Seeing him made my heart thump. He always looked so comfortable in his skin. He was sitting on a low wall in his faded jeans and white shirt, stroking Snowy under her chin. She looked ready to dissolve into a puddle of pleasure. Watching his hands move made me feel the same way. He had a way of holding himself that was so effortlessly sexy.
‘Hey, Si. Great to see you,’ I said, trying not to sound too excited. ‘You should have texted. Have you been waiting long?’
He grinned. ‘Nah, and anyway, this little sweetheart has been keeping me company.’
‘Snowy’s anyone’s for a tickle under the chin.’
By his feet were two carrier bags from Sainsbury’s and for a moment I wondered whether he’d been kicked out of his hotel and the bags were filled with all his worldly goods.
‘What’s with the bags?’
‘I have the most amazing recipe for moussaka, and I wanted to try it on my favourite Greek.’
He was talking about me, right?‘You’re going to cook?’
‘Yes, and you’re going to help, so come on – you’ve got potatoes to peel.’
The first thing Simon did was turn on the oven. Except, it wasn’t working.
‘Yeah,’ I said, feeling a bit embarrassed. ‘I’ve been meaning to look into that.’
He started laughing. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Shut up. Maybe I don’t use the oven because I make delicious healthy salads every night.’
Simon knelt down to look at the oven’s controls and after pressing a few buttons, the damn thing magically came to life.
He grinned. ‘You’ve got to set the clock, otherwise it won’t work.’
‘Well, that’s just dumb.’
‘Right, frying pan. We need to brown some onions.’
This I could do. ‘Olive oil okay?’
He nodded –thank goodness– because I didn’t have any other sort.
The kitchen was small and we had to keep moving around each other to get to things, which wasn’t entirely unpleasant. The mince was simmering nicely in the pan and even I had to admit we were creating some amazing smells.
At some point, Simon opened a bottle of wine, and we had almost drunk it before we’d even got to the bechamel sauce.
‘You want to make it from scratch?’
He looked mortally offended. ‘Is there any other way?’
‘It comes ready-made in a jar. Even the Londis around the corner has it.’
‘Once you’ve tried my bechamel, you’ll never go back to store-bought.’ He raised his eyebrows suggestively. Blimey, was he flirting over a jar of sauce? Who knew cooking could be fun?
‘So, what do we need for the sauce?’
He reached into his carrier bags and took out flour and eggs. I snuck a peek at what else was there. Moussaka needed a surprising amount of ingredients. A packet caught my eye. I yanked it out and dangled it in front of him.
‘Ready-made breadcrumbs? You are so busted!’
He held up his hands in surrender and laughed. ‘Okay, I admit it, I’m a total fraud. But I still win the adult stakes. Do you think I’m going to let you forget that you didn’t know what “blanching” meant?’
‘At least I don’t call an aubergine an eggplant.’
