Once we’re alone, I temporarily stand the flowers in some water, then make us both a coffee.
“Who does the other boy belong to?” Fraser asks.
I feel strangely awkward. “Oh, he’s my friend's little boy.”
“Ah, right. Does your nanny look after her child often?”
“His child.”
“Oh, I see.” His face drops. Shit, he’ll be a miserable wreck by the time he leaves here, and I haven’t even started with the‘It’s not you, it’s me’speech.
“It’s nothing like that. Tommy’s an old friend of mine.”
His face perks up. “Do you mean Tommy Graham, by any chance?”
I raise my brows. “Yes, that’s right.”
“It’s just, obviously, my friend knows Calla Bryson, and I’ve met her a couple of times, but never her husband or the band.”
Oh, boy. He’s a bloody fan. “I don’t get to see him much. He’s very busy.”
“But if your nanny takes care of his child, you must be close.”
“Actually, Connie is Tommy’s nanny, not mine, and she’s doing me a favour by looking after Josh.”
“Didn’t she take care of your son last night as well?”
“She did, but I had a lot of work to catch up on today, so she offered.”
“Ahh, right. Your husband’s kitchen business.”
“Yes.” He seems to know a lot, and I can only think we touched on the subject during dinner last night, although I can’t remember talking about it. I don’t discuss Scott’s business with anyone. Bugger. How much wine did I drink?
“It must be a lot of work for you on your own.”
Okay, we’re not going there, and I have to tell this guy not to get comfortable. I place our coffee down in front of us and take the stool at the breakfast bar next to him. “Yes, it keeps me busy.” There’s no easy way to say this, but I dive right in. “Look, Fraser, I’m going to get straight to the point, because I don’t want to waste your time or mine. I had a wonderful evening with you last night?—”
Taking my hand, he kisses the back and leans forward. “Me too.”
I slowly slide my hand from his grasp and back to my lap. “Um, the thing is, you’re a great guy?—”
“Thank you.” He edges his seat closer. Shit.
“So, what I wanted to say was, you are lovely, but you know, I think we would be better off as friends.”
And there’s the face drop again. “Oh, I see.” His back straightens, and I feel like the worst person on Earth.
“I just don’t think I’m ready to date. I know it’s been a long time?—”
“No,” he interrupts, raising his hand. “There’s no need to make excuses.” He stands from his seat and seems flustered. I have a feeling that Fraser is usually the one to call it a day. “I’ve been dating long enough to know when I’m getting the brush off.” He’s already making tracks towards the hall.
I can’t believe it. Could this be the quickest breakup in history? He can’t wait to get out of here, and although I didn’t want to upset or offend him, this direct approach seems to work a treat. It’s so straightforward and… easy.
“Please don’t feel as if you have to go straight away. At least finish your coffee,” I offer.
“No, it’s okay. As you said, you’re busy and, to be honest, there’s no point in pretending we might be friends. We both know that’s just something people say. I think it’s better to leave so we can both stop wasting time.”
His direct hit floors me momentarily, and I don’t know how to respond. He’s so black-and-white about it.
