Is She Really Going Out with Him?

Chapter 31

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Is there going to be a movie version of The Spanish Love Deception?

Of all the dates I’ve had, this one, with Noah, has to be my least anticipated. I am not relishing an evening of being lectured about my “responsibilities as a bin owner.”

Lottie arrives to babysit and makes me change twice, telling me I have to look like I “made an effort.” When Noah knocks on the door, I am glad I changed, because he has made an effort. He’s freshly shaved in a clean checked shirt and well-fitted jeans. There’s not a sock-and-sandal combo in sight.

“Oh wow, hi,” I say, remembering how attractive Noah is when he’s not wearing weird clothes and being a grump.

“Ready to go?” he asks, still terse even in a button-down.

“So, I thought we’d get the bus into town, there’s one in eight minutes.”

“I am aware of the bus timetable,” Noah says. Oh boy, this is going to be challenging.

As we walk along the pavement and turn toward the bus stop, a car pulls up on the other side of the road. I pause because I recognize the driver . Will. What is he doing here? I stop and watch as he gets out of the car with a huge bunch of giant pink peonies.

“Hi?” I call across to him in confusion.

“Oh. Hi.” He crosses the road toward us, looking back and forth between me and Noah.

“This is my neighbor Noah,” I explain. I already told him about my next date, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. “Noah, this is my colleague Will.”

“Hi.” Will nods toward Noah, but there’s a coolness in his gaze as he sizes him up. “Sorry to interrupt. Bad timing. You disappeared yesterday. I, um—” Will holds out the flowers, and it’s adorable how awkward he looks. “A thank-you for yesterday, for helping me out.”

Noah looks between us, perhaps curious about what I did to deserve such a decadent bunch of flowers.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, I was happy to help,” I tell him.

“Simon insisted,” Will says, his eyes now focused on me. “I’ve watched the footage you shot, it’s perfect.”

“Sorry, perfect?” I ask with a smile, my finger to my ear. “No feedback, no notes?”

“No notes,” he says with a grin, our eyes drinking each other in.

Noah clears his throat. “Our bus is in four minutes,” he says.

I don’t want to take a bunch of flowers into town with me, but I also don’t want to leave Noah and Will alone together while I rush back to put them inside. As if sensing my indecision, Will nods toward my house. “Is anyone home? I can drop them in for you.”

“My sister is there, that would be great. Thank you.”

He holds my gaze a moment longer, as though he wants to say more but can’t with Noah here. Noah makes another impatient “humph” noise, so I quickly pass Will the flowers.

“Well, have fun,” Will says, then turns slowly back toward my house, letting the flowers drop down to his side.

“Sorry about that,” I say to Noah as we walk on toward the bus stop.

“Who was that?” Noah asks. “The man who sent you the clay?”

“Yes.”

“He’s in love with you,” Noah says, as though pointing out that it’s raining.

“No, he isn’t. We work together.” I know that’s not strictly true, but I’m not going to tell Noah about my relationship with Will. “It’s complicated.”

“Those are not thank-you flowers,” Noah says, and there’s a knowing warmth in his voice now. “Thank-you flowers are lilies or carnations, roses of a moderate size. I know flowers, and those flowers say a lot more than thank you.”

“Let’s not talk about Will,” I say, picking up my pace .

“Did you fill in the form from the council?”

“Let’s not talk about the hedge or the bins either, please, Noah,” I ask, clapping my hands together in prayer, then raising my eyes to the heavens.

“Fine, we’ll bin the bin talk,” Noah says, putting a bounce in his step.

The bus is late, so we needn’t have rushed. We’ve only been in each other’s company for twenty minutes, and already I’m finding Noah intensely annoying. He is slow and deliberate in everything he does. As we board the bus, he pulls out his wallet, takes out his card to pay, then slowly and methodically puts the card away before walking on to sit down. Why wouldn’t he just put the card away while he’s walking, like a normal person? I can’t help thinking how much I’d rather be on this bus with Will, watching him put a smile on the face of every stranger he interacts with.

Jonathan suggested I take my dates to some of the tourist attractions in Bath, “a great way to promote everything this city has to offer.” So, we’re going to a late opening at the Roman Baths. I’ve been to the baths several times before, and given how uptight Noah is, now I’m wishing I’d chosen somewhere that serves alcohol.

“Fascinating to think the Romans built all this two thousand years ago, isn’t it?” Noah says as we swipe our tickets through the turnstiles.

“The Celts were using the natural spring long before the Romans arrived,” I tell him.

“Sure. But the Roman baths, the engineering,” Noah says. “The network of channels and sluices harnessing heat from the underground spring. Remarkably sophisticated, even by today’s standards.”

We walk through to the first room of the museum, where there’s a model of what the baths looked like when they were first built, along with some of the original walls, pillars, and engravings paying tribute to the goddess of the thermal springs, Sulis. Noah stops to read every information board silently, then scans every QR code with his phone to download “extra information.”

“It’s nearly impossible to read everything in one visit,” I say tactfully. “Have you been before?”

“Yes. You always learn something new, though, don’t you?”

