Eric sighs, closing the fridge door and turning to look at me.
“It’s better to have a clear head when you’re around. When we’re so close, alone…”
He sighs again, just when I’m starting to think there’s no air left in this room.
“So, tomorrow…” Eric brings me back down to Earth. “Are you sure you’re happy to give me a hand?”
“Absolutely. Of course.”
“We’ll need to get up early.”
“Sure.”
“Maybe it’s best…”
“If we went to bed?”
“I think Larry has already brought our bags over to the guesthouse.”
“He didn’t have to go to that trouble…”
“He’s just like that.”
“Will we grab our coats, or…?”
“That’d be best. We have to walk across the garden, and it’s fucking freezing.”
“Lead the way, then.”
Eric passes me and I follow him out of the kitchen, across the living room, where the lights have been turned off, and into the reception room, where we left our coats. We pull them on and Eric leads me over to the door, opening it for me as I step past and into the garden, where lights have been strung on the bushes, framing the path to a small building – smaller than the main house, but still bigger than my apartment. Eric opens the door and gestures for me to enter. I cross the threshold and the door closes behind us, making a shiver of pure anxiety climb up my spine.
“This is the living room, and here’s the kitchen,” he says, “and through there is the bedroom and en-suite.”
“Will we…?” I ask, nodding towards the bedroom, and Eric leads the way. He pushes open the door and the heat of the fireplace wraps itself around us.
“A fireplace in the bedroom?” I ask, shocked. I step into the room and look around as I take off my coat. Eric grabs it and lays it over the armchair in the corner. “There’s a Christmas tree, too,” I say, right next to the armchair.
“Don’t be too impressed,” Eric says, trying to play down the effect this bedroom is having on me. There’s a heat – and not just from the fire. A sense of intimacy is seeping from the walls, reflecting in the sparkling Christmas lights.
“It’s all so… Er… Romantic.”
“Are you a romantic guy, Mr. Quinn?”
His voice floods through my veins.
“What if I was?”
“I’d say I’m not surprised. And I like it.”
I turn towards him. The light from the flames, its slight crackle, the smell of burning wood. I can’t help but feel something awaken inside me, yearning from all the years I’ve tampered it down.
“I used to be a different person, Mr. Quinn.”
“You mean before someone broke your heart?”
“I don’t want to talk about other people tonight.”
“Then what do you want to talk about?”
