‘Just me and my mountain of soaked laundry.’
‘So, are you visiting friends or family?’Christopher asks, though if that was the case, surely Nash would be calling someone.
‘God no,’ Nash answers.After a second, he looks up.‘Not that I hate them or anything.I just mean, I don’t have family here.’
This is all very strange, though.This confirms no one is filming anything, and if he was here for work, there’d be some kind of entourage, surely.
The page finishes loading.Unfortunately, Nash looks as baffled as he is relieved.He cranes his neck to look out the front window from his seat.
‘Well, do you need some directions?’Christopher offers, equally baffled.
‘I think I need some pronunciation help.I should have Duolingo’d before I came, but man, I really hate that owl.’
‘Show me?’
Nash walks over to the counter, and when Christopher takes the phone from him, their fingers touch ever so briefly.A glorious shock runs up Christopher’s arm that he tries really very hard to ignore.Thank goodness for the counter, though it would be easier if Nash wasn’t leaning over it towards him.
He’s shorter than Christopher expected, but that’s because he half presumes all famous people will be taller than he is, even thoughhe’staller than most people.As though there’s some kind of special height-enhancement available just for celebrities, along with all the other slightly horrifying surgical options.
It would be so easy to just look up and see how long Nash’s eyelashes are in person.
How soft his gently curved lips look.
His eyes are green, his traitor brain says.
Christopher gulps down the frog in his throat.It takes him a few seconds to realise that Nash spoke.
‘All this just serves me right for making my assistant book for me.’
Wait.His assistant?
A nagging prickle runs up the back of his neck.
It can’t be.
When Christopher glances down at the phone, he sees a booking confirmation.And right there ishisaddress.Pantri Bach, Station Road, Pen-y-Môr.
Oh no.
This can’t be.
‘Do you know where this is?Penny Mire?’Nash nudges him, clearly confused by his total lack of response.‘Is it far from here?’
‘Pen-y-Môr,’ Christopher croaks.
‘So you know it?’
‘You’re here, actually.Or there.Pen-y-Môr is this town.’
What the hell is he going to do?Nash Nadeau,theNash Nadeau, can’t possibly stay here.
‘Man, what a relief,’ Nash says, his voice sounding hollow in Christopher’s ears.‘I was right to have trusted Gethin the sheep guy with my life after all.’
Christopher feels as if he might be about to pass out.He still can’t bring himself to say anything helpful.
This Christmas was already turning out weird, even before he discovered his celebrity crush was supposed to be house-sitting for him.
Except now, Christopher can’t leave.He has to stay herehimself.
