Page 19 of Counting Down To You

Nick cocks his head curiously at me, while I try not to jolt at that and attempt to school my face into an expression that says, yep, that’s me, I’m his girl. This, after all, was the added benefit of the whole thing, right? Not just saving myself from embarrassment, but helping me keep a low profile, avoid any drama.

Avoid any fun, you mean. Robyn’s voice, on the verge of a sulk.

“So,” Nick says, “you’re the one who finally convinced our Brooks to settle down, then, are you?”

There is a muttering at the back of the room, from the chef who has ignored us this whole time. It’s something in another language, so I don’t catch any of it, and when I look over he is deliberately peering into the copper pot he’s stirring. I can see his incredulous expression, though.

I smile at Nick and offer a shrug. “I guess so.”

“Hmmm.” Nick taps his fingers on the steel surface in front of him. “Maybe you can persuade him to come along tonight, buy the staff a round on the hotel.”

The waiter from outside comes in, his gaze skimming over me and Elodie before resting on Nick. “Table of two in, will take their order in five.”

Nick nods, barely seeming to register this. “So how did you meet?” he asks me.

I catch myself mid-grimace. Given Charlotte asked this yesterday, I should have come up with a story, shouldn’t I? I should have discussed it with Leo. I hesitate, then decide to go for a version of the truth. “We were trying to get into the same taxi.”

“Where?” Nick demands, with slightly unnecessary force. “In London?”

“Ah, yep.”

“Last year?”

“Ah…” I’m not really sure what the Spanish Inquisition is about. “Pretty recently, actually.” There, that is both vague and true.

“Hmmm.” Nick drums his fingers again. “So he didn’t move back last year to be with you?”

“What? No.” Although should I be checking with him on this? To be fair, if he wanted specifics from me, he’d have said, right? Maybe we should have the whole rules and parameters conversation. Or maybe I should just come clean. Maybe I should forget this whole thing, book a flight back to London and chalk it up to temporary insanity.

“Leave the poor girl alone, Nick,” mutters Elodie. “And stop speculating. He’s back now, isn’t he?”

Back from where, I want to ask. Though, given I’m dating him, I obviously can’t.

“I still say there’s something in the MI5 theory,” comes a call from the chef at the back of the kitchen. His accent is Italian, I think.

“You think Brooks is a British spy who has been stationed in the French Alps?” Nick calls back.

“There are many of you British people here, are there not? You are everywhere, as far as I can tell.”

“He’d be a terrible spy,” Nick says. “Spends most of his time avoiding us all on the mountains.”

“Or—”

The door to the kitchen opens and I stiffen.

“Morning, Brooks,” Elodie says smoothly. “Ali was just telling us how you met.”

Leo’s green eyes find mine. He has the kind of stare that makes it impossible to look away, which I imagine comes in handy. When he drops my gaze, I note that he’s wearing ski trousers, with a long-sleeved T-shirt cut close to his body, showing off lines of muscle that I do my best not to gawk at. Why does he have to be so attractive? It makes me feel self-conscious about random shit. Like my hands. Why are my hands so weird and awkward, hanging at my sides like this? And should I go to him? Adam was always so easy with affection when we were together. I miss that, I realize. I miss the way he’d sling an arm round me or kiss the top of my head. It’s been a long time since I shared that kind of easy affection with anyone.

“Was she now?” Leo asks, his voice a low rumble. The corner of his mouth crooks up as if to say, I’d like to hear that story too.

“You coming to Loop later, mate?” Nick pipes up, seemingly completely at ease.

Leo frowns, though whether at the “mate” or at the invitation, I don’t know.

The waiter comes in again before Leo can answer, barely breaking stride as he says, “An eggs Benedict and the lemon ricotta pancakes.” He falters a little as he notices the addition to the small gathering, then hands the ticket over to Nick, who sighs.

“Eggs Benedict. Why does everyone insist on ordering it? Why do we still have it on the menu? It’s so…unoriginal.”