‘Can I come in? I’ve brought gifts.’
She looked down and saw his hands full with a large bakery box and a tray with two large travel mugs.
Automatically she stepped back and waved him in.
Surely he wouldn’t bring breakfast if he intended to dismiss her.
By the time she closed the door and followed him, he was at the kitchen end of the open-plan room, helping himself unerringly to plates from the cupboard.
Of course he knew where things were. He’d stayed overnight and shared breakfast with her. His unfussy pragmatism had helped ease her fears that first night out of hospital when she’d been spooked by her amnesia.
She paused between the island bench and the small dining table. Even on a knife edge, wondering about the fallout from yesterday, there was something reassuring about Conall’s presence.
His eyes snared hers and her skin warmed. ‘Bench or table?’
It took her a second to realise he was asking where they’d eat. She glanced at the small round table, imagined facing him, so close their knees would touch. ‘Bench.’
His gaze cut away and it felt as if a thread, pulled taut between them, had snapped. She moved forward, pushing the fruit bowl to one end of the bench, grabbing the travel mugs he’d brought and taking off their lids. Immediately the aroma of rich coffee filled the air. She leaned closer, inhaling the blissful smell.
When she opened her eyes he was watching her. Before she could let herself hesitate, she blurted out, ‘About last night—’
‘You had a good evening?’
She frowned. ‘I did, thank you. But about earlier—’
‘I’m sorry I startled you. I should have called out to let you know I was there. Next time I will.’ He looked down at the food he’d brought. ‘I hope you’re hungry.’
Greer stared, perplexed. He was brushing off what she’d done. As if her trying to climb his body for a kiss hadn’t happened. Perhaps he thought her head injury made her behave oddly. But if that were the case he wouldn’t have her back in the office yet.
She wanted to clear the air with an apology. But she’d done that last night and he’d waved it aside.
Maybe he’s so used to women throwing themselves at him, he takes it in his stride.
It took a moment to swallow the sour taste on her tongue.
Instead of speaking, she pulled out a stool and sat down. ‘Thank you, Conall.’
He didn’t say anything, just nodded. But it was clear he knew she wasn’t thanking him for the food.
Something shivered out of her as she exhaled. Relief replaced that terrible wound-too-tight feeling. He was drawing a line under what had happened and moving on.
He took the other stool, sitting close but not too close, and she made herself look away, for the first time taking in the spread before her.
‘You didn’t getthatfrom a corner takeaway shop.’
There was a tub of thick Greek yoghurt, studded with fresh berries and pistachios. There were slices of sweet pineapple, looking like summer, halved passionfruit, mango slices and, her favourite, gleaming red cherries. Plus a large plate of fresh pastries.
The scent rising from the warm pastries and the tangy pineapple rivalled that of the coffee. Greer had a sudden, inexplicable sense of happiness. Of warmth and well-being.
She imagined she felt the sun’s heat on her shoulders, the echo of water lapping nearby, and a feeling of utter contentment. She clung to the illusion, surprised to hear the raucous call of gulls overhead.
The illusion of being by the water faded, but that sense of contentment lingered. What was that? A memory? Or just a hope for better times ahead?
She stirred and turned to Conall. But he wasn’t watching her face. She followed his gaze and noticed she was rubbing one finger over another, a fidgeting habit she had when distracted.
He’d brought some of her favourite breakfast foods. As he had the morning after she’d come out of hospital. She couldn’t remember telling him what she preferred to eat, but her memories of hospital weren’t completely clear. However he’d divined the information, it was kind of him to go to such effort.
‘Thank you, Conall.’ Self-conscious, she reached for a mug, taking an appreciative sip. ‘This definitely is first-class coffee.’
