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It was all so unexpected she felt as though the lift floor had dropped out from under her.
‘Cameron,’ she said, her voice puny. ‘What have you gone and done?’
‘I needed to make up for the farce at the Red Fox.’
And, it seemed, for every mediocre date she’d ever endured in her lifelong pursuit of cardboard-cutout companions.
Cameron guided her round neat piles of plasterboard and buckets of paint to the table. Only when his hand slid from her back to pull out her chair did she realise how chilly it was.
She let her handbag slump to the floor and sat, knees glued together, heels madly tapping the concrete floor.
The second he’d finished pouring her a glass of wine, she grabbed it and took a swig. For warmth. He caught her eye and smiled. She downed the rest of the glass.
‘So, how was your day?’ he asked, and she laughed so suddenly her hand flew to her mouth lest she spit wine all over the beautiful table. ‘Did I say something funny?’
She put down the glass, and with her finger pushed it well out of reach. ‘Well, yeah. We’re currently sitting atop the world, surrounded by what looks to be every candle in Brisbane. And you’re actually expecting me to remember how my day was?’
She looked down, picked up a silver spoon and polished it with her thumb. ‘Of course, you’ve probably had dinner here a hundred times, so none of this is in the slightest bit unusual for you.’
She put down the spoon and sat on her hands. He poured himself a glass of wine slowly, then refilled hers just as slowly. Maybe he didn’t feel the tension building in the cold air. Maybe she was the only one second guessing why they were here.
As he pushed her glass back towards her, he said, ‘I have eaten Chinese takeaway atop a nearly finished building many, many times when the deadline came down to the wire and every second of construction counted. But my only company has been men in work boots. I’m not sure candles would have been appropriate.’
She slid her eyebrows north in her best impression of nonchalance. ‘Did you just compare me with sweaty men? I may just swoon.’
Cameron’s eyes narrowed, but she caught a glimpse of neat white teeth as a smile slipped through. ‘Eat first, then swoon. I’m afraid this will be a shorter meal than last night. The fact we are here at all at this time of night without supervision means that we are breaking enough laws and union rules to get me shut me down.’
Rosie tried to do a happy dance at the “shorter meal” remark, but alas she found mischief even sexier than smooth talk. She clasped her hands together, leaned forward and whispered, ‘Seriously?’
He put the bottle down and leaned close enough that she could see candlelight dancing in his eyes. ‘Bruce, my project manager, just about quit when I told him what I had in mind.’
‘Just about?’
The eyecrinkles deepened and all breath seeped quietly from her lungs.
‘Though he looks scary, Bruce is really a big softie. He huffed and puffed and made me promise we’d wear helmets, and then promptly forgot I ever let him know what I was planning.’
She realised then that this would have taken a lot of planning. Meaning he’d been thinking about dinner, and more importantly about her, for much of the day.
What had happened to the hard, fast, cool character she was meant to be dating? And why was she so damn stubborn that she wasn’t running scared right now?
He lifted his glass in salute. She took hers in a slightly unsteady hand and touched it to his. The clink of fine craftsmanship echoed in the wide, open space.
She said, ‘Here’s to Bruce.’
Cameron gave a small nod and took a sip, his eyes never once leaving hers. The urge to laugh had been replaced by the urge to scream. This was all so unreal, the kind of thing that happened to other girls. Nice girls. Not pragmatic girls who’d deliberately ruined every semi-meaningful relationship by walking away before the other shoe had a chance to drop.
She allowed herself the luxury of screaming on the inside of her head, and it helped a little.
‘Hungry?’ Cameron asked.
‘Famished,’ she said on a whoosh of air. Her eyes drifted to the silver-domed platters. ‘So, who else did you bribe tonight?’
‘A friend owns a place at Breakfast Creek Wharf.’ He opened up the first dome to reveal a steaming plate of something delicious-looking. ‘Scored calamari-strips in capsicum salsa, topped with quarters of lime.’
Rosie flapped her hands at him. ‘Gimme, gimme, gimme.’
Cameron did as he was told and she dove in. At the first bite the taste exploded on her tongue, sour and sweet, fresh, salty and juicy. Plenty to keep her mouth full so she didn’t have to talk. And didn’t have to hear him say anything else to make her warm to him even more.
