He didn’t shift his eyes. “You have nice tits. I remember them well.” His gaze shifted upwards to mine and I willed myself to look away. His grin, the cheeky, knowing one and the dancing in his eyes made it impossible.
If we let it, there was more than chemistry there.
“One last day together. For old time’s sake.”
One last day. Did I want one last night? That was where it could lead to and I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to say no. Once more wouldn’t change anything. Or would it?
* * *
We wandered backtowards Jemma El-Fnaa, down the narrow streets with their sellers and doorways to secret souks, through shade and sunlight and into the square with its myriad of life. We saw one of the snake charmers that Callum had talked to every day almost, helping him with a tonic for the snake that was shedding its skin and then we headed to the darkened maze of the souks.
“I’ve got a request for spices from Simone.”
“Who’s Simone?” I asked a little too quickly.
“She’s a family friend. Owns a few restaurants.”
“As you do.”
He laughed. “She’s not like that. But she wants a certain spice and if I get it from here it’ll be authentic, allegedly.”
He haggled for the spices in French, making the seller laugh and throw in something else. We took a selfie with the seller photobombing us and sent it to his family and Simone. There was a stall selling mainly silverware, teapots used for the mint tea I’d pretty much become addicted to since being here. Although we’d shopped around – which was what you did in Marrakesh – we’d always ended up here, having now stashed six teapots in our luggage.
“You haven’t got one, have you?”
“No. I hadn’t thought to.” I wasn’t one for things. My apartment was sparse as I tended not to spend time in it and when I moved, having fewer items made it easier to pack.
“I’m buying you one.”
“You really don’t have to…”
“I know.” He headed into the stall and started to point at the larger teapots, more elaborate and then he paused and looked at me. “Actually, that one.”
It was a simple design with the dimples only at the bottom. Tall and curvy and I did wonder whether this was another nod to my boobs.
“Callum, I don’t know where I’ll put it.”
He shrugged. “We’ll find somewhere.”
We’ll.
He ended up with a few more bits that were going to up the cost of getting his luggage home and then we found ourselves overlooking the square, the afternoon heat rising, the beat of the drums pulsing life everywhere. It was a clear day, the mountains in the distance visible. We were so close to the desert, this city, a gateway to Africa.
“I don’t want to leave.” I uttered the words over my pina colada.
“Then don’t. We’ll buy a riad and stay here. Employ people and work at Laurent’s during the day.”
“That’s easy for you to do. You’re the one with a trust fund.”
“I wish I wasn’t.”
“You wish you weren’t wealthy?”
He sipped his beer. “I haven’t done anything to earn my money. My dad made it and his dad. We just ended up with it because we were born into this family.”
I shrugged. “Someone had to be. Don’t make a martyr of yourself. You donate to charities; you help people out. You don’t act like a dick with it. You use your powers for good, young Batman.”
He eyeballed me. “Pretty sure you got your movies mixed up there.”
