“That’s a fucking sledgehammer. Let’s start on the next course.”
“On it.” But my eyes were focused elsewhere. Sophie Slater, all golden skin and blonde hair, headed over to the woman who had asked the question.
“Should I be concerned?” Simone was watching too.
“Only for the reporter’s health.” Half a minute later and the reporter was outside. Sophie returned to her champagne.
* * *
There were questions.I didn’t hang around to listen to them. Alcohol dependency, substance abuse, addiction of multiple natures, was something I’d seen at the centre since I’d been volunteering there. People turned to whatever could make life sweeter and sometimes it was hard to say no. My brother wasn’t an addict. He didn’t drink. He refused to take medication of any nature, but there were plenty of people who came in for a shower or food or just to be where someone knew their name who were addicts.
Seeing someone’s addiction about to be used to sell papers didn’t sit well with me. I got why he’d done it: if he hadn’t announced it, someone else would’ve and I wished him all the best and a holiday somewhere warm.
The prep room was quiet. Although an event like this was different, it hadn’t been busier than a normal evening, maybe even less so. I checked the fridges for tomorrow, made a start on a glaze and enjoyed the calm.
Other staff began to check out. Tomorrow was the late start and as tonight had been an early finish, a few had plans to make the most of it. My head was back on last Wednesday, when I’d stayed at Simone’s, cooked her breakfast, danced with her.
Thinking about how she’d felt against me, how she’d looked in that t-shirt that was tight round her tits and just a bit too short had accounted for at least eighty per cent of my head space in the last seven days.
We’d talked since, sure. Mainly about Toad Hall and the layout of the kitchen, the menu. Work stuff. She was giving off vibes that suggested physical contact needed to be put on hold because she didn’t know what the fuck to do.
“We’re all done.”
I turned around around and saw Simone standing there, her hair now down instead of up, long waves cascading down her back. I wondered what that hair would feel like wrapped around my hand and stifled a groan because that was a thought I didn’t need to be having.
“Everyone’s gone?”
“Indeed. Including Sophie. Who left with Liam.”
Liam had obviously switched to his given name instead of Leif. A good move.
Music trickled out of the speaker, connected to my phone. Simone turned up the volume.
“Tonight went well.” She spoke when she got closer to me. “The food was amazing, Jack.”
“It was all good. I heard you telling people about Toad Hall as well.”
“We really need to stop calling it that. Else when it opens, we’ll slip up and confuse the shit out of people.”
I liked thewe’ll. Since last week, I’d seen her relax more. She’d asked the team about their lives, found out more about them. Smiled.
“It isn’t a bad nickname.” That smile was there again, at me. After months of working with someone I thought would need a heatwave from Hades to melt, I was starting to see a softer, warmer side to her. A tune, slow and steady, came on. “Dance with me.”
“Here?”
I nodded. Offered my hand.
“But someone might see.”
“Then they’ll see two people dancing.”
Her touch was tentative. Unsure. Her initial movements were slow. But then the beat kicked in and I moved her in closer to me. Solomon Burke’sCry to Meechoed through the kitchen. We shifted round the small spaces, avoiding banging into the island in the centre, keeping her close.
Heat from her body merged into mine, feeding into my veins, waking me from a sleep I didn’t realise I’d been in. Her hands were gentle on my shoulders; she was cautious about this.
“Relax.” The track changed. “Just enjoy the music.” We shifted into something that resembled salsa, the pace upping in tempo. She was easy to dance with, her body graceful and supple and I tried not to think about how she felt against me, under my hands and the way she fit.
“Let’s go dancing.” My hands were on her hips, fingers inches away from her ass. Dancing was foreplay when it was like this. The touch, the closeness, the legitimacy of being physically close to someone without having to put a label on it.
