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‘Rob,’ said Rob, then shook his head in frustration, wishing he wasn’t so shit at this whole deception business. ‘But my friends call me Graham.’
‘Why would they do that?’ asked the woman, her brow furrowed. ‘Rob is a much sexier name than Graham.’
Rob smiled awkwardly, studiously ignoring her pert backside in skin-tight caramel hotpants and a matching crop top, both so close to her natural skin colour that she looked pretty much naked. Why couldn’t Barnaby’s neighbour have been a friendly grandma? He was in enough trouble without being caught checking out the super-hot woman next door. What if Hannah came back early and found them together in her dad’s kitchen?
‘Are we going, or not?’ asked the woman, giving him a knowing smile that suggested she was familiar with men being entirely cross-eyed and befuddled in her company. Rob nodded and hurried into the kitchen, failing to restrain Scrumpy before he bounded over to greet the visitor. Clara completely ignored him, which made Rob re-evaluate how attractive she actually was. She surveyed the carnage with her mouth hanging open, taking in the chaos of smoking pots piled in the sink and half-open packets of food littering the counter. ‘Holy shit,’ she said. ‘What happened?’
‘I tried to cook something to impress my . . . wife’s father. But I can’t actually cook, and they’ll be back soon and all I’ve got is chaos for a starter and a shitshow for the main course.’
‘Fuck,’ said Clara. ‘This is bad. How is this so bad?’
‘I just got flustered,’ said Rob, raking his hand through his hair. ‘But even worse, my wife has just messaged to say they’ll be back in forty minutes.’
‘Wow,’ said Clara, shaking her head. Her hair was long and soft and moved like a curtain in the breeze, and Rob momentarily wondered what it smelled like. ‘You’re in big trouble,’ she added.
‘I know,’ said Rob, snapping himself out of his impure thoughts. If he was ever going to be good enough for Hannah, he needed to stop thinking like a player ALL THE FUCKING TIME and endeavour to deserve her. ‘I’ve got time to clear up, but not to make any actual food. I was hoping you might save me.’
‘In what way?’ laughed Clara with a shrug. ‘I can’t cook either. I’ve lived off green vegetables and coffee for the past two decades.’
Rob rubbed his hands across his face like he was trying to wake up from a bad dream. Clearly it was too much to hope that the hot neighbour was also Nigella Lawson. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I guess I thought you might have a magic wand.’
‘Wait, I have an idea,’ said Clara, holding up her hands. Her eyes were blue and huge, like a Disney princess. ‘There is a tapas bar up in the village, I can call them now. Maybe you can clear up all this shit, and I can scooter up there and grab some things that you can put in the oven? You could say you made them.’
Rob could have kissed her, but that wouldn’t be remotely helpful. ‘You’d do that? Really?’
‘Sure. Do I get an invite to dinner?’
‘Absolutely not,’ laughed Rob. ‘I don’t think my wife would understand.’
Clara laughed too, showing perfect white teeth. ‘Neither would my husband, now I think about it,’ she mused. ‘Fine, Rob-also-known-as-Graham, I will save your dinner and your marriage and your dog, even though there are many other things I’d rather do for you right now. For three people, yes?’
‘Yes.’ Rob nodded, feeling like a huge weight had already been lifted.
‘Give me fifty euros, and we’ll be all fixed in thirty minutes.’
Rob rummaged in the pocket of his shorts and pulled out some crumpled notes. ‘Thank you, Clara.’
‘Hmm,’ said Clara, rolling her eyes. ‘Lucky for you you’re so handsome. Clean this place up, I’ll be back soon.’
‘Hey, Rob,’ said Hannah, strolling into the kitchen. Rob was casually slicing bread like a man who’d spent all afternoon cooking up an authentic Spanish dinner. The kitchen was spotless, all the spoiled food bagged and squashed into Clara’s bins. The smell of chorizo and tortilla and herby prawns and patatas bravas wafted from the oven, where they were happily keeping warm under Scrumpy’s watchful eye.
‘My name’s Graham,’ said Rob, giving Hannah a ‘babe, are you MAD?’ glance of sympathy.
‘It’s fine,’ said Hannah. ‘Dad knows you’re not Graham.’
‘It’s nice to meet you, Rob,’ said Barnaby. He leaned over the counter and held out his hand, so Rob shook it warily. He had a sneaky feeling that dinner might not be the focal point of this evening after all. Scrumpy nudged his leg with his nose, like a wet splodge of comfort and reassurance.
‘So where does this young man fit into your story?’ asked Barnaby.
Hannah sighed heavily. ‘We met at Club Colina last week. I was on a tennis holiday with some girlfriends.’
‘Ah, so you ARE a tennis player,’ said Barnaby with grin.
‘Actually, I’m a coach,’ said Rob with a guilty smile.
Barnaby clapped his hands together like he’d had some kind of revelation. ‘Well, that explains your very bizarre performance this morning. So what is this, exactly? A holiday romance?’
Hannah glanced at Rob, then blushed and rubbed the space on her finger where her wedding band had previously been. Rob had seen her do it before when she was nervous, and in that moment he realised how head-over-heels crazy about her he was.
