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“Bed,” he says darkly.
From him, the same word sounds much hotter and makes my insides flutter. I hope it does something similar to him otherwise life is just not fair.
He pulls on trousers but stays shirtless. “We can eat at the kitchen table.”
“Oh, is that what it is? I thought it was your desk?” I look at the pile of paperwork.
“Be nice, the poor table has an identity problem and doesn’t need its first dinner date to mock it.” He finds plates and we sit down to eat.
“So?” he asks, pouring us white wine into mismatched glasses.
“So?” My heart flutters a little more.
“Stop looking at me like this,” he says, colouring. “You’re not playing fair.”
The man is the king of unfair play, sitting opposite me like he does, shirtless and handsome. I school my thoughts and my face and slice the bread loaf.
He butters the bread then takes a big bite and chews. I look down at my plate because even watching him eat is making me forget why I came.
“Are you going to tell me if this is a bribe?” he asks at last.
Bribe? No. Seduction? Maybe. “Call it a thank you for the lovely coffee,” I say. “You know, for a man who lives in a shoebox, you make room for some expensive luxuries.”
“Not luxuries, just one luxury: coffee. It’s my proof that I’m not a failure.”
I wait for him to explain more but he doesn’t. My life is full of men who do not explain themselves. I have to find a way to make him talk, and not about the coffee but the other elephant in the room.
After the meal is finished, I get the half empty wine bottle from the fridge, but Hal covers his glass with his hand. “None for me.”
I hold the bottle uncertainly. “You’ve only had one glass.”
“I’m what you’d call an amorous drunk.” He half-smiles at the table. “Elodie, I’m not going to be able to resist you if I drink anymore.”
My insides fizz. Yet Hal is still sitting down and shows no sign of moving towards me. His expression is wary as he folds his arms over the edge of the table.
Silence stretches between us like a wordless staring contest.
“What’s wrong?” he asks at last.
I change the subject. “I am finding it increasingly difficult not to go down the hill.”
He heaves a big sigh. “Me too. Every time I look out of the window and see the bushes, I’m seriously worried I might go sleepwalking one night and get lost.”
“I don’t think either of us should risk,les épines et les piqûres.” I quote Ada Montague’s French clue.
“A romantic name for what I like to call the forest of deadly pricks.” He laughs, reaching for the wine bottle, but doesn’t pour.
“Pierre and Gabriel will be back in a couple of weeks. It feels like forever.”
He looks at the bottle for a while before pouring himself a glass. “It was your idea to wait.”
“They deserve to be a part of this discovery.”
“Good intentions are easier to make, than to keep.” His grin is all sorts of suggestive.
“I mean all this self-denial is a bit much, it’s not just the secret house that we’re putting on hold, is it?”
He watches me, his eyes suddenly dark.
