Chasing Daisy

eyes. I instinctively want to look away, but I steady myself. ‘Daisy . . .’ He cups my jaw with his hand and strokes the side of my face with his thumb, sending butterflies spiralling through my stomach. ‘I’m sorry this is hurting you.’
    ‘It’s okay,’ I murmur, looking at his lips.
    ‘I just want to be with you,’ he says in a low voice, and I stare back at him, feeling like I’m drowning. ‘I’ll come and get you later.’
    He doesn’t come and get me, instead I get a text, asking me to meet him in the car park.
    ‘This is very cloak and dagger,’ I comment, when we’ve pulled onto the road and are speeding back down the country lanes. He doesn’t reply. ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.
    ‘Just for a drive,’ he says.
    ‘Where does Laura think you’ve gone?’
    ‘That’s what I’ve told her, too.’
    We fall silent for a while. Will reaches across and turns the radio on. The sound of The Verve fills the car.
    ‘Um . . .’ he says after a while. I look across at him. ‘I’ve just had a thought.’ I wait for him to continue. He glances at me. ‘We could go back to mine?’
    ‘What, in Chelsea?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘That’s a bit of a trek, isn’t it?’
    ‘It’ll only take an hour or so.’
    ‘Okay, then.’ I sit up straighter in my seat, feeling much happier with this plan. I’m dying to see his house.
    But by the time we get there, it’s nine thirty and I’m starting to wonder if this was the best idea. Will needs to get his sleep for the race tomorrow and, at this rate, we should probably be turning around and going straight back again.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ he asks as we step over the threshold into his hall. I tell him my concerns and he shrugs as he kicks off his shoes. ‘I’ll be okay. Luis manages on barely any sleep, doesn’t he?’
    I take off my shoes, too, and leave them by the door. ‘Yeah, but Luis is Luis.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He looks irritated.
    ‘Nothing. You two are just a bit different, that’s all. Wow, I like your place.’ He lives in a white stucco four-storey Victorian townhouse and we’ve entered on the first – or upper-ground – floor. He takes me straight through to the living room and it’s very much a lad’s pad, lots of black, white and silver with a humungous flatscreen TV up against the far wall. I go and peer out of one of three, very tall windows, but it’s dark outside.
    ‘Do you have a garden?’ I ask.
    ‘A small one, yes. It’s nice in this weather.’
    ‘I bet.’
    ‘Do you want a drink? Actually, are you hungry? We haven’t really eaten anything,’ he comments.
    ‘I could cook us something . . .’
    ‘There’s not a lot in the fridge.’
    ‘Where’s your kitchen?’ I ask. ‘Let’s go and see what you’ve got.’ Spaghetti, onions, garlic, tinned tomatoes, dried herbs and extra virgin olive oil. That’ll do. I get on with our meal while he sits at the stainless steel table and watches me. The underfloor heating is keeping my bare feet warm.
    ‘Do you do much cooking for Frederick?’ he asks as I plate up our food.
    ‘Not a lot,’ I tell him. ‘I wish I could do more.’
    ‘Why don’t you?’
    ‘Frederick always wants me out front of house.’
    ‘That’s because you’re so gorgeous.’
    I laugh. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’
    ‘Will it?’ he asks flirtatiously.
    ‘Eat your dinner.’
    ‘Mmm. It’s really good,’ he comments between mouthfuls.
    As I look across the table at him, I’m suddenly hit with realisation. He’s almost mine. And I didn’t even go out of my way to get him. I can barely believe it.
    ‘What time do we need to set off?’ I ask after a while.
    He pushes spaghetti around on his plate with his fork. ‘We could always stay here . . .’
    ‘Here? What? And drive back in the morning?’
    ‘Set off early, yeah. Don’t worry, you can sleep in one of the guest rooms,’ he says when he sees me wavering.
    ‘No, it’s not that,’ I reply.
    ‘Isn’t it?’ He raises one eyebrow at me.
    ‘Stop it, you.’ I roll my eyes. ‘I want to start with a clean slate.’
    ‘Yeah, me too.’ He looks away. ‘I’ll keep my hands to myself.’
    After we’ve eaten, I text Holly to let her know my plans and then start to wash the dishes while Will goes off to text Laura.
    ‘Did she text you back?’ I ask, when he re-enters the kitchen.
    ‘Not yet, no. I doubt she will at this hour. She’ll be too pissed off with me.’
    I don’t say