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I don’t even have time to answer before the handle clicks and Maddie bursts into my room, vibrating with her usual chaotic energy. She is dressed in a beige oversized woolen trench, dark denim jeans, and brown suede boots. She looks effortlessly chic, like she simply stepped off a runway, and directly into the disaster of my room.
“You can’t hide at your desk forever,” she declares loudly, letting the door slam shut behind her as she drops her leather bag onto my bed.
“Maddie, I’m literally working—”
“No, you’re not. You’re sitting here in your pyjamas.” She looks at my screen. “Groaning at a half-written first sentence, while having a full-blown existential crisis over Julian Thorne.”
Correct. Painfully correct.
“Now, look me in the eyes and tell me what he felt like,” she demands.
“Maddie, he just held my hand.”
“Oh, no, girl. He didn’t just hold your hand.”
“It was cold,” I mumble, turning back to my screen as if Handel can save me. “He walked me home and then held my hand.”
“Oh, please!” Maddie rolls her eyes, throwing herself dramatically across my unmade duvet and taking long sips of her drink.
How she doesn't spill a single drop on my white sheets with all the theatrics, I genuinely don’t know.
“I don’t know what it was,” I admit quietly.
“Fine, if you won’t talk about your tragic, slow-burn romance, I’ll talk about my disaster of a night.”
“How was Oliver?” I ask, turning to give her my full attention.
Maddie lets out an exaggerated groan and throws her head onto my pillows—again, whilst not spilling a drop of coffee. I swear she should have been a drama student; her talents seem utterly wasted as a classical flautist.
“Was it really that bad?”
“Bad? He ordered sparkling water. Sparkling water, Ellise. At a jazz bar!” Maddie gestures wildly with her hands—coffee still intact. “And he barely said ten words the entire night! Every time I asked him a question, he barely nodded and smiled. I spent two hours talking at him.”
“To be fair, Maddie,” I tease gently, “you don’t exactly leave much room for air when you get going.”
“I was trying to save the date from drowning in silence,” she protests, though a sheepish grin tugs at her lips. “I almost felt sorry for him. Poor boy. He’s just too timid for me. He needs a nice girl. Maybe one who likes birdwatching, or something. I need someone who can actually hold a conversation without looking like they’re about to faint.” She pauses, narrowing her eyes. “Someone like a moody, leather-jacket-wearing pianist, for example.” She adds slyly. “Someone who isn’t afraid to push back.”
I look at her—a flat, warning glare that speaks volumes.
“I’m joking, Ellise. I know he’s yours, girl.” She winks, taking another slow sip of her coffee.
“He is not mine.” My cheeks flare with heat despite my best efforts to stay calm. “We share a practice room and a duet. That’s it.”
“Right. And he walks his duet partner home at one in the morning.” Maddie chuckles, kicking her feet up. “Keep telling yourself that.”
She has a point.
I stare at the half-finished sentence, taking a long breath.
Keeping my distance from Julian was supposed to be a rule, but sitting here listening to Maddie, I realise that the rule was broken the second he reached out in the dark and held my hand.
20
Julian
DECEMBER
Ican’t think of a single other fucking thing today.
