Page 39 of Not That Complicated

All hot, narrowed eyes, with an arrogant curl to his lip and an arched eyebrow.

I tore my gaze away, cheeks scorching with heat.

He must have really liked The Chipped Cup’s coffee. Even when he was on shift, based on his stupid uniform, he’d at least duck in and grab one to go. Even when he must have just come off the night shift, he was there.

I once caught him snoozing over his Americano.

He’d been there a while; he had two cups in front of him, one drained and one still steaming. It was a cold and rainy day but his coat, which he’d slung on the back of his chair, was dry. Full-on, actual sleep was happening. He was slumped and his head was held in a way that gave him an unflattering double chin, and still he glowed.

I ordered my latte, gulped it down—not because I was a coward but because I had a Zoom meeting scheduled for noon, thank you very much—and gathered my stuff to head out.

Adam was still sleeping. As I passed by, I noticed that he’d dropped his beanie on the floor by his chair. Without thinking, I crouched down to pick it up.

When I glanced up, he was looking down at me in confusion.

He rubbed at one eye crankily. His skin was flushed a delicate rosy peach. “Ray?” he said. “What are you—”

“Shh.” I patted his thigh. “You’re dreaming. Go back to sleep. It’s a dream.”

He snorted faintly and closed his eyes.

I stood up, knees cracking. Great. I put his beanie on the table by his cup and scurried out.

After two months of it, I had to accept that I wasn’t infatuated with him.

I was, in fact, obsessed. Like the ageing, hopeless romantic I was.

Adam was out there, living his life, always smiling whenever I saw him. Always with people, enjoying himself.

I was always alone. Working.

And sometimes guiltily opening up our text conversation that had never gone past the photo that Adam had taken in my kitchen and sent to me along with a delightful text that read,For your spank bank.

Eventually, it started to affect my mood. I’m an independent man, but that didn’t mean I didn’t get lonely. It had been creeping up on me for a while, I guessed.

If I could admit that I was obsessed with a beautiful boy who more than likely never even noticed me back, I could admit that I was lonely. I could admit that I was ready for romance.

I was ready to move on.

I was going to renovate my murder house until it was such a cute little Cotswolds cottage that prospective buyers wouldn’t give a crap about the dead body. When I wasn’t busy doing that, I was going to renovate my love life.

Unfortunately for me, neither of these excellent intentions panned out, and I once again found myself flat on my back beneath Adam.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Unlike almost everyone I knew, I hadn’t done the dating app thing before. I wasn’t sure if that made me a giant weirdo, or damn lucky.

I signed up to Grindr over a bottle of Prosecco and my three hundredth viewing ofWhile You Were Sleeping. I didn’t actually look at the app until I was waiting in line at the Post Office.

It was Giselle’s birthday next week. I was sending her a silk scarf I’d designed and had screen-printed by a friend.

Giselle was the artsy type. She was passionate about art and crafts and poetry and dance and such, and had no talent whatsoever in any of those areas. She proclaimed it cheerfully, and didn’t let it get in the way of her enjoyment of it, her patronage of it, or the wide-eyed, optimistic adoption of every new artistic hobby she came across.

Last I heard, it was weaving baskets out of willows.

The only thing Giselle liked more than discovering a new creative passion was when I presented her with something I’d designed for her.

She was going to lose her mind over the scarf.

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