Page 85 of Read My Lips

“Why?” I asked, consciously keeping my voice soft. “Because Simon Azie is perfection itself at all times?”

“Oh fuck you.” He laughed, skittering his eyes down to my mouth. “I’m being vulnerable here, thank you very much.”

“Funny, I thought you were making lunch.”

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

If I’d forgotten someone was coming to lunch, they’d be lucky if I had the makings of a ham sandwich to throw together. Simon had tossed a bagged salad and a punnet of cherry tomatoes into a bowl, drizzled it with dressing, and magicked out a pack of flatbreads from one of his cupboards to go with the homemade houmous. And the fish. There were olives, and shiny hot peppers stuffed with cheese, and an array of sliced cured meats and melon sliced into orange cubes, because fresh fruit, posh Italian ham and emergency antipasti was what he’d had languishing at the back of his fridge. No shrink-wrapped slowly liquifying lettuce in this house. Heaven forbid.

“Grub’s up,” Simon announced.

Sev shifted Jo’s feet off her lap as we crossed the grass towards them, moving her laptop to make space. “This is such a good table. We need one like this.”

Ice cubes tinkled in the tall water jug on the tray I carried, lemon slices bobbing about with every step I took, and the stack of glasses rattled as I set it down.

Shielding her face from the sun, Jo squinted up the sky and vacated her seat, moving to the other side of the table.

“How about Simon where I was, and then you go on the other side of Sev, Ben. And then we can all talk.”

“Or, I could put the other umbrella up,” Simon suggested, affectionate as much as amused. “So no one’s squinting. Calm down. Ben knows the ropes.”

They unloaded the trays, and started dishing up in a mostly amicable tussle for control. Sev and I sat back and watched.

“They always like this?”

My co-worker shrugged. “Both of them know best, you see.”

“What’s that Sev?” Simon handed her a fully loaded plate with a beautifully arched eyebrow.

Jo nudged his arm, chin tipped up in overacted protest. “She’s being rude.”

Sev shrugged smugly, smearing up houmous with a hunk of flatbread. She popped it into her mouth, still holding Jo’s eye contact. I swear the air crackled. “Am I though?”

“Stop talking with your mouth full,” Simon scolded. “I can still tell you’re flirting with my sister.” Sitting down, he slid her laptop back towards her, and skewered a forkful of leafy greens from his plate. “What have you got for us to stick up on social, then?”

“We’re not doing new pictures?” I asked, tearing a hunk off my own bread.

“Babes.” Sev scooped more houmous as the laptop whirred to life. “I’ve got better things to do than Photoshop you into exotic locations and bad dates because you don’t have any pictures together.”

“God no.” Simon looked as horrified as I felt. “We’ll say we’re very private. We took a few yesterday and this morning.”

Sev hummed triumphantly. “So those are still the clothes you were wearing on Saturday, Ben?”

I nearly choked. “No comment.”

Jo giggled, practically kicking her feet. “Oh I am glad I came over.”

“Erm. So. What is it you do again, Jo? For work?” Subtlety of conversation topic change? Minus twenty points.

“I’m a designer.”

“Actually, Jo, Ben found himself rather taken with your Leopard and the Fox,” Simon put in. “And the peacock feathers.”

I goggled at him. Had he really just told his sister I’d nearly imploded all over him because I liked her clothes that much?

“You made those?” Hello choir-boy voice. Even I couldn’t tell if I sounded outraged or impressed three octaves higher. Jo laughed like she’d banked it as a compliment anyway.