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Okay, so I probably shouldn’t be that surprised, but bearing in mind he was up in the middle of the night seeing to me...
My cheeks flush deeper. Not the best way to phrase it!
‘Every weekday,’ James says. ‘Mr Fitzroy visits the gym at six and expects breakfast to be ready no later than seven-thirty.’
Well, that explains the physique...
‘If you’d like to go through to the dining room, I’ll send for some food.’
‘Oh, no, it’s fine, James. I’ll sort myself out in the kitchen.’
‘But meals are always served in the dining room.’
I almost back down in the face of his frown. I know I’m messing with his routine, but the idea of eating in the dining room is enough to rob me of my appetite. It was okay with Edward’s presence filling the vast space so easily the night before, but eating there alone...
‘I’d like to catch up with Marie, anyway.’
‘I see...’
I smile the brightest of smiles. ‘Thank you, though.’
I’m already heading towards the kitchen and I feel his perplexed gaze follow me. Not that I can blame him. I’m hardly what he’s used to. From what I understand, Katherine stopped fostering a decade ago, when she felt she could no longer give the children what they needed. It’s likely James wasn’t here when kids like me walked the halls.
I have to pass Edward’s study to get to the kitchen, and even though I know he’s working I figure it wouldn’t hurt to peep in...test the water, so to speak.
Before I can lose my nerve, I rap gently on the door, push it open a crack. My eager gaze finds him instantly. He’s at his desk, his dark shirt setting off his dark hair and even darker eyes. His phone is to his ear, but his attention in that split-second is all for me. It’s as though a trail of gunpowder connects us and the fuse has been lit, with the flame crossing the distance and running right through me.
I breathe through the sensation, smile and wave, mouth Morning.
A pulse twitches in his jaw...his lashes flutter. ‘Yes, sorry, Juan,’ he says into the phone. ‘I’m still here.’
And then he dips his head to me, the briefest of nods.
Is that all I’m getting?
His attention shifts to his computer and I have my answer.
I ignore the pang in my chest...the little bubble of panic that threatens.
We’re grown adults. We can have sex and be okay. Hell, it wasn’t even sex. Just a bit of a fumble. Nothing major.
I’m still telling myself this when I get to the kitchen and the sound of Marie’s singing reaches me, coaxing out a smile that quietens the nagging doubt.
‘Still singing the same tunes?’
She spins on the spot, palm pressed to her bosom. ‘Ah, Miss Summer, you are awake at last!’
Her cheeks round with her smile and I step inside the inviting warmth of the room, breathe in the scent of fresh-baked goodies and am transported back twenty years.
The kitchen hasn’t changed at all. The same Belfast sink sits before the window with its view of the garden beyond and a vase of freshly cut flowers on its sill. The same dinner service fills the same antique cabinet along one wall. The same cream range sits beside the fire that always seems to be lit. The same oak table stretches down the middle, the ceiling rack above it laden with pots and pans, herbs and utensils.
‘You know, you really can just call me Summer, Marie.’
‘Pish-posh. You were Miss Summer back then; you’ll be Miss Summer now... That is until you find yourself a good man to take care of you.’
‘I don’t need a man, Marie. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.’
‘And where’s the fun in that?’
