Page 10 of Secret Paths

“Christ,” she mutters, smoothing her skirt down over her thighs. “My legs have gone numb.”

“That sounds like a complaint.”

“It is an observation.”

“You made several enthusiastic observations a minute ago.”

She gives me a look that should shut me up.

It does not.

Mandy bends to retrieve her blouse from the floor. One button is missing.

She holds it up, inspecting the gap with a frown. “That was my good blouse.”

“I can look for it.”

“Are you telling me you can sew.”

“I was going to look for the button, not offer tailoring services.”

“That is reassuring.”

I find it under the table leg, slightly bent but intact. Mandy takes it from me, her fingers brushing mine.

The kitchen feels different now. Not awkward. Just quieter. The sort of quiet that follows a decision made too quickly to examine while it is happening.

“This does not have to be weird,” she says.

“No.”

“I mean it, Peter.”

“I know.”

She turns around, arms folding loosely across herself. Her expression is calm, but I recognise the look. It is the one she gets when she is about to say something she has thought through carefully.

“I am not looking for a relationship.”

The words should not catch me off guard. They do anyway.

“I am neither,” I say.

Her shoulders drop a fraction.

“I like my life,” she continues. “My job. My house. Not having to explain where I am going or negotiate whose family we see at Christmas.”

“Christmas is months away.”

“That is not the point.”

“No, I know.”

She watches me for a moment, making sure I do.

“I do not do serious relationships,” I say. “I am not suddenly going to start because we had sex on your kitchen counter.”

“Good,” she smiles.