Page 156 of Pretender

“It’s a bit fast. We just… You know. But one day soon, when you’re here so often that you might as well?”

“That sounds good. Very healthy. And I won’t change a thing here, except we’ll need another chair in your library so we can read together.” He wraps his arms around my waist as if I was about to run away, but I’m not. Weirdly, I want Aiden to invade my space, make it ours.

“So,” he says, turning towards the kitchen. “What food do you have in the house?”

I grimace. I’ve not been home for a week and, except the food we ordered in the other day, we’ve not done anything but each other.

I check the fridge. It’s no good. “If you like mustard, I have that.”

“Just mustard? Not even a cheese?”

“I ate everything last week and what was left I threw out before I went to Devon.”

Aiden moves to the pantry and I hear a cheer. “You have mini gherkins.”

He stands there, holding up my pickle jar.

The pickle jar.

My nemesis.

For a moment I stare at him and the jar in his hand. My stomach knots.

I drag in a long breath.

It’s time.

“Can you open it for me, please?” I ask, and my stomach unclenches immediately. If anyone should open my pickle jar, it’s Aiden.

He does as I ask. Too. Fucking. Easily. And I narrow my eyes at the gherkins. Little rascals.

“These pickles better be fucking delicious,” I say.

Aiden pops one in his mouth, and I join him. For a minute we sit in silence, crunching on mini gherkins, hooking our legs together between the barstools.

“Let’s order some pizza, shall we?” I ask. “These were underwhelming.”

“Okay, did you have a particular one in mind?”

“I was thinking… How about Florentine pizza?”

He gapes at me, a gherkin halfway to his mouth. I wait for him to process my question.

“Hmm.” He puts the gherkin down. “I’m not sure I’m ready for Florentine pizza yet,” he says, knitting his brow. “What if it’s no good?”

“At least you’ll know. What if it’s delicious?”

Aiden stares into space, tracing a thumb across his bottom lip.

“Or for now,” I say, tilting my head to get into his line of sight, “we can just order one from that place near the shopping centre. We can have Florentine pizza another time.”

“Yeah.” He looks at me now. “Are we still talking about my grandparents or actual pizza?”

“Umm, I got lost in my analogy. Let’s get pizza first. Grandparents and answers later.”

“Okay. As long as you come with me.”

“Anywhere. Anytime. I’m here for you.”