It was blissfully quiet when I woke, and I lay for a moment, absorbing the peace, feeling a lick of excitement about the day ahead.

Checking the time on my phone, I noticed Mum had texted around eleven to say she was back home, and Erin had Whatsapped How’s it going? and a salvo of angry faces when I didn’t respond.

Tempted to reply that Ollie and I were snuggled in bed, I typed instead,

I attached a photo of me grinning and doing a thumbs-up.

she replied.

On my way to the bathroom I pressed my ear to the door of the spare room. I hadn’t heard Ollie come to bed, but detected some rhythmic snoring. So much for him not being tired. He was like a child, determined to stay awake in case he missed something, but out like a light the minute his head hit the pillow.

Unsettled at considering him childlike (with those muscles?), I headed for the shower, and after deciding not to fuss with my appearance – it looked a bit desperate and I couldn’t compete with Tottie or Puffy, or whatever the women he usually mixed with were called – and settled for jeans and a sweatshirt before tiptoeing downstairs, expecting Craig to be sleeping on the sofa.

The room was empty, the curtains drawn back to let in the pale morning light. A fire still glowed in the grate, but the sofa was bare apart from a sleeping bag folded up at one end. At least he hadn’t spent the night in his car.

He wasn’t in the kitchen either, but there was an empty mug by the sink, and a smell of toast lingered in the air. I opened the back door, shivering a little as cold air prickled my skin. His trainers weren’t there, so perhaps he’d gone for a run.

I felt oddly put out, as if his absence signalled his desire to be somewhere else, and was more convinced than ever that the plans I’d read on his notepad were nothing to do with Ollie. Perhaps he was sussing out the neighbourhood – filming without us knowing…

The floorboards creaked upstairs, and my pulse quickened. Closing the door, I busied myself making porridge, flicking the radio on to cover the toilet-flushing and showering sounds upstairs. I accidentally sloshed too much milk into the pan and compensated by tipping more oats in, until it was a bubbling mass.

Did Ollie like porridge? I should have bought some organic granola, or ingredients for a protein-based smoothie. And a smoothie maker.

I scoured the cupboards, shifting my favourite chocolate Rice Krispies to the back, and jumped violently when Ollie yodelled, ‘Honey, I’m home!’ behind me.

His hands landed on my waist and spun me round, and I barely had time to catch my breath, and register that his stubble had gone, before his head came close to mine and he murmured, ‘Look at you.’

‘S… sorry?’

‘You’re gorgeous,’ he said, lifting his hands to cradle my face, drinking me in with his eyes. ‘I’ve always loved the natural look.’

‘Natural?’ My voice had gone husky with shock.

‘Make-up free, no hair dye, no extensions.’ His gaze swept over my head, and I was conscious of having left my hair to dry naturally, and that it had probably lost its shape. ‘Proper curves.’ Dropping his hands back to my waist he gave it a gentle squeeze, and suddenly his mouth was on mine.

In the split second it took me to react, I imagined my lips parting and my hands snaking around his back and pulling him closer. I knew he’d be a good kisser, like Max had been – even though Max had sometimes kept his eyes open to check my reaction – but something didn’t feel right.

As I pushed him away, I saw Craig, holding his camera aloft, his face crowded with disappointment, or distaste – possibly both – I couldn’t tell in the heat of the moment, and as I sprang back, my elbow jogged the handle of the pan on the hob. It flipped over, tipping its gloopy contents over the floor, and some of the scalding mixture landed on my foot.

‘OW!’

As Ollie dived for a cloth, I bent to peel off my sock, glad to be free of whatever that look on Craig’s face had been. Had he assumed that I’d only pushed Ollie away because I didn’t want to be caught on camera?

‘There’s so much,’ Ollie said, snapping back to normal with enviable ease. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Not really.’ My heart was still thundering, my nerve-endings jangling as I hopped over to the table and sat down, darting a quick glance at Craig.

‘You should run it under cold water,’ he said in a neutral tone, but it was obvious from the way he was gripping the camera that there was plenty going on in his head. ‘Your foot,’ he added. ‘It’ll take away the sting.’

‘Thanks, I… I will in a minute.’

‘You should do it now.’

‘Fine.’ I still didn’t move, wishing Ollie would say something instead of spreading the porridge around with the inadequate dishcloth. His T-shirt was rucked up at the back as if I’d yanked it, and with a rush of nausea I realised how close I’d come to returning his kiss – to becoming one of ‘those girls’.

You’ve been Ollied.

I batted Erin’s words away, as Ollie turned to Craig.

‘Did you get that?’ he said, nodding to the camera dangling by Craig’s side.

Craig caught my eye and looked away. ‘Of course I did. We agreed I’d start filming this morning.’

What? Had Ollie staged the almost-kiss, knowing Craig would come in with his camera at any moment? ‘When did you decide that?’ I said.

‘Last night, after you’d turned in.’ Ollie flashed his easy smile.

‘The filming, not the kissing,’ Craig said abruptly.

‘It wasn’t really a kiss,’ I challenged. ‘I mean, I didn’t respond, I was...’ thinking about it? ‘Please don’t use that, will you?’

‘Not if you’d rather I didn’t,’ said Craig, stiffly.

‘Are you sure, Lily?’ It was obvious from the crease that appeared between Ollie’s eyebrows, he was disappointed. ‘It’s just that I thought we’d agreed to go for a natural feel for the show. You know, me doing stuff in an ordinary setting, for a’ – more finger quotes – ‘glimpse of the real Ollie Matheson.’

‘Kissing your hostess wasn’t part of that agreement,’ Craig said, as if I wasn’t there.

‘But it’s the sort of thing I do.’ Ollie straightened and gave me a roguish smile. ‘Rather well, don’t you think?’

‘On Players, yes. Not in real life.’ Craig laid his camera on the worktop and unzipped his jacket. He had his running gear on again, minus his trainers.

‘The sort of thing you do?’ I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘It was for the camera, then, all that rubbish about liking natural girls, with curves?’

‘Oh crumbs, Lily. No.’ Ollie tossed the dirty cloth into the sink and came over to kneel in front of me. He looked different without his stubble – too clean-cut. More like he had in his studio shot. ‘That kiss was one hundred per cent genuine.’ His eyes were so… twinkly. And he sounded sincere. ‘At that moment in time.’

Right. ‘I don’t like being used.’

‘Lily, my lovely, I wasn’t using you, I was expressing my deepest admiration.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to be in love?’ Craig’s face darkened. He was no doubt thinking about Tattie, and wondering – as I had – why Ollie was kissing me if he was hoping to win Tattie back. Unless it was to make her jealous.

‘She’ll understand it’s for the show,’ Ollie said, but he didn’t sound convinced, a wave of doubt sweeping over his features. ‘Oh crap. Have I messed up?’

‘I’ll delete it,’ Craig said, catching my eye, and I wondered if he was recalling the other bit of footage he’d have to delete.

My cheeks began to throb in time with my burnt foot.

‘I’m deeply sorry if I’ve offended you, Lily.’ Ollie seemed genuinely bewildered, and I was reminded again of a child being told his behaviour was inappropriate, and not quite getting why.

‘I’d better go and soak my foot,’ I said, as if Craig hadn’t already suggested it. I was aware I must look a total mess in my baggy top and jeans, with my hair all over the place. ‘Would you mind moving out of the way?’

‘Sure.’ Ollie’s eyes dipped down, and he seemed to notice my bare toes for the first time. ‘Remember to put a sock back on, won’t you?’