I’ve seen your email, Lucas, and I’ve not replied because frankly it’s far too depressing for words. I’ve tried everything, every loan, everyone. Louis Keele is our last hope.”

I notice that I am grinding my teeth, and hope that it isn’t audible. I don’t trust Louis’s intentions with Forest Manor one bit.

“Izzy, I know you’ve formed a friendship with Louis—of course I wouldn’t want to ask you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with...”

It’s definitely audible now.

“But could you just get a sense of whether there’s any hope there? Whether hemight...”

“Of course,” Izzy says, squeezing Mrs. SB’s shoulder. “I’ll ask him, OK? I’m seeing him tonight.”

“Perfect,” Mrs. SB says, closing her eyes.

No, not perfect. Not perfect atall.

As we leave Opal Cottage, Izzy walks ahead of me, and I catch her up in a few strides, putting a hand on her arm. She jumps, turning. The rain has eased a little, and neither of us has put up ourumbrellas for the short walk back to the hotel. Izzy folds her arms to pull her coat close around her.

“Yes?” she says. “What is it?”

“Hello.” I try to hold her gaze, but it slides away from me again. “So we are not going to talk about it? At all?”

“That’s what we decided, wasn’t it?”

“We decided to remain professional at work.” I dig the point of my umbrella into the grass, my knuckles tight on the handle. “I only see you at work. Does that mean we never speak of it again?”

“We can speak about it, if you think we need to.” She glances up at me. “Do we need to?”

I don’t know. I want to apologise to her for not making it more romantic, but she never wanted romance from me. She’ll get that from Louis tonight, presumably. I swallow, glancing back towards Opal Cottage. Its chimney is smoking, the Christmas tree visible in the left-hand window. We’re standing just outside the front garden, beneath the old oak tree.

“So I’m out of your system now?” I ask, looking back at her. I shift the handle of my umbrella to and fro between my palms, and she watches my hands.

“Mm-hmm,” she says. “Yeah, all sorted. Same for you?”

Something in her voice gives me pause. Carefully, deliberately, I try stepping closer. She stays where she is, eyes flicking to mine. Wary, but also excited, I think. I recall how pink-cheeked and fidgety she was when we first arrived at the cottage, and I let myself wonder if Izzy has been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about her today.

“No, Izzy. You’re notout of my system.”

It’s raining more heavily again, pattering at the branches above us. I reach out to brush a raindrop from her cheek with one slow swipe of my thumb.

She inhales at the contact, gaze fixed to mine, but she doesn’tmove away, so I keep my hand there, framing her face. My heart starts to beat in the low, stubborn, insistent tempo it always hits when I’m close enough to kiss her. I watch for those small shifts that tell me what Izzy’s body wants. How she straightens a little, as though pulled towards me, and how her pupils dilate. After just one frantic evening in a car, I can already read Izzy’s body better than I’ve ever read her mind.

“But you’re done with me, are you?” I ask.

“What did you think would happen? We’d have sex and I’d suddenly find you irresistible?” she says, but her voice catches in her throat, and my confidence grows. She didn’t answer my question.

“You’ve found me irresistible for some time,” I say, then I smile as her eyes flare with irritation. With me and Izzy, there’s always been a fine line between pissed off and turned on. “That was the problem, wasn’t it?”

“I wouldn’t say...” she begins, and then she trails off.

I’ve stepped closer, and she’s backed up against the bark of the oak tree, her hair sparkling with rainwater, her chest rising and falling fast.

“Lucas,” she whispers.

My heart is thundering now. I lift my hand from her cheek and brace my forearm against the tree above her head to hold a few inches of distance between our bodies. She looks up at me, lips parted. I can see the shift in her eyes, the moment she relaxes. She’s letting go. Forgetting about real life, remembering about me. I’d expect it to make me feel triumphant, but instead I feel an unexpected clench of emotion—I love that her body trusts mine.

---