‘I’d say so.’
‘I don’t actually do romance, usually,’ I said.
‘Why not?’ he asked.
‘I like being in control of my emotions,’ I admitted.
‘I see,’ he said, frowning.
I looked intently at my script, crossing something out for the sake of it. I’d said too much.
‘Would it feel too “out of control” to have a drink with me later?’ he asked.
‘Um …’
It would, actually. I was already thinking of several reasons why I shouldn’t. I could always use work as an excuse.
‘I’m heading down to Cornwall tomorrow, you see. Leaving after lunch,’ he said.
‘Oh, right,’ I said, disappointed. Annoyingly.
See, this was why I preferred to keep men at a safedistance. I’d always been too scared to pursue the guys I was really into, instead ending up with either the guys I knew were players from the off or with the ‘safe bet’ types. The ones I thought were less likely to unceremoniously leave me on a whim. I mean, it didn’t always work, and I’d been dumped several times regardless, but my heart had never felt too broken afterwards.
I immediately knew that it would be different with Aidan. That if things were to progress and then they were to end my heart would be shattered into a million pieces. My head was telling me that he wasn’t worth taking a chance on, that I’d probably get hurt, so why bother? And I almost always listened to my head … Except, suddenly, something else was taking over. Because although the life I’d set up for myself was fine, there were no real highs and (thankfully, I supposed) no real lows. And kissing Aidan on the beach had felt like a high and I suddenly wanted more of it.
‘We could raid my minibar if you like?’ I suggested boldly.
I glanced at Lou, who was doing an excellent job of twiddling her lens cap and pretending not to listen.
Aidan nodded. ‘Shall I give you a knock later, then? Say eight, eight-thirty?’
‘OK,’ I said, the thought of him knocking on my door making me bite my lip with anticipation. He really was lovely. His eyes looked the same colour as the water of the loch today, a sort of greeny brown and full of depth and mystery. His hair was too short to blow about in the wind, so, unlike the rest of us, it wasn’t plastered all over his face. I purposely hadn’t worn my anorak today, which I thought might be something to do with the fact that I’d hoped to see him, but now, wearing nothing more than jeans and an oversized turtleneck (although I had layered up underneath), I was freezing.
‘What’s your room number?’ he asked.
I cleared my throat, wondering if this was the worst idea in the world. Now I’d spend the whole day thinking about what might happen later instead of focusing on shooting this footage. And then, what if I spent the evening wafting around my room with a full face of make-up on, wearing something casual yet alluring, only to be crushingly disappointed when he didn’t, in fact, knock like he’d said? Because men – well, people generally, actually – were unreliable, weren’t they? If my own dad could cancel plans to see me at a moment’s notice, I was pretty sure a guy I’d known for less than a day could do the same.
‘Twenty-seven,’ I said.
‘Twenty-seven,’ he repeated.
‘Will you remember that?’ I asked, wondering whether I ought to offer him a pen and the corner of my script.
‘I think so,’ he said, grinning at me.
It was just after eight-thirty when I heard a knock on my door. Ireallyhoped it was going to be Aidan and not Tim asking me to write another script. It would be just my luck, and of course I was already stressing that Aidan had changed his mind and wasn’t going to show and I knew I’d be absolutely gutted if he didn’t. I was wearing a short, denim skirt and a spaghetti-strap top and a chunky cardigan I loved because if you angled your body a certain way, it would slide seductively off one shoulder. If he didn’t come, it would all have been for nothing. I opened the door in a casual manner, as though it didn’t matter to me either way who was on the other side of it. To my great relief, it was Aidan, looking dazzling in the doorway dressed in blue jeans and a striped shirt, open at the neck. I didn’t notice what he had on his feet.
‘Come in,’ I said, standing aside, giving the room a quick visual once-over, although I’d already done that several times. I’d arranged the room in a way I thought looked inviting – my book on the bedside table, my earplugs and eye mask out of sight, my laptop open on the desk, MTV playing on the hotel’s TV, some hip-hop track making it look as though I had cooler taste in music than I actually did.
He came in, closing the door behind him.
‘I hope I’m not interrupting,’ he said, nodding at the laptop, which was open on the script I’d been trying to write. We were shooting in Luss the following day. Tim thought it would really suck in the American viewers (of which I didn’t think we had many, but of course didn’t bother saying).
‘I think I’m done for the day,’ I said. ‘Drink?’
He nodded. ‘Sure.’
I flung open the minibar, crouching down to look inside. ‘What do you fancy? Beer? Wine?’