‘All right, what are you doing in my bakery – which, if you remember the terms of your stay, is off-limits – in the morning?’
Nash groans again.‘Can you just help me up?’
‘Not until you tell me what you’re doing in here, and why you’ve covered the place in flour.And why can’t you get up yourself?’
The man on the floor has the grace to at least look ashamed.‘I’m stuck.’
‘You’re stuck?’
‘That’s what I said.Also, there’s flour in my eye and I can’t see, and my arm is pinned under something.Just help me.’His tone softens pathetically.‘Please.’
Adrenalin dissipating and fury calming (just a little), Christopher finally takes a moment to step back and assess the bizarre scene in front of him.Nash lies under one of the massive wholesale sacks of flour that are so heavy Christopher has to wheel them in on a trolley.And, for some reason, there’s what looks like the stick of his broom snapped over Nash in an arch, half of which appears to be wedged under one of the ovens.And over his legs is a second massive sack of flour, though it’s lost all structural integrity and has burst open – probably the source of the avalanche all over the room.
What the hell was he doing?
It takes him a few goes but Christopher manages to drag the two sacks away, and as he does, the broom handle simply falls apart.
Freed from the prison of his own creation, Nash wipes the flour out of his eyes and sits up.With an offered hand, Christopher yanks Nash to his feet.Flour plumes into the air around them.
‘Now talk,’ Christopher says, dusting flour from his pyjama top.
Except ...
A memory sparks of sometime around 3am when he’d got too hot under his lasagne of blankets, and so had thrown off his pyjamas rather than disturb the integrity of the layers.Pyjamas that he hadn’t put back on when he ran downstairs, too desperate to find out what the hell was going on.
And so, instead, he simply wipes flour off his right nipple.
At least he still has his underwear on.If only they weren’t the novelty Love Hearts-sweets-patterned ones that Haf bought him for fake Valentine’s last year.
Oh God, and he’s wearing socks too.Novelty pants and socks.
And he just wiped his nipple.
This is absolutely mortifying.
‘I was ...’Nash trails off and looks up at the ceiling, evidently also realising that Christopher is mostly naked.Except, because Christopher is taller than him, it looks as if Nash is staring intently at his hairline, which he’s not sure is much better.Nash’s gaze hops about, settling on a chart about handwashing hygiene above the sink.‘I woke up really early and you were asleep, and I really needed to get some exercise done as I was going mad, and I didn’t want to disturb you so I came down here and figured I’d just construct a barbell out of some sacks of flour and this broom, except the broom didn’t hold—’
It all rushes out in one enormous hurried and embarrassed sentence.
At least they are as embarrassed as each other.
‘Hang on.Let’s walk that back a moment.You tried to weight-lift flour?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘It seemed like a good idea at the time and was the only thing that wasn’t sharp,’ he says, eyeing the tongs in Christopher’s hand.‘Hang on.Why didn’t you grab a knife?What if I had been an intruder?You’re going toselectme to death?’
‘Why are you obsessed with the knives in here?’
‘I’m just thinking practically!’
‘Clearly.’Christopher rolls his eyes in annoyance and surveys the mess all around them.‘Christ, man, you could have impaled yourself.And, if you had, that would have probably affected my insurance.You’re not even supposed to be down here.It was all in the welcome documents I sent Tessa.’
‘Oh.Yes, which Idefinitelyread,’ Nash says flatly.
‘Why would you go somewhere without reading the pertinent information first?’
