‘A wheaten terrier called Lucky. He was a rescue, had only half of one ear, was nearly totally deaf and had a limp. The vet used to laugh every time we went because he said if this was Lucky, he’d hate to see Unlucky. Gorgeous dog, though. Very sweet. Right ... death row meal?’ continues Finn, as if we’re about to do a quiz on each other and need to know everything.
I shudder. ‘No, not death row. Too sad. Final meal, if I was well enough to eat it.’
He smiles at me. ‘You’re a softie, despite the biker boots. I knew it.’
‘I am sort of soft but I can be tough when required,’ I say, attempting hauteur, and failing. ‘Don’t forget my karate skills.’
We both laugh as the risotto arrives. It’s huge, in one bowl and with two forks. The intimacy of the situation hits me but I dismiss it. Finn is good people. He will not read anything into this – unless I want him to. Maybe I do ... Or maybe not. To cover my confusion, I launch into telling him my final meal.
‘A veggie burger with lots of mayonnaise, sweet potato chips and steamed broccoli. Then, for afters, a giant coffee cake, which would make me sick, but I’d be dead, so it wouldn’t matter.’
Finn’s just looking at me, elbows on the table, staring. At me. Like he’s drinking me in and liking it.
‘Eat up,’ I say, both unnerved and excited. ‘We have a trough of food to get through.’
The risotto is delicious and I can’t help but moan at my first forkful.
Finn’s head shoots up at the sound.
I feel the oddest quiver inside me. What is happening? Stop this, I tell myself sternly.
‘Or maybe I’d make this my last meal,’ I say, to cover up my blush.
‘Are you vegetarian?’ he asks.
‘Pescatarian,’ I say. ‘I eat fish. Meat is murder but fish is justifiable homicide,’ I quip. ‘So, your last meal of choice?’
‘You’ll hate this but it’d be steak. The French way, almost bleu, which is when they show the steak the pan and for a brief moment, the two are joined.’
I am definitely blushing now. ‘Gosh,’ I say, ‘you are a carnivore. Am I safe?’
As soon as the words are out, I regret them. What is happening to me? It’s like careful Sid has beenbody-snatched by flirty Sid who can’t open her mouth without a double entendre emerging. Flirty Sid is a new person, and I have no idea what planet she has come from but she needs to go back there.
‘People probably taste like chicken,’ I continue weakly, and wonder if I am making it worse. ‘Everything unusual is said to taste like chicken.’
‘Moving on from the cannibalism, I’d have chips, ordinary ones. Very boring,’ Finn adds.
I can’t help it. I look up at him, taking in the breadth of his shoulders, the warm, open face, the kind eyes searching mine, and I say: ‘You’re not boring at all, Finn.’
We both eat some more risotto and he tells me how he readThe Lord of the Ringsat fourteen and scared the hell out of himself, and adores any movie made by Wes Anderson.
‘I like any movie with a woman on a revenge kick,’ I say before I can help myself and he watches me carefully, saying nothing. ‘AndLittle Women. Oh, I loved that book.’
‘My sisters do too,’ he says.
The risotto is finally finished and it’s getting late. Despite the fact that I feel so utterly safe with Finn, I feel I should be getting home. It’s hours past my normal Friday evening leaving time.
‘I’m tired,’ I say apologetically. ‘Long day.’
‘Of course,’ he says. ‘I dragged you out, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be,’ I say, and feel the dreaded blush again. Quickly, I make my normalphone-call arrangement with my taxi guys. Finn’s watching me as I come off the phone.
‘You don’t use an app?’ he says.
‘No,’ I say, looking at him straight on, ‘I don’t. There’s this lovely company I use and I trust them.’
He seems to be thinking, but he doesn’t say anything.
