He sees the direction of my gaze as I sit down opposite him.
“You seemed to like the brownies. Thought it might sweeten you up.” He nudges the bag across the table towards me.
“It would take more than a brownie,” I mutter under my breath, but he has the hearing of a fox.
“Would two work? You can have mine.”
How is he simultaneously sweet and annoying?
“Did you do your bio?” We’re having this meeting to exchange information, and I need it to stay on track.
“Yes, ma’am, I did.” He pulls a crumpled yellow Post-it Note from the pocket of his jeans. Which, unfortunately, draws my attention to his muscular thighs. And the act of leaning back in his chair exposes an inch of tanned skin that I remember from when he was Naked Guy in the car park.
But a Post-it Note? Seriously?
I snatch it and read what he’s written aloud. “Ant Stevens. Thirty-two. Single. Surfer. Loves coffee. Lives at Collaroy. That’s it?”
“Well, those are the important things.”
I try, I really do, but I can’t hold back a frustrated sigh.
“My grandmother would give the interrogators at Guantanamo Bay a run for their money. We need to sell this as a serious relationship. I can’t just tell her you’re thirty-two and love coffee.”
“Well, I guess you’ll have to talk to me then. Oh, and I was thinking, if we’re going to make this work, we should probably schedule a few practice kisses.” He quirks a single eyebrow and leans forward ever so slightly as though he’s going to make good on his suggestion right here and now. “Because Nanna will spot it straight away if we’re not physically familiar.”
“Firstly, we call her Grandie, which you would know if you’d read my bio. And secondly, she’s an elderly woman from an old-fashioned, conservative family. They don’t do PDAs.”
“Well, she may be an elderly, old-fashioned woman. But I’m a man in love. And we definitely do PDAs.”
“Not in front of my grandmother, we don’t.”
“Hugging?”
“Nope.”
“Holding hands?”
“No. Well, maybe. Briefly.”
“Squeezing your bum?”
“Definitely not!”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” He huffs out a sigh.
“It’s not supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to convince my grandmother, in a respectable way, that I’m in a committed relationship.” He’s deliberately making this harder than it needs to be. At this rate, even two brownies won’t help.
“Hmm. You said she was trying to set you up with someone. Don’t we need to convince him too?”
“Argh. I don’t care about him.” I throw my hands up in frustration. “Just my mother and grandmother.”
“And where does your mother fit in all this?” My grandmother is a top-tier interrogator. Maybe Ant Stevens is, too. “I was thinking about it after we met on Sunday. She hooked up with a guy in London, making her a single mum. From what you’ve said about Grandie, that would’ve gone down like a shit sandwich.”
He was thinking about me? Wait. Stop. None of that, Lili. You are absolutely not going to be charmed or flattered by him.
“Yes, Grandie gave her a terrible time over getting pregnant.” We’re getting pretty deep in the weeds here. I wedge my hands under my thighs on the chair to stop myself from grabbing the end of my plait and twisting it. “Neither of them will talk about it. But when I was a teenager, I heard my Aunt Caroline telling a friend that by the time Mum realised, and Grandie found out, it was too late for a termination. Mum refused point blank to have me adopted out.”
Ant’s expression melts from interest to empathy.
