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“What are you going to do?”
“Try and save my marriage.”
I put my arm around her and kiss her temple as we walk toward the escalator in search of Chloe. “It’s going to work out, Bec. I’m sure there’s a reasonable excuse for all of this.”
She nods sadly. “I really hope so.”
Showered, primped, and primed, with the dinner ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter, I am ready for my dinner date with the chef.
I peer through the kitchen window. “Where is he?” I wanted to get my washing off the line, but I’ve been waiting for him to arrive before I do it, and it’s going to be dark soon. Guaranteed, the moment I go out into the backyard, he will knock on my front door.
I’ll just have to wait.
I make another cup of tea and sit on the couch and wait.
My mind goes over our date last night and how perfect he is. He better show up tonight.
Damn it. I begin to worry about his whereabouts. He should have been here by now. He has stood me up before.
Tap, tap sounds at the back door, and relief fills me.
He’s here.
I walk out into the kitchen to see him standing at my back door, in blue jeans and a white T-shirt and wearing that beautiful smile. I open the door in a rush. “Hello, Mr. James. You don’t have to knock.”
Mischief flashes across his face. “So I can just barge in whenever I want?”
“You do anyway.” I step to the side, and he walks past me.
“When do I barge in?” he gasps, affronted.
“Whenever Joel is here.”
“Because he’s a fucking idiot.”
“Who’s touching your stuff?” I tease.
“Precisely.” He kicks off his shoes and walks into my kitchen. “How did you do with the ingredients?”
“Good, I got everything.”
He looks over the things out on the counter. “Where are the lemons?”
“Oh.” I twist my lips. “Were they on the list?”
He widens his eyes. “Yes.”
“Oh . . .” I shrug. “I didn’t get lemons.”
He stares at me for a beat. “I need lemons.”
“For what?”
“To garnish.”
I screw up my face. “It’s only a garnish. Who cares, then?”
“It’s in the recipe, Juliet.”
