It felt like a conversation that people in a normal relationship would have over breakfast, or what I imagined it would be like.
“I can always help out with that if you can’t get in.” His words were laced with insinuation.
He was flirting with me. I was absolutely sure he was. My throat felt swollen as I swallowed, totally stumped at how to handle this. I spent my life in restaurants with little make up on and covered in food half the time, unless I was front of house and in which case I did scrub up okay. I was a workaholic with no life and Jack could’ve had pretty much his pick of women. We’d worked out that he was given at least a dozen numbers every Friday night. As far as I knew, he’d never followed up on any.
“Why are you single?”
Jack laughed. “I have a fifteen-year-old daughter who owns my life. That’s a deterrent. I work the world’s most unsociable hours. That’s another.” He stood up and picked up his plate. “Just to make it clear, I am interested in you, Simone. What you choose to do with it is up to you. I’m always up for hanging out even if it’s just to have a rematch at bowling.”
I bit my lips, knowing that I was freezing because I didn’t know what the fuck to do. I hadn’t been touched by a man for years. I hadn’t thought about being touched by a man or trusting one unless it was under the remit of work and there was a contract involved.
“A rematch definitely sounds good.”
“And dancing after work?
“Maybe.”
* * *
I clearedup the kitchen while Jack showered, and I made another pot of coffee. He was due at Mount Street at two to start prepping for the evening. Both he and the other chef were working from now through Saturday night and I needed to meet with them both about the next menu change.
Having them more involved was something I needed to work on. Both were talented. If I could give up a little control in some areas, I’d be able to plough more effort into Toad Hall.
Jack strolled into the kitchen with just a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair wet and dripping from the shower. He smelled of my body wash, something that made me smile.
“You look even prettier when you smile, you know. You should do it more.”
I remembered how blatantly he’d looked at me when I’d been wearing the t-shirt earlier so I decided there was no reason to not stare.
He was tall and broad and his muscles were cut and sculpted. His tattoos didn’t stop at the top of his arms, they merged onto his chest: a compass, a poppy, an owl, a fallen soldier, intricate designs.
“Your ink is amazing.”
He poured a coffee. “Thank you. Do you have any?”
“No. Never got round to it. Not sure what I’d have. Does it hurt?”
“Some areas do. Anywhere on the spine, but it’s a weird pain. It gets addictive. I’m having another one added in a week. Come with me; see what it’s like.”
“What day?”
“A week on Monday. Rachel who does it is a proper artist. And the studio is a cool place to hang out.”
I realised I was still staring at his body, which was luckily making him smile.
“This is revenge for how you stared at my tits.” I said the words through gritted teeth.
“I don’t mind. The tats and the muscles aren’t to everyone’s taste.”
“Really?”
He laughed. “I take it they’re to yours?”
I had always been a crap liar. “Yeah.”
“Good to know.”
I liked what I saw.
