Now the little drama is over, I don’t know what to say. I’ve never been so affected by a woman before, no matter how attractive. Lessa is beautiful, but that isn’t it, she’s… It’s hard to explain, something about her makes me want to look and keep looking.
I put food in my mouth but hardly taste it; my eyes follow her. She slices the fish pie, adds a little salad on the side, picks up her fork and knife, and starts eating.
A little later, she glances up and catches me watching her.Damn!
“You’re an impressive cook.”
“You think I cooked all this?” I scoff. “Didn’t you witness the hand-burning earlier?” I hold up my fingers to show her where the skin is still red. “I’ve never cooked anything more complicated than toast. Normally, I’m a talented restaurant booker and delivery orderer.”
Her eyes stay on me, a little quizzical.
“What?” I ask.
“Somehow, I didn’t think this tiny island stretched to food delivery.”
“What they lack in Uber Eats, they more than make up for in neighbourly gifts. My fridge is growing with stuff I’ll never eat before it goes off. You’re doing me a favour consuming some of it.”
She laughs, a nice, clear laugh that sounds like a flute trill.
Oh, I like her. I like her a lot. She’s not only beautiful with a smoking-hot figure, but she has a real spark. Smart quick-witted women are my weakness.
“And there I was feeling grateful for your generosity.” She gives me a mischievous grin. “It turns out you see me as a food disposal service.”
I hold her gaze and give her a deep, slow smile. All awkwardness of a moment ago has melted because now, this is familiar territory.
“Have you considered a compost box?” She glances around at the recycling bin by the wall.
“You’re a much nicer dinner companion than a compost box,” I say in a more serious, more intimate tone.
We’re here, the point where the subtle flirting comes out into the open with a frank invitation. If she responds, we would...we will… The thought makes me weak.
Far away, at the distant back of my mind, a tiny, tiny image of Liam’s letter – my promise of celibacy – waves trying to attract my attention. It has no chance against the sound of blood crashing in my ears.
I’ve never wanted a woman so much. I let my eyes linger on her face.
But she wasn’t looking at me. Something in the recycling box snags her attention and holds it. Slowly, her smile falls. All colour drains from her face.
I look, but there’s nothing, just a box on the floor full of torn packaging and old newspapers.
The fork and knife fall from her suddenly limp hands and clatter on the plate. The sudden noise makes us both jump. She glances at me with an expression like…fear.
Surely, it can’t be my flirting that scared her.
Confused, I turn to look at the recycling box, then back at her. But before I can ask, she makes an inarticulate sound deep in her throat and runs from the table. Her chair falls over, but she pays it no attention. She’s at the sink, the tap gushing water again as she begins to retch.
What’s in the recycling box? I go to check, but there’s nothing there, some cardboard and a copy of theGuardianfrom two weeks ago. It’s folded around a headline about that politician and his researcher. The picture shows a blonde business type woman, and the… wait…. I glance back at Lessa. She’s bending over the sink rinsing it, something about her profile…I pick up the newspaper for a closer look, and just then, Lessa turns and sees me with it.
A whisper of realisation passes between us. There’s no need for words; it’s clear in her eyes, a look of being cornered.
Chapter Seven
Brandon
She washes the sink with plenty of Fairy liquid and a dash of bleach, then rinses it and rinses it and rinses it.
I have the distinct impression she’s trying to delay talking to me. Suddenly, she stops, bracing her hand on the side of the sink, and closes her eyes, as if dizzy.
I drop the newspaper back in the box and make it to her side in an instant. Taking her elbow, I reach for a warm tea towel on the side of the Aga and give it to her. “Come and sit down.”
