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I stayed in the bath for far longer than I’d planned, lost in the miserable memories of my childhood. It was when Callum popped his head around the door of the bathroom I realised the bath water had run cold and my fingers resembled prunes.
“You getting out soon, do you need me to hold the towel for you?” Callum said and reached for the fluffy beige towel sitting on top of the wooden basket.
“I can manage. Wait for me on the veranda. Try to work out how I can fit yet another three guests on the table plan, sitting together.”
“I’m not touching that table plan. I’ve seen your reaction every time that plan changes. I’ll marinate the meat for dinner. Far safer option.”
He backed out of the bathroom, giving my body one quick glance then squeezing his eyes shut as he left. I looked down at my belly to see that all the bubbles had popped and the water was clear. Stepping out of the bath and wrapping my body in the towel, I checked my emails on my phone as I wandered into the bedroom. Seven more emails from the charity chairman with requests and changes. One email from my contact in Hong Kong, asking several questions about the inner workings of The Royal Mail. None of the questions filled me with the hope that he would post me the comic. It was looking like I would need to fly over. Fortunately, flights were reasonably cheap. If I had to get a last-minute flight, it wouldn’t cost me too much. I had factored in this aspect as it was a highly priced comic. I didn’t tell my seller, but I preferred to have the personal hand over too. At least if it went missing it would be all my fault.
I made a quick note to check the customs rules for Hong Kong and the UK. The last time I had to deal with a seller in Hong Kong, it didn’t belong to China and was a British Colony. Whenever I went to see my parents, I chose my clothing carefully, nothing too flash and nothing too shabby. They would love nothing more than for me to move back in and pay rent. The last time I wore ripped and faded clothing they lectured me on coming home until I could afford proper clothing. They told me I would never get a decent paying job looking like a homeless woman. I’d been painting the other flat after a tenant had left and didn’t have time to change. They were my oldest clothes, I didn’t care that I got them messy when I painted. Then there was the time I wore a pair of high-end jeans. They could spot an expensive piece of clothing at ten paces, especially my mum. She was all over me like a rash. Her reasoning was that I was flush with money to buy expensive clothes that didn’t suit me I could lend her fifty quid. I found the jeans at a thrift store in New York. They were last season by New York standards but expensive to my mother’s eyes.
I needed to make sure Callum was appropriately dressed.
Once I was dressed and ready, I went to find Callum, he was wrist deep in a bowl of black sauce. He was carefully lifting out two salmon steaks and putting them in a plastic zip up bag.
“You don’t have to cook for me,” I said as I stood next to him, my hip leaning against the counter.
“Don’t you like my food?” He asked, the shocked expression raced over his features, his hands motionless, one hand had the bowl, and the other held the bag open.
“I love your cooking, but surely you’d prefer to eat out with friends or on a date, maybe?”
I don’t know where that came from, I didn’t want to plant any ideas about him going on a date with another woman, but the sentence was out there now, dancing between us like a mischievous devil.
“You want me to go on dates?”
I heard the hurt in his voice, and I could have hugged him.
“No, no I don’t. It’s just that I can’t repay the favour and cook for you. I don’t want you to feel obligated to feed me.”
He beamed at me and then poured the liquid into the bag. He zipped it up and put the bag in the fridge.
“I must feed you. Otherwise, you’d eat crap out of a container and be deficient in twenty different kinds of vitamins and minerals.”
I immediately looked at my nails that were no longer flaking. I’d noticed that my skin had improved too. I wasn’t sure what magic potions he was lacing my food with, but I was healthier for knowing him.
“Well, yes, this is true.”
I took the bowl and rinsed it under the tap and left it on the side to wash later. At least I could do the washing up.
“So, going back to the subject of you not wanting me to go on a date. Why is that?” He leant his fine arse against the countertop and folded his arms across his chest. All I could focus on were his biceps. His black t-shirt suited him, his tanned arms looked smooth and invited my touch. When I reached his face, he was wearing the sexiest smirk I’d seen on him. He knew what he was doing, and my heart fluttered at the direct question. Stroking the nape of my neck to make sure there were no stray hairs that had escaped my high bun, I avoided eye contact and walked past him. He grabbed hold of my wrist and pulled me to face him. We weren’t quite touching, but if I kept breathing heavily, my breasts just might graze his chest.
“Answer my question, Adaline.”
“I may get grumpy,” I muttered but stared him out.
“How grumpy?”
“Do you remember that time I almost stabbed you with a spoon because you kept nudging my arm when I was trying to arrange the seating plan?”
“Yes,” he nodded with regret.
“Times that by two hundred and you’ll reach the level of grumpiness.”
“Does that mean you like me?”
“You already know I think you’re handsome, I blurted that out as soon as I saw you.”
“That’s not what I mean Adaline, do I have a chance?”
