He nods. “That’s right.”
“You’re into that philosophy for selfish people.”
He laughs. “I’m not into it. I read about it, that’s all.”
I slump against the windowsill. “I’m so sorry. I think I had a nightmare.”
I take a deep breath and sit down on the bed. I completely lost my sense of reality there. I should tell him why.
He throws the covers back and gets out of bed. He’s in boxers and nothing else. And he’s so attractive that my heart flutters. I’m so used to Scott’s middle-aged spread and greying chest hair.
“Come on,” Alistair says. “Let’s have a cuppa, seeing as we’re up.”
I brush my hair away from my face. “You must think I’m a crazy woman.” I try to laugh it off.
He wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into him, planting a kiss on my head. “Not at all.” He traces a finger from my chin to my collar bone, lingering between my breasts. Then it continues, slipping over the satin of my nightgown. “You have an incredibly sexy body, Faye Mathis.”
I lean into him and we kiss, then I grab a dressing gown from the hook on the door and pass it to him. It was a Christmas gift from Penny, bright pink flannel. As soon as he puts it on I can’t stop laughing.
“What is it?” he asks, feigning innocence. “What are you laughing at? Aren’t I pretty?”
“You certainly are. Twirl.”
Alistair obliges and I laugh even harder.
“Okay, I think your drag name is Fuscia Fabulosa. How about that?”
“I can work with that.”
Grinning like an idiot, I follow him downstairs, relieved to be smiling again. I half-fill the kettle and a quick glance in the glass of a kitchen cabinet reveals that my hair isn’t too much of a bird’s nest.
“Sit down, Faye,” he says. “I’ll make it for you. Where are the teabags?”
I gesture to a cupboard and do as he says. Then I watch him move around the kitchen. Where did this man come from? He’s like some sort of unicorn. How is it that I’m fifty years old and I’m only now meeting a man this handsome, this kind and this silly? And the best part is that his energy makes me feel silly too. I can be completely myself around him. And he believes me when I tell him, without any real proof, that I have a twin out there.
“Fridge?” he asks.
“In the utility room.” I point to a door.
He moves around the space like a salsa dancer being silly, tapping a beat on the mug with his spoon.
“Here.” Alistair hands me the tea and we fold into the sofa.
“Ah, now I’m glad you woke me,” he says. “This is lovely. A hot cup of tea. A beautiful woman sitting next to me. The perfect way to start the day.”
His compliments come thick and fast, and I suddenly wonder if it’s authentic or if he’s just saying things he thinks I want to hear. “I think you’re too kind.” I say.
“I’m not kind.” He smiles. “You said it yourself, I like selfish philosophy.”
“Well, that’s true.” I sip my tea and let the liquid soothe away my misgivings.
Alistair lets out a small laugh. “Now that we’re up, why don’t you show me that photo and everything you have on your adoption?”
“All right.” I reach for the laptop and quickly load up the picture. Then I show him the other images on my phone.
Alistair frowns, turning his face from the pictures and then to me, and back again.
“You think it’s me, don’t you?”