The museum is quiet, and my mind starts to wander. What did Lottie think about Will delivering that enormous bunch of flowers? She’s going to read into it, she reads into everything. Did Will remember that peonies are my favorite flowers, or was that a coincidence?

“Come and look at this,” Noah says, pointing to a glass display cabinet. “People would scratch curses and wishes onto bits of pewter, then throw them into the springs, asking the goddess for help in punishing those who had wronged them.”

“?‘Docimedis has lost two gloves and asks that the thief responsible should lose their mind and eyes in the goddess’s temple,’?” I read from one of the translated inscriptions. “That feels harsh. Losing your mind and your eyes over a stolen pair of gloves.” I look across at Noah, who is still busy reading.

“Look at this one. ‘Please protect my hedge from unsanctioned pruning,’?” he says, not cracking a smile or turning his head. “What would you write?”

“I would ask the goddess to remove the giant stick from my neighbor’s arse,” I say, and Noah lets out a hard, sharp laugh. “And to stop him from reading every sign in the museum, or we’ll be here until three in the morning.”

“Fine,” he says, shaking his head, but he’s smiling, and I notice how warm his eyes look. We walk out onto a walkway in the open air, where a series of stone pillars surrounds a green pool of water.

“Funny to think how different their lives were but how similar some of their day-to-day concerns,” I muse. “Meeting at the baths to curse those who’ve wronged them. It’s like ancient Rome’s version of online trolling.” Noah laughs. “It’s sad, isn’t it? All that’s left in the world of this Docimedis guy is his complaint about a lost glove.”

“Two lost gloves,” Noah corrects me.

“Right.”

“Gemma used to think about this, when she was sick,” Noah says, his expression pensive. “Because we didn’t have children, she wondered who would remember her when she was gone. She was working on a PhD in plant biology, but she never got to finish it. It bothered her, that lack of a legacy.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know her,” I say softly. “What was she like?”

Noah’s face lights up. “She loved nature. She was constantly foraging, bringing bits and bobs into the house—plants and twigs, abandoned bird nests, unique shells and stones. She was always befriending animals in our garden, had endless bird feeders and squirrel feeders. She planted lavender for the bees.”

“She sounds magical,” I say, enchanted by how animated he has become.

“When we moved in, the hedge was scrawny and diseased,” Noah tells me. “She made it her project to revive it. She pulled out bits that were dead, replanted, treated the leaves, nurtured it back to life.”

“Oh, Noah, I’m so sorry,” I say, reaching out to touch his arm. “You should have said.”

Noah drops his head. “I know she’s not the hedge,” he says, quietly now, “but when I see how big it’s grown, I feel like there’s a part of her inside it. I look out of the kitchen window and it’s like she’s telling me, ‘I’m still here.’?” His voice cracks, and he swipes at his eye with a palm.

“I’m so sorry you lost her. She sounds like an incredible woman.”

Noah tells me how they met at a wildlife preserve, how they’d planned to move to Scotland and set up a bird sanctuary, but he didn’t want to do it alone, didn’t want to leave the house they’d shared.

“It’s been what, eight years?” I ask as we walk past a projected hologram of people dressed as Romans having massages on stone tables. Noah nods. “And have you met anyone since?” He shakes his head. “Because you haven’t wanted to, or…?” I trail off.

“I could never love anyone as much as I loved Gemma,” he says firmly.

“I don’t want to compare what you’ve been through to my situation, but I never imagined being thirty-eight and starting all over again. I do understand.”

“I’m sorry if I haven’t been a good neighbor,” he says slowly. “I’m not good with people. Gemma used to say I had the social skills of a garden gnome.”

“What do you mean? You’re a great neighbor. You take in my packages, you lend me ladders, you let me know when I’ve put the recycling bins out at the wrong time. What more could I ask for?” Noah rubs his chin, and his eyes crease into a smile. “Come on, let’s go drink this ‘healing’ spring water.”

At the end of the exhibition, there’s a water fountain where you can drink the water coming up from the geothermal spring. Some people believe it has healing properties, a cure for whatever ails you. Noah passes me a small paper cup and asks, “What are we drinking to?”

“A truce?” I suggest.

“A truce,” he says, raising his cup and taking a gulp of water.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” I say, swallowing it with a grimace.

—

By the time we get home, Noah and I are laughing as we get off the bus. He is still awkward and quiet, sometimes curt, but I feel as though I understand him a little better now.

“Thank you for this evening,” he says. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Me too,” I tell him as we stand on the street at the bottom of my steps. “Why don’t you come around for dinner sometime? I can’t claim to be a great cook, but we’d love to have you.”

“I would like that. Thank you.” He nods to the bins. “Remember, blue recycling bin goes out tonight.”

“Got it,” I say, raising my hand in a salute.

Noah heads to his front door and I walk up to mine smiling. As I turn the key in the lock, I hear voices inside . Surely the kids can’t still be awake? Then I look at my watch and see it’s only nine, we didn’t stay out that late. Walking into the living room, I pause at the door, surveying the scene. Ethan and Jess are in their pajamas sitting on the floor, Lottie is on the couch with a mug of tea, and Will is standing in the middle of my living room, acting out a charade.

“ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe !” shouts Ethan, and Will shakes his head, miming opening and closing a door.

“Open-and-shut case!” shouts Lottie.

Will frowns, throwing up his arms in frustration.

“Do the second bit again,” Jess suggests. None of them have even noticed me come in, they are all too absorbed. Will pulls his earlobe to denote “sounds like,” then starts miming climbing some stairs.

“Open climber?” Ethan suggests, and Will points at him, nodding enthusiastically, then pulls on his ear again.

“Open slimer?” Ethan tries.

“Oppenheimer,” I say from the doorway, and now they all turn to look at me.

“Yes!” Will says, clapping his hands together once. Then he collects himself and rubs a palm along the back of his neck. “Hi.”

“You’re back,” says Lottie, a huge grin on her face.

“What’s going on here then?” I ask, trying to sound casual.

“Will brought you flowers,” Jess says, turning around to look at me with wide eyes.

“They’re bigger than my head and Jess’s head put together,” says Ethan. “We measured.”

“How was Noah? Did you kill each other?” Lottie asks.

“No. It was fine,” I say, still confused as to why Will is here.

“They forced me to stay and eat dinner with them, then play charades,” he explains, shifting his weight from side to side, eyes scanning my face. “I’m sorry, I should go.”

“Don’t go,” says Lottie. “Anna is great at charades.”

“Yeah, it’s your go, Mum,” says Ethan.

“Aren’t you both supposed to be in bed?” I ask him, reaching across the sofa to tickle Ethan.

“That’s probably my fault,” says Will.

“No, it’s definitely mine,” says Lottie, grinning at me. “Come on, Anna, just do one.”

The children look up at me with pleading faces, so I agree to do one final charade. I opt for 10 Things I Hate About You , because it’s Jess’s favorite movie, so I know she’ll get it quickly. She gets it on the first clue, so I clap my hands and insist it really is bedtime.

“I told Will about wanting an axolotl for my birthday,” says Ethan. “He says he’ll help us build the tank.” I look back and forth between Will and Ethan.

“Only if that would be helpful,” says Will, eyes shifting to the floor.

“Will’s brother has a pet tortoise that’s sixty years old. Sixty! Can we meet him? Can we? I’m great with animals,” Ethan says excitedly as I cajole him toward the stairs.

“I’ve got this,” says Lottie, putting her hands on Ethan’s shoulders to steer him upstairs. Turning to me and nodding her head toward Will, she silently mouths, “He’s great.”

“Let me see you out,” I tell Will, grabbing his coat from the hook and following him out onto the front doorstep.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to stay so long,” he says once we’re alone on the doorstep. “Your sister is highly persuasive.”

“She is,” I say, then we smile at each other, politely.

“How was your date with the good-looking neighbor?” Will asks, eyes shifting from me to the doorframe.

“It was eye-opening. What’s wrong?”

“I hate the idea of you out with a man who isn’t me.”

“Is that why you’re here?” I ask, crossing my arms, lifting my chin to look up at him.

He steps forward, slipping his hands around my waist. “Can I do this?” he says, tugging me to him. I feel that magnetic pull, as though every cell in my body is supercharged, drawing toward him.

“I don’t know, you made the rules,” I tell him, allowing myself to sink into his embrace. His hands run up my back, holding me close.

“ You made the rules,” he says.

“You said it should stay in the woods,” I remind him. “You said it should stay in the archive.”

“You said I wasn’t boyfriend material, that I wasn’t your type,” he counters, looking down into my face, jaw set, his eyes hopeful.

“Because you’re leaving,” I say, breaking away from him, dropping my gaze to his chest. “Now you’re here making my family like you.”

“I like them,” he says.

“Well, don’t promise them fish tanks, then disappoint them when you disappear.”

“Is it your kids you’re worried I’ll disappoint, or is it you?” he asks, his voice low, eyes trained on me like laser beams. “What do you want, Anna? Just tell me what you want this to be.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want you to go—” I say, feeling my eyes well up, and then, before I can anticipate it, he lifts his hands to my face and leans forward to kiss me. His hot, firm lips on mine, possessive, transport me straight back to the woods, to the archive, to the only place I want to be. As he opens to me, I feel myself melt, the flutter of a thousand wings beating in my belly, all my senses overwhelmed. When he pulls back to look at me, I step away, trying to put space between us so I can think straight.

“You didn’t let me finish.” I reach backward for the door to steady myself. “I don’t want you to go, but I wouldn’t want you to stay either, not for me. I can’t see how this works—we want such different things.”

His face falls. “Are you serious?”

Someone calls, “Mum!” from inside. “Let’s not have this conversation right now,” I plead. I don’t want to say something I might regret when I don’t even know what it is that I want. “Thank you again for the beautiful flowers.”

He reaches for my hand as I turn away and says quietly, “This is real. You know that, right?”

I nod but then pull away and go inside. Leaning my back against the door, I fight the urge to go back out, to call after him, but I don’t know what I could say that would make our lives line up.