“Cooke.” I run my fingers through his hair. “I’m glad.”
“So, that’s about all I’ve done since you stepped foot in my door, and I’m sorry. It’s your first time abroad, and all you’ve done is work those pretty fingers to the bone.” Taking one of my hands, he brings it to his mouth and kisses it.
“I haven’t. I came to do what I could to help.”
“I don’t want my girlfriend to fly across the ocean to clean my toilet, love. I want you to sit with me. Cuddle. Take a hired car and sightsee. We’ll do that tomorrow. I’ve already arranged it. My sister is coming along to do things I can’t with this blasted brace.”
“Cooke, no. I’m fine going alone. I figured out—”
“No.” His tone sounds cranky again. I pull away slightly.
“Yes,” I say in a similar tone. “The bus takes me right into the center—”
“Please?” Crap. He’s got puppy dog eyes. “Allow me and Saffron to escort you.”
“Your sister’s name is Saffron?”
“Aye. We call her Saffie, though.”
“Okay. If you really want to do that. I don’t want you to do anything to jeopardize your leg, though. Promise?”
“Promise. Now.” He claps his hands together and turns to face the table. “Are you hungry?”
“Yes. I’m extremely peckish.”
He smiles at my use of his terminology. “Well, then,” he says, lifting a domed silver lid that sits in the center of the table, “dinner is served.” His smile lights up his face. “Shepherd’s pie. One of my favorite traditional English meals.”
I lean forward and peek at a square casserole dish. The top of the contents looks white and fluffy. “What is it?”
“The top is mashed potatoes.”
“Yum,” I hum with approval.
“Beneath that is layered, shredded meat with onion and other veg.” He looks up at me expectantly. “Good?”
“It sounds wonderful, Cooke. Did you make it?”
“I called the pub up the road. They delivered.”
Sitting next to him, I point to the silver lid. “Is that silver from the pub?”
“It was my gran’s. I wanted to make it look romantic.”
I scoot closer to him. Leaning in, I kiss him on the cheek. “Thank you so much, Cooke. It’s very romantic.” I swear he blushes, but I can’t be sure since the sun is setting.
Cooke places a piece of the shepherd’s pie on my plate, and I wait for him to serve himself. When I know he’s ready, I lift my fork and take my first bite. Closing my eyes, I moan. “Mm, good.”
Cooke’s staring at me. When he sees I’m looking back at him, he smiles brightly. “I love the sexy noises, love. You mean it? You like it?”
“I love it. Thank you for giving me a taste of one of your favorite things.” There’s still so much I don’t know about Cooke Thompson.
“Before you leave, we’re going to know a lot more about each other, Quinn. I promise you that.”
Chapter Forty-Six
Sitting in my seat on the plane, I’m doing my best to calm down. I’ve started to pick away at my nail polish, a nervous habit. The Union Jack design of the British flag I painted on my thumbnail is nearly gone on my right hand. I’ve been beyond emotional since I woke up this morning. I was dreading the ride to the airport with Cooke because, honestly, I don’t want to leave. I want to stay. But I can’t. I’ve got responsibilities at home that include school, my new apartment with Tayler, and my job. And it’s not like Cooke asked me to stay. He didn’t. Why would he? We’re not anywhere near ready for something as serious as me moving to London. It still hurts, though. It feels like my heart is cracking and crumbling, the pieces falling and landing in my stomach. It’s why the thought of eating makes me physically ill. Hell, I may never eat again.
I sniffle thinking about this last week. Sure, at first it wasn’t great, but after Cooke woke up—literally and figuratively—he became the perfect host. He did as promised, inviting his sister, Saffie, along on our tour of London. I was nervous to meet her, but it only took a minute to see that she was funny, sweet, and kind. Plus, she didn’t take any shit from her brother. Saffie spent much of our tour telling me what a twat he was after the surgery. “He ran us all off, the git.”
