Her eyebrows draw together at my question.
“A ten or twenty p coin,” I add.
Placing her glass down, she goes to the fridge and then, on tiptoes, reaches for a cookie-shaped cookie jar from the top. Cradled on the inside of her elbow, she removes the lid. I hear the sound of change as she pulls out a handful of coins, and I see a fifty pence piece.
“Perfect,” I say, plucking it out of her hand. She drops the rest in the jar, and I watch as she rises on her tiptoes again to place it back on top of the fridge.
Pulling a knife from the block on the counter, I cut a slit into the cork and then add in the coin. Holding it out to her, I watch with amusement as she looks at my outstretched hand and then back to my face.
“A keepsake. It’s a special day.”
Taking it, she turns it over in her hands.
“Over time, the cork will tighten around the coin, and eventually, it’ll become impossible to remove. It’ll bring you luck and prosperity,” I say, bringing my glass to my lips and sipping the champagne.
I feel all kinds of awkward, but it’s a tradition. I have corks from my eighteenth and my twenty-first birthdays, and I do the same for my mum and my sisters, for Ethan and Henry. It’s become a family tradition.
Her eyes spring to mine. “Wow, that’s lovely, thank you,” she says, looking back at it in wonder.
I push her glass towards her. “Come on, drink up. We have places to go, and I’ll have people to fight to keep them away from you.”
She laughs as if I’m joking, but it’s the truth. She looks fucking amazing, and it’s suddenly occurred to me that she is completely oblivious.
“Do you have anything we can put those in?” I nod my head in the direction of the table where the flowers I brought lay.
Turning to a cupboard behind her, she rummages inside and pulls out a small vase.
“Do you have any scissors?”
Pulling open a drawer, she pulls out a small pair.
“Perfect,” I say and go to take them, but she shakes her head.
“I can do it.”
But before she can move past me, I pull her hand above her head. Her chest rises and falls on a quick intake of breath as I back her into the counter, careful to keep my body from brushing up against hers.
I dip my head, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. “And let you hurt yourself again. I don’t think so, Tink, let me.”
She doesn’t resist when I take the scissors from her hand. If anything, she appears a little dazed.
I walk over and cut open the plastic surrounding the stems. From the corner of my eye, I see her take a huge gulp of champagne, her nose scrunching, no doubt from the bubbles and the fact it's meant to be sipped, not guzzled.
“Do you arrange flowers often?” she asks, taking the vase over to the sink to fill with water.
I nod when she returns, placing it beside me as I trim the stems.
“I do, as it happens. Do you have any white vinegar?”
A laugh escapes her. “You ask a lot of questions, you know.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Would you prefer I just went hunting in your cupboards?” I place down the flowers and move to the other cupboard behind her, but she holds up her hands.
“Okay, easy tiger, I’ll get it.”
I reach inside the cutlery drawer for a tablespoon as she hands me the small bottle of vinegar.
“Watch and learn, Tinker Bell.”
