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‘That’s what you call relaxing? Don’t you ever stop and do nothing?’
Lizzie laughed. ‘No way. Life’s too short for standing around. I’m too scared I might miss out on something.’
‘That’s one of the many differences between us,’ he mused, wondering if she was already thinking what he was about to say. ‘You’re extrovert and party loving. Me? I’m a quiet night in front of the television type of guy.’ Abruptly he got to his feet. ‘Do you want a drink? Anything to eat?’
His swift change of subject earned him a questioning look, but thankfully she didn’t follow it up. ‘You don’t have to wait on me, Nick. If I’m staying here, I have to do my share of the chores. And since you cooked for me yesterday, it’s only fair that I give it a go today.’
He snorted. ‘I cooked scrambled egg on toast. I don’t think that counts.’
‘It does in my book. Do you have any requests, or shall I see what I can come up with, bearing in mind my limited repertoire?’
‘Why don’t we work something out together?’ He started to walk into the kitchen, turning his head to check she was following. ‘If you watch and learn from the master, you might even get to expand that repertoire.’
‘You, the master?’ This time she was the one who snorted, though it was more a delicate noise than he’d managed. ‘Since when did cooking become one of your areas of expertise?’
‘Since I had to fend for myself and became bored of takeaways.’ It had surprised him how much he’d started to enjoy it though, his stint in the kitchen turning from a chore into a world of discovery. It was one of the things he looked forward to about hooking up with Sally: cooking for someone other than himself for a change.
And now, for a week, maybe even two, he would have Lizzie to cook for.
The thought brought a rush of pleasure. He wasn’t going to think of the hole she’d leave in his life when she left. He was going to enjoy the time he had with her.
In the end Lizzie watched as he prepared his signature dish, prawn linguine, courtesy of a well-stocked freezer. Drawing up two stools, they ate in the kitchen at the granite-topped island.
‘I can’t remember the last time I had a home cooked meal,’ she said, in between mouthfuls. Not small ones, either, he noticed with satisfaction.
‘Seriously? I wouldn’t have thought models were great fans of takeaways.’
She gave him a slightly embarrassed shrug. ‘We’re not. I eat out a lot.’
He gave himself a mental slap round the head. Of course that was the other option to cooking or takeaways. ‘And this confession from the woman who was going to cook for me. Are you ready to concede my mastery in the kitchen then?’
She gave him a thoughtful study. ‘I am prepared to admit you make a fantastic prawn linguine.’
‘And the scrambled eggs?’
‘Okay, you’re a master of linguine and scrambled eggs. But for all I know, that could be all you live off.’
Nick considered her. ‘That sounds like a cunning move to get me back in the kitchen again, just to prove you wrong.’
Her lips twitched, telling him she knew exactly what she was doing. ‘Well, you do seem happy cooking. I’d hate to take that pleasure away from you.’
Shaking his head, Nick started to clear away the plates. ‘You always were an expert manipulator, even as a child. You had your whole family wrapped around your little finger.’
At the mention of her family, Lizzie’s smile faltered. He watched as sadness filled her eyes and cursed himself for mentioning them. It was something they needed to talk about, as was the situation with Charles and the photographs, but he’d promised himself he wouldn’t raise either subject just yet. He wanted her to take time to simply relax and start to feel at home.
He scratched around in his mind for the right words to say but came up with nothing, so instead he went with instinct. ‘Come here.’
He held out his arms and, to his intense relief, she stood and moved unhesitatingly into them. ‘I miss them so much,’ she mumbled against his shirt.
‘I know. So do I.’ He lifted her head so she was forced to look at him. ‘I think it would help us both if we talked about them. Not now,’ he added hastily as she stared at him in horror, ‘not when we’re tired and jet-lagged, but maybe over the next few days.’
‘Okay.’ She studied him, her expression pensive. ‘I forgot you loved them, too.’
‘They were like parents to me, and Robert is the brother I never had. Yes, I loved them, too.’ Her face was pale, her eyes heavy. ‘Come on, you look done in. Why don’t we call it a night?’
Nick carried her case up the stairs and placed it in the spare bedroom. ‘I think there should be everything you need in here,’ he told her, poking his head into the cupboards to check there were spare blankets and towels. ‘Will you be okay?’
Lizzie sat tiredly down on the bed, glancing round at the room. Suddenly she burst into tears.
