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“Nothing,” he smirks. “I just love watching you eat. Does the food taste okay?”
“Absolutely scrumptious.”
“You’re so cute.”
“Cute? What happened to sexy?”
“That goes without saying.”
I grin broadly. For a moment, I dare to dream of a life of domestic bliss with him. I imagine it being like this every day, us living together, waking up every morning together. How great would that be?
I shake the thought from my head.One step at a time. The idea of moving in together so soon is absurd, so don’t even think about it.
When we’ve finished breakfast, Nick clears away the dishes, and I help him; he doesn’t want me to, but I do anyway. I wipe and he washes. Then we lock up and head out to the Jag. It’s still raining heavily, but Nick gallantly shelters me in the folds of his long, black coat as we make a run for it.
I climb in the car and place my bag and new iPhone on the back seat. Nick sets the Jag in motion, and the sudden jerk throws me against him.
“Sorry, darling; I pulled out too quickly. You’re not hurt are you?”
“No, I’m fine,” I laugh, strapping on my seatbelt. “No cuts or bruises to report.”
He reaches out and runs his hand tenderly over my cheek. “You sure?”
“Positive. It takes more than a bit of whiplash to floor me.”
Carefully, Nick reverses out of the parking space and smoothly steers us onto the main road. Humming to himself, he turns on the stereo and cranks up the volume on James Brown’s“I Want You So Bad”.
For the next half hour, we say very little, soaking up the music and the serenity of the moment. Words are not necessary; we’re completely comfortable in each other’s company, so the frequent gaps in conversation don’t feel awkward. Around a quarter to nine, Nick turns into Charlotte Street and surveys the Resident Permit Holder’sspaces in search of somewhere to park.
“You can drop me at the curb,” I say. “Parking round here’s a nightmare, and I don’t want you getting a ticket. Those attendants are always on the prowl.”
Wordlessly, Nick pulls up to the curb and stops briefly for me to get out. Unclipping my seatbelt, I lean across and lightly kiss his cheek before reaching for the door.
“Wait,” he says. “When do I see you again?”
“Tonight?”
“I’m working late tonight, but if you’re willing to hang around, we could grab a bite to eat somewhere and then I can drive you home.”
“Perfect! Can’t wait.” I kiss him again, this time on the lips. “I’ll phone you at lunch.”
The car behind starts beeping and somebody shouts: “Get a move on, will ya?”
“I think that’s our cue,” I grin. “Thanks again for a wonderful night. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I blow him a final, lingering kiss and he pretends to catch it. Laughing, I open the door and exit onto the sidewalk. Waving goodbye, I turn and race toward my office. My heart swells with joy; it feels like I’m walking on air.
When I enter reception, I find Mark sitting behind the desk, deeply engrossed in today’sMetro. We lock eyes and he flashes a wry smile. “What time do you call this, young lady? I thought you’d been kidnapped by terrorists.”
“Oh, Mark, I’m so sorry. I got a lift to work and there was so much traffic I didn’t realise how long it would take.”
“Aw, save your breath sweetheart,” he chuckles. “The question is, how do you plan to make it up to me?”
“A caramel latte?”
“Throw in a super-size packet of M&M’s and we’ll call it quits.”
