Page 40 of Snowed In with You

‘Good decision,’ said Lucy, trying to imagine Sasha in the LUNA boardroom, feeding Nate’s baby in a mulberry silk Armani blazer. ‘They’ll probably make us do a presentation when we get back to Bristol, tell the team all about it.’

‘Yeah, might leave that to you,’ said Nate, pulling a face.

‘So there’s no breakfast until half nine?’ Lucy couldn’t tell if her stomach was rumbling from hunger, or still churning its way through a heady brew of Jägermeister, red wine, cheese and ice cream.

Nate checked his watch. ‘Yeah. Forty-five minutes. I don’t think you’ll get a full English, but there’s definitely a continental option.’

‘I’m not sure I can wait that long,’ said Lucy, draining her coffee mug. ‘Do you think it would be rude to raid the kitchen for leftover cheese?’

Nate leaned over and plucked a paper bag out from under Lucy’s pile of clothes. ‘You could. Or alternatively, you may be interested in one of the pains au chocolat Monica gave me.’

‘Gimme,’ said Lucy, holding out her hand and hoping he couldn’t see how willingly she’d marry him right now.

‘Do you think we should take them downstairs?’ he teased, pulling the bag away. ‘I’m not sure eating breakfast in bed is very Swiss.’

‘Give it to me.’ Lucy flapped her hand at him. ‘It’s not like we’re sparking up a fondue.’

‘Yeah, but I’d hate to leave Gunther and Monica with mice in their attic.’

Lucy rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. I’ll put my T-shirt over my lap and sweep up the crumbs, then throw them outside later. Give it. It’s my birthday.’

‘Fine,’ laughed Nate, handing her the bag. ‘I’ll be sharing your tablecloth, if that’s OK.’

Lucy scooched up so Nate could sit halfway down her bed, unfolding her clean T-shirt and spreading it out between them like a picnic blanket.

‘Oh my God, this is heaven,’ said Lucy. It was a bit dry and clearly yesterday’s stock, but she could feel the layers of pastry soaking up her hangover, and the sweetness of the chocolate washing away the bitter taste in her mouth.

‘Mmm,’ said Nate, leaning over so all the flaky bits landed on the T-shirt. He was close enough that she could smell the sleep on him; a warm, biscuity, comfortable smell that she’d never really encountered before. She’d welcomed plenty of men into her bed over the years, but once the sex was over and everyone had spent an acceptable amount of time in recovery, she always slept alone. This situation felt oddly intimate, somehow – the last man she’d sat on a bed and chatted to in a non-sexual capacity was Leo.

‘That was perfect,’ said Lucy, dabbing at the paper bag with a wet finger to get the final flakes of pastry. ‘Thank you.’ Nate brushed his hands together over the T-shirt, so Lucy could carefully gather the corners into a bundle and secure it with the hairband around her wrist. It would probably be better deployed taming her nest of hair right now, but needs must.

‘You’re welcome,’ said Nate happily. She waited for him to move, but he stayed where he was, both of them cross-legged and facing each other like they were six-year-old girls playing a hand-clapping game. Lucy idly wondered what Sasha would think if she could see her boyfriend sitting on a bed with one of her team. She wasn’t sure ‘we were trying not to get flaky pastry on the bedding’ would quite cut it.

‘While you were downstairs, I was wondering what people did in bed before smartphones,’ said Lucy, keen to keep the friendly conversation going before it drifted into some kind of sexual tension.

Nate raised his eyebrows and looked at her from under his floppy fringe. ‘Oh wow, Lucy – do you really not know? Do you need me to draw you a picture?’

OK, thought Lucy, that’s definitely flirting. I’m not imagining this. ‘You’re very funny,’ she said throwing him a snarky look.

‘So what’s your morning phone routine? What do you look at first?’

‘WhatsApp,’ said Lucy. ‘Usually early morning messages from my mother telling me things I mustn’t forget.’

‘Ha,’ said Nate. ‘What kind of things?’

‘The usual. Birthdays of cousins or neighbours I never see, reminders not to become a victim of the latest phishing scam.’ There was also often a late-night penis status update from Anthony, but Lucy obviously wasn’t going to mention that.

‘What else?’

‘My daily game of Wordle.’

‘Of course,’ said Nate. ‘You’re a writer. Every day?’

‘Yep. I’ve got a streak of nearly five hundred days.’ Lucy gasped and clutched her hand to her chest. ‘Shit, if we don’t get Wi-Fi back today, I’m going to lose my streak.’

Nate laughed and pulled up one knee, wrapping his arms around it. There was still a shyness and hesitation about him, but it felt like he’d softened a little and was relaxing into her company. Presumably over the last twenty-four hours he’d decided she was someone he could trust, which was an undeniably nice feeling.

‘Saving your Wordle streak surely qualifies for a rescue helicopter,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘We should get Alex on to it.’