Page 25 of All For You

I nodded, unsure if that was a good comforting or bad comforting. I blinked. One of her curls had gone wilder than her already wild hair, and I felt an overwhelming urge to wrap the shiny errant coil around my finger.

She sighed. “Okay, you’ve worn me down, but I still don’t understand why you’re so tied to this recipe.”

Right, the chicken. She’s suspicious that I’m holding back some key information, but she can’t figure out what.Put her off the scent. I presented her with a blank face, as if her last comment was rhetorical. “Brilliant. You won’t regret it.”

“And yet, why do I feel as though I’m going to?” But her tone was amused as she stood up and grabbed her denim jacket and handbag, ready to leave.

Trystan gave me a small look of concern, then moved back to the fridge to give his attention to the other two couples.

The cameraman hoisted his camera off his shoulder and smiled at me. He was coming with. Oh shit.

“Are you insured to drive with us?” I asked.

His face collapsed into a frown. “I’m not insured to come in your car.”

Thank God.

Settingoff down the road for the store, I glanced over at Lizzy sitting in the passenger seat of my electric Bentley. The viridian color inside and out—a dark, blooming green developed two centuries ago in Paris—reflected the shades in her eyes.

She slipped out of her flip-flops and hiked one foot onto the seat, her knee resting against the door, her long cotton dress pooling around her. With an elbow on the open window, shedreamily watched the countryside flashing past. Most women I’d known babbled about my car, money signs in their eyes at its extravagance. Lizzy didn’t seem to care, which was refreshing.

As the outside world rolled past, it felt strangely intimate to be strapped into an enclosed space with her, and I suddenly wished we had no deadline. I wished we had a longer journey and time to wander through somewhere nicer than the grocery store. But I’d probably do or say the wrong thing. Still, I gripped the wheel tighter, feeling a powerful urge to connect with her, make her laugh, have her turn to me with that smile of hers.

“If you wind up the window,” I said, “the air con works better.”

Really? That’s what you came up with?

“I like the real breeze. I like to feel the actual sun on my face.” She wrinkled her nose at me. “Is that an issue?”

“No, of course it’s not an issue.”

My overly curt answer snapped between us awkwardly, and she sat up straight in her seat. I went to explain I didn’t mind her having the window open, that I liked seeing her close her eyes against the breeze and the sunshine…but the words wouldn’t form, and I frowned. I was usually taciturn, but never tongue-tied, and I’d never cared much what people thought of me. I didn’t like this nervousness and bungled answers one bit.

We arrived at Meryton Market, and once we were out of the car, Lizzy skipped over to fetch a cart, as if she couldn’t get away from me fast enough, her shoulders now loose with relief.

But once we were inside the store and I was next to her, pushing the cart, I felt that same pull of excitement between us that I’d felt back at the house. Maybe because we were united on this mission.

I checked my watch and grimaced. “I think we only have five minutes, ten max.”

We stopped to view the lineup of aisles. I stared at all the signage and back at the recipe on my phone. I hadn’t done a proper grocery shop for years, so I wasn’t sure which direction to head first. Occasionally, I’d run into a Tesco Metro after work to grab a bottle of wine on the way to a dreaded dinner party, which I always tried to avoid but somehow still found myself at. But otherwise, my chef did the weekly food shop, and my assistant ordered the basics to keep my flat running. I certainly wasn’t telling Lizzy any of that or even admitting to any ignorance on that score.

“I’ll let you guide us, as this is your home territory,” I said.

“That’s terribly generous of you,” she answered sarcastically, but her eyes were shining with good humor. She pointed to a near aisle. “Anchovies first.”

We stalked down the aisle. “There they are,” she said, pointing to the top shelf.

We stopped and both reached up to the row of cans. Our fingers brushed, and I felt a sharp, disturbing zing all the way up my arm, completely out of proportion to the lightness of our touch.

“Please,” I said.

“No, you,” she said at the same time.

I suppressed a grin, feeling quite light-headed. For God’s sake, we were in a store.

We got two cans for good measure.

I turned and grasped the trolley to find I’d locked my fingers over hers.