And one I quickly dismiss.
Rupert holds the gate open for Barbara and winks at me. “He doesn’t care much for flourishes, our Brandon. He’s the plain sort—meat and potatoes, you know—but steady as they come!” I begin to nod, at least until he adds, “Which is why he needs a woman like you about. Bring a bit of colour to the place!”
Brandon lets out a strangled cough before the gate clangs shut in our faces. They’re gone.
I let out a shaky breath and sink onto the bottom step of the fire escape. My stomach is roiling, either from hunger or the combination of cream, sugar, and beer—but that’s the least of my worries.
Brandon goes still beside me, the smallest muscle ticking in his jaw. I avert my gaze, my cheeks on fire.
He locks the gate, then slowly turns to look at me. “I suppose I should apologise on behalf of my neighbours.”
I huff a laugh. “They’re really quite lovely.”
“They are many things.” He surveys the garden with narrowed eyes. “I don’t suppose you saw where she hid that gnome?”
“No, sorry.”
He sighs and leans against the railing. “Ireallydon’t like gnomes.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t trust them.”
“Fair enough. Still, it was nice of them to bring us gifts.”
“It was,” Brandon agrees, “though we seem to have had it on very hard terms.”
A laugh bursts from me. “Right? I can’t believe they took our oysters!”
“Don’t forget that shopping trip you agreed to.”
“I didn’t agree to that, did I?”
“You did.”
“Oh no.” Then, trying not to sound presumptuous, I ask, “So, about dinner…are we eating out?”
“It appears so.”
By the time we’ve showered and changed, my appetite has returned with a vengeance. I hurry downstairs, sneakers squeaking, my cardigan thrown over denim shorts and a paisley shirt.
Brandon glances up from his phone. He’s neat in an ivory button-up and beige chinos, damp hair combed back. The simple elegance makes him look handsome in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
My heart ticks faster as his eyes find mine.
“So, what sort of restaurant would you like?” he asks.
My stomach growls before I can answer. “Honestly? Could we just get something quick, like a takeaway? How about those famous British fish and chips?”
He lowers his phone. “Not tempted by one of those ‘nice’ restaurants Rupert mentioned? There are plenty of places serving seafood and wine. Could still do oysters?”
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather save the oysters for when you make them. Best ones in town, right?”
His mouth softens. “I think it’s in the running, actually, provided I can do your father’s recipe justice.” He glances at his watch, expression sobering. “The music shop’s closing soon. We might still make it if we go there now, before dinner.”
I shake my head. “Another time, if that’s okay.”
“Are you sure?”
