Leo shrugs. “You will,” he says. “If you want to.”
I look down at the plate of beans and sausages and I take a deep breath.
“Don’t hold me in suspense any longer, Olive,” he says. “I need to know where your head is at.”
“With the restaurant?” I ask carefully.
“No,” he says, pulling back, his face screwed up in offense. “No. Not about that. About you and me.Us.”
I lean forward and I squeeze his hand. “Sorry.Sorry.”
“The restaurant is important, but like I said in Tuscany, I have a plan B.” He leans in, and his face is so serious my eyes search his for what might be coming. “There is no plan B when it comes to you. There is only you.”
I feel a flush of pleasure run from my toes to the top of my head and I squeeze Leo’s hand again.I am falling in love with this man. How can it be? How do I deserve it?
“You want to know how I’m feeling about you?”
“I have been thinking about you every moment since you left me at the airport. I need to know. Are we going to try?”
“Leo,” I say, looking up to the ceiling and then back down at him, and I laugh gently. “The heart wants what the heart wants. And mine wantsyou.”
36
IREACH UP ANDput my hand on the flicking sign that says NICKY’S, my mouth breaking into a warm smile. My eyes dart to the bar across the street, Temp, the one Ginny, Kate, and I were at when I started this crazy journey. Stuck to the window is a notice of foreclosure.I win, Leo.
I shake my head, my nerves starting to rise.
“This is going to have to come down,” I murmur, tapping the sign one last time.
I take a steadying breath and push the door open.
I hear sounds coming from the back office and take a moment to myself as I peer into the kitchen and see the framed photo of me, right next to the clock.
Then I walk to the bar and run my hand along it, turning to the dining room, and I am filled with not sadness, but excitement.
“Olive?” I turn, and Leo has emerged from the kitchen just as he did that very first time I came in here weeks ago.
“You look good,” I say, taking in his sharp sweatshirt over brushed-cotton pants, rolled up, with black trainers. “I’m getting used to seeing you in damp, wet London attire.”
“Well,you... look beautiful,” he says, and I melt. I have made some effort, it’s true. Hair blow-dried; a cobalt-blue dress with a diamond cutout on the bodice, a flirty skirt, with just two finely crossed straps on the back.
“Well, yes,” I say haughtily, though I can feel the crimson blush on my cheeks giving me away.
“Come. Let me show you around properly,” he says, and I follow, a wry smile on my face as he holds out his hand to guide me. Without hesitation I take it. It is a desperately tender feeling, the warmth of my hand in his.
“I blacked out the windows,” Leo replies, pointing over his shoulders to the huge windows at the front of the restaurant, which are covered with black garbage bags and electrical tape. “Just trying to re-create a little evening dining experience for you so you can try the set menu.”
“But first, a look around?”
He nods, taking me through to the back kitchen, with the same layout and large walk-ins. Those walk-ins into which I would sneak to steal ice cream and the small chocolates that went out with the coffee. The office where Mum would sit, poring over invoices and “the books.” The little photo album stuffed with my reviews. Our family photos still prominent between actors and football players on the wall of guest photos on the way to the restrooms.
A family restaurant. With family memories. Ready, I think, to start new ones.
Leo doesn’t know that I’m ready to do this. I haven’t told him yet; there is still one thing to consider.
“Something smells really good,” I say, nodding to the lone set table in the middle of the room.
“Right, take a seat, then.London’s toughest ex-critic. And allow me to put my whole self on a fucking plate and serve it up to you,” he says, laughing.
