She rolled her eyes, but not very hard. He was, as she reminded him regularly, a wee fiend, but she loved him beyond reason. She thought she was terribly plain, but he seemed to find her beautiful and she wasn’t going to argue.
“Meditation,” he said, turning the sheaves. “Mastering all the languages your husband doesn’t know so we don’t starve in foreign countries, allowing your husband to shamelessly pamper you at all hours, reminding your husband how gorgeous you are if he’s too dazzled by your gorgeous self to think straight.” He looked at her. “Have I missed anything?”
“I think there is something inside about spotted yoga trews.”
“As long as you’re wearing them,” he said with feeling. “And you’re right. Yoga, continuing your self-defense classes, plotting ways to kill off Ewan Cameron and make it look like an accident.” He glanced at her. “Nowhave I missed anything?”
She smiled. “Nay, nothing but what I will have once my book is complete.”
He tucked the book back into his jacket and took her hand. “What would you like?”
“Besides you?”
“You already have me,” he reminded her. “Every day for the rest of your life.” He smiled. “What other thing would you like?”
“A holiday in Scotland?”
He burst out laughing. Mairead shared a look with Rufus that needed no words. They had discussed several times the joy they both took in Oliver’s cheerful laugh, something Rufus said he’d heard far too seldom in the past.
Oliver laced his fingers with hers. “If you like,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Or we could go to Italy again and gawk at some more Renaissance art.”
“That is tempting,” she conceded. “It is my era, after all.”
“They lost out on a fabulous model,” he conceded, “but Michelangelo’s loss is my gain. Let’s add another trip to Florence to our list, shall we?”
She nodded happily and watched him jot that down before he pocketed the goods and reached for her hand again to hold it between his own. She’d tried to have a view of his new little notebook that was covered just in black with no foul names stamped into the front of it, but he’d claimed there were lists in there of wooing ideas. Not being one to want to spoil surprises, she’d left him to his secrets and counted herself fortunate that she was the delighted recipient of so many of them.
At the moment, though, he was obviously not a delighted recipient of his phone alerting him that a text had been received. Several, by the sound of things. He pulled his phone from his pocket, flipped it open and looked at a handful of things, then put it back in his pocket with a sigh.
“The lads?”
He sighed and handed her his phone. “Siblings.”
“Your sister?”
“And a younger brother,” he muttered. He shot her a quick look. “What am I going to do with one ofthose?”
She smiled. “Love them, I imagine. And at least with your sister, there is merit to her desire to be free of your parents. I think you might become her knight in shining armor.”
He pursed his lips and shot her a look. “I’ve hung up my spurs.”
She smiled. “Have you?”
He blew his hair out of his eyes, but said nothing.
She smiled and leaned her head back against the seat and simply watched him as Rufus wove his way through London traffic.
He sighed finally. “I’m thinking about it.”
“She needs a rescue.”
“I know.”
“You’re very good at that sort of thing.”
“And what will I have if I trot out my chivalry?”
“Me,” she said with a smile, “for the rest of your life until we’re a pair of wizened old apples, grinning foolishly at each other over our porritch.”
