At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (best inspirational books txt) 📗

because just as I was about to pull away, Charlie broke the connection and leaned back.

For a moment we just looked at each other, our lips still pursed, stuck in kiss face as our eyes narrowed at each other.

I cleared my throat. ‘Thank you,’ I said, awkwardly.

‘You’re welcome,’ he replied, formally, withdrawing his hands to his lap. ‘And, thank you, too.’

He reached for his wine, sipped at the last straggling drop and bounced his legs up and down, making the sofa shake as he did.

‘So … erm …’ I fidgeted awkwardly as I tried to think of how to word it. ‘How exactly does something like this work?’

‘You tell me. You’re the one with all the advice.’ He chortled nervously.

‘Seems I’ve drawn a blank on this one. Although I’m not sure that kissing someone in the same evening as telling them about your dead wife is best,’ I said.

‘I don’t know. It seemed to make me forget for a moment or two.’

I wondered what advice Ned, or rather Celine Dion via Ned, would have for me now.

‘Sometimes it feels like it was ten minutes ago and other times it feels as if it didn’t happen to me at all. The idea of doin’ anythin’ with someone other than her is gonna take some gettin’ used to.’

‘I understand.’ I nodded. The air of romance sapped from the room and a new awkwardness hung in the air like the strange smell coming from the sink. ‘I should get going.’ I pulled my phone from my bag and was beginning to summon an Uber when he spoke again.

‘Yer don’t have to. Yer can sleep on the sofa if you want. I know you’re tired.’

He was right: I was so very tired and the idea of even travelling to the bathroom seemed like too much.

‘You sure?’

‘Yeah. There’s a pillow and duvet there,’ he said, motioning to the sofa.

‘Okay.’

He stood and walked towards one of the two doors leading off from the room. ‘I’ll get the light for yer.’

He waited for me to settle under the blanket.

‘Safely in bed,’ I called to him.

He sent me a smile and switched off the light. ‘Night, Nell.’

‘Night,’ I said, my eyes already falling closed.

I was so tired that I instantly felt myself slipping, but the room was spinning. The only consolation being that I wouldn’t have to endure a hungover day at work tomorrow and could spend the day slowly coming back to life at my own speed.

My lips still tingled where his had touched mine, the skin around them tender from his facial hair. I hoped that, in the morning, things wouldn’t be different, awkward. That one drunken kiss on a sofa wasn’t going to ruin everything.

The situation was delicate. Charlie was delicate and I guessed that, to an extent, so was I. Even when I had known that I was in love with Joel, I didn’t feel vulnerable, as if my heart was in any way at risk by handing it to him. But maybe that was because I never handed Joel the whole thing?

Chapter Twelve

I woke with a feeling like someone had parked a tank on top of my head. Wine was not my friend. How many times did I have to do this to myself to remember that fact?

I peeled open my eyes, one by one, and was surprised I didn’t hear a sound like Velcro being pulled apart. It took me a moment to realise where I was and when I did, my stomach tossed and tumbled like a shoe in a washing machine. Charlie was nowhere to be seen, but images of what had happened last night on this sofa, a kiss shared in wine-soaked curiosity, made my heart begin to thump in my ears. I shifted onto my elbows, pushing myself up with a groan, as if every inch of me now weighed ten times as much as it had done when I’d fallen asleep. I wiped my face with my hand. Yesterday’s make-up flaking away against my palm.

My legs felt as if they’d fused into position and I groaned as I eased them straight, but as I did, I became aware of a weight on my stomach. I looked down and was met with a pair of large yellow eyes. After a brief moment of shock where a small gasp escaped my lips, I reached out a hand and tentatively ran it over the fluffy ginger head of the cat sitting in my lap. It was one of those cats that need grooming almost every day due to their long, fine hair to stop knotted clumps from forming, but clearly, Charlie hadn’t been keeping up with the grooming schedule, if this was indeed Charlie’s cat and not a street urchin who’d somehow found a way in. It had a stub nose and a perpetual grimace that made it look like he should be living in a dustbin on Sesame Street.

‘Hello there,’ I said. The cat opened its mouth and made a soft, high-pitched warbling noise that I could only assume was a greeting, before curling itself back up and tucking its face away from view.

I sat for a while, weighing up the pros and cons of moving. My bladder ached, but as anyone who has ever been chosen as the spot for a cat’s nap will know, disturbing them seems like the worst thing you’ll ever do in your entire existence. Eventually I simply had to go and gently placed the mass of ginger fur down on the ground before scurrying off to the toilet. There were two doors branching off from the living room – one leading to an indescribably messy bedroom, the duvet sliding limply down the side of the mattress onto the floor and the pillows lying in disarray. I glanced around for Charlie but didn’t find him, noticing a speckling of fine glass shards on the floor a few feet inside, before I turned to the other door where, thankfully, I found the toilet.

I