But she drew my attention back to her by cocking her hip and placing a hand there, glaring at me. “We said no flirting.”
“I haven’t said a thing,” I said, palms up.
“But leaving my favourite sweets, my favourite perfume, and not just a silk dressing gown but a fluffy one too, isn’t flirting?”
“I’m just an incredible host,” I told her.
But I was smirking because I had been right — they were her favourites.
And when the doorbell went, her glare shifted to wide eyes. They only widened further when her nagyi was at the door, looking as petite and smiley as ever.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” I said and bent to hug her.
We exchanged pleasantries as Fia stared, open-mouthed, at her nan. And then she launched herself at her tiny frame, squeezing tight.
“You planned this?” Fia said on a breath as her nagyi went to thetoilet.
I shrugged, trying not to show just how cocky I was feeling. “I told you it was a nice guest.”
And Fia hugged me.
She wrapped her arms around me and held me just as tight, like I was her anchor.
“Thank you,” she said, and I hoped her voice was breaking with pure delight.“And thank you for the turul.”
She lifted her hand to show me the bracelet I’d bought her.
God, I wanted to kiss her.
Nagyi returned, and Fia pulled back, clearing her throat. Soon, she wouldn’t care about people seeing us.
Fia led her to the garden, and I snuck away to arrange the second part of my plan.
I boiled the kettle, cut up strawberries, cut the scones, and whipped up the clotted cream and raspberry jam, trying to make it presentable on a tray.
As soon as she’d slid that list under my door, I’d had a wank — partly excitement, partly because that wasn’t going to be happening for a week — and researched what an ‘afternoon tea’ was.
I did not put the clotted cream or jam on because apparently that was incredibly controversial. The English seemed to have very strong opinions on what smothered the scone first. There were even personality quizzes based on it.
Personally, I eyed the clotted cream with concern. Its gloopy texture made me suspicious. If I were on either team, it would be jam and a dollop of clotted cream at most.
I carried it out to the patio, where Fia and her nan were looking at her phone scrolling through plants. I frowned as they were still waiting.
“What’s going on?” I asked, and Fia jumped so far back shenearly bashed her head into my tray, covering herself in jam and clotted cream.
I might not be ecstatic about eating it off the scone,but licking it off her skin?I was craving it hard.
Craving her.
“What’s this?” she asked, looking down at my goodies. The edible kind.
“A little treat,” I said with a shrug and placed my hand on her shoulder, pretending I was super interested in plants and not giddy with her excited reaction. “What are you looking at?”
“Nagyi’s garden is amazing,” she told me. “We were looking at some plants we could add when I come next time.”
Next time.
I squeezed her shoulder, and she smiled up at me.
