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As I returned to the open plan of my apartment, I spotted Sam lowering a tray on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “You’re just in time.” He sat down on the couch and tapped the cushion beside him, beckoning at me.
I raced my way over, pulling the duvet around my shoulders and slid my feet under Sam’s thigh to steal his body warmth. Thank heavens he didn’t mind. Sam was so much better than any other fricking hot water bottle. He exuded heat any season and oh dear, was that my pink mug brimming with steaming hot coffee next to a plate of perfectly cooked toast? Plus, he lit up the vanilla candle. Sam loved my sweet candles. Never complained they were too womanly or pretended to have any allergies either. Could this man be any more amazing?
“You made me coffee. Should I even taste it?” I was only pulling his leg. The coffee was just the perfect shade of black.
“I’m sure it’ll taste bad but not on my account, even if it’s the first coffee I’ve ever made without a coffee machine.”
“Let me guess. You watched a video tutorial while I was in the shower.”
Sam bit into his toast and munched on it as he spoke. “I own a branding company, remember? That means I love inspecting good packaging and your coffee jar sure got a really eye-catching label. Did you know it also includes instructions? ‘Add one spoon, add hot water.’”
Always a gentleman – downplaying his effort to please.
I reached for the coffee mug and blew on it before sipping it. Wow, perfect spoon measurement, Sam.
I inched forward to him and peeked his cheek. “Thank you Sam.” Then I traded the mug for my plate of toast.
We enjoyed the toast for a while. Until I caught Sam staring at me in between bites. I shot him a what look.
A lopsided smirk took over his lips as he continued munching on his bite. “Shorts, huh. No silk nightdress?”
Of course, he’d never forgetthatdress – the one that he had seen and touched when he was helping me pack.
Sam set his empty plate on the coffee table and wiped his hands over it to brush off the bread crumbs from his hands. Then he shifted in his seat, draping his arm over the sofa casually with his wicked smirk. “Tell me, did you not wear that dress because of its cold fabric or because I’m here?”
“Because now I’ve got silk bed sheets and I’m sleeping in my panties instead.”
His brows furrowed. Probably due to my lack of thinking before speaking to avoid saying words like panties. Look at him looking at me, or more specifically, at my shorts. He must have been imagining stuff. Or could he see the neon pink thong I wore underneath my shorts? Suddenly conscious, I pulled the duvet further over my thighs.
“Are you trying to tease me, Lucille?”
I shook my head negatively. “Before you get any ideas, I do lock my bedroom door.”
“Okay, so if I like to sleep in my underpants too, may I do that when I’m here?”
“Whatever. Just don’t come parading in the kitchen or anywhere like that.”
“Would that tease you if I do?”
Okay, now this was too much teasing and flirting. Change the subject, Lucy. You’re on the verge of crossing the friendzone borders.
“You know what I’m thinking?” I set my plate down on the table. “I’m getting the feeling that you’re starting to prefer my colourful apartment more than your fancy loft. Yesterday’s laundry was more your clothes than mine.”
“I love the morning view from my bedroom here. Guess I should have gotten an apartment with a back garden like yours. It’s much better to hear bird songs than to listen to the hustle and bustle of the city. Guess I shouldn’t have bought the first one I found close to my office straightaway after the divorce.” Sam drank his tall glass of water. “Anyhow, did you say I have a spare change of clothes here?”
“In your room, a.k.a.myspare bedroom.”
“Can I shower too? These clothes are freezing on me.”
“Oh, you’re still wearing those? You’ll catch a cold or something. Go, shower. Do you even have to ask? And while you’re in there, I’ll pick a movie. You up for a comedy?”
“Always.” Sam got off the sofa and made his way to the spare bedroom which he hijacked as his own.
I had barely picked up the TV remote before I heard Sam’s voice, making me look behind me over the sofa.
“Did you do this?” Sam stood before the canvas painting on one of the walls. “Stupid me. Of course you did. It’s signed ‘Lucy’.”
“It’s not that great,” I said even though I did consider that abstract side portrait painted with twenty colours as the best piece I’ve ever done.
