And now here she was in Luke’s kitchen wrapped in an apron, sleeves pushed up to her elbows, rolling pastry. None of the ready-made shop bought stuff, Luke insisted, everything must be home-made. She stopped for a moment and lifted her hand to brush a stray curl of hair from her eyes. Franco had been an angel, taking time out to run her through the whole preparation process and so far today everything was going to plan. The pastry sat in a neat oblong, all she needed to do now was to seat the chilled prosciutto-wrapped steak with its layer of mushroom stuffing onto it and fold the ends over. After brushing beaten egg over the pastry and scoring the top with a knife she looked down at the roulade shaped package with a sense of achievement. She lifted it onto a greaseproof covered baking sheet and slipped it into the fridge to chill just as she heard the front door slam. Moments later, Luke appeared shrugging off his jacket.
‘How are things going, Nigella?’ he said with a grin as he slipped it over a nearby chair.
‘Fine. A piece of cake actually,’ she said breezily, ignoring his attempt at humour.
‘Are you still mad at me?’ Hands pushed into the pockets of his jeans, he watched as she began to clear away, ready to wash up.
‘Mad at you? Of course not. I love a challenge.’ She turned to face him with a confident smile.
‘Ah …’ Luke tilted his head, amused. ‘I see you’ve managed to give yourself a good dusting of flour while you’ve been busy.’
‘No I haven’t, where?’ She looked down at her apron, then at her hands.
‘Here, let me show you.’ He walked over to where she stood, resting his hands on the worktop, gently caging her in. As he leaned towards her she was immediately aware of his body heat and that oh so familiar ripple of pleasure vibrating through her, making her want things she shouldn’t … couldn’t have.
‘You have flour here,’ he said as he raised one hand and ran a finger gently over her cheek, ‘and here.’ The warmth of his thumb across her chin made her shiver. ‘But worst of all, here.’ He ran his finger over her nose and grinned.
She expected him to take a step back then, to continue his teasing banter, but he didn’t. Instead he stared at her thoughtfully for a moment, his eyes darkening. ‘Oh, Cat …’ he managed, and the next moment she felt the soft teasing brush of his lips against her own.
It had been a wonderful but all too brief moment, Cat reflected later. For as her arms automatically wound their way around his neck, pulling him against her as he deepened the kiss, she heard a voice in the hallway.
‘Anyone home? It’s only me.’
Luke pulled back with a curse. He’d obviously not secured the front door properly when he’d come in.
Cat brushed herself down, cleared her throat and busied herself with running water into the bowl ready to wash up, while Luke went to investigate their mystery intruder.
Eventually he reappeared, Jake Kerrow trailing behind him with a bottle of red wine.
‘I thought I’d drop it in, save bringing it this evening,’ he said, glancing between the two of them as he placed it on the kitchen worktop. ‘Haven’t interrupted anything, have I?’
‘No, of course not,’ Luke was quick to respond. ‘Everything’s fine. Cat’s done a great job.’
‘Looking forward to it. Thank you for inviting me; both of you.’ The elderly fisherman’s gaze slid from one to the other then with a nod which encompassed more than any words could have, he turned to leave, with Luke following him out into the hall.
Cat waited for him to return hoping he would take her in his arms and finish what he had started. That strange and wonderful moment had been so out of character for Luke and she had to admit was exactly what she had been longing for. But, she realised, the moment he stepped back into the room everything was different. He seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable, as if he regretted his actions.
‘I have to go out,’ he said, lifting his coat from the chair. ‘I won’t be long.’ And without another word he left, footsteps echoing down the hall before the door closed behind him.
Half an hour later Cat was busy peeling potatoes when she heard the front door slam and the sound of feet on the flagstone floor of the hallway. She turned, peeler in hand, to see Luke standing in the doorway holding a bunch of flowers.
‘I bought you these.’ He gave her a sheepish grin as he placed them on the kitchen table. ‘You’ve worked so hard today and, well, I wanted to say thank you.’
‘That’s kind of you,’ Cat said, wiping her hands on her apron before walking over to the table to pick them up. ‘Chrysanthemums and gerberas. I love gerberas. Have you something I can put them in? They’d make a nice display for our dinner this evening.’
Luke left the room returning with a tall pottery vase, which he handed to her. Filling it with water she arranged the blooms and disposed of the wrapping in the kitchen swing bin.
‘They’d look nice on the dresser,’ he said, taking the vase from her. She followed him into the small dining room and watched him set it down carefully. ‘Does this look okay?’ he asked, stepping back so she could see where he’d placed it. ‘Or maybe a bit to the left?’
‘No, no that’s fine.’
‘Anything I can do to help?’ he said, moving away from the dresser. ‘I’m feeling a bit surplus to requirements at the moment.’
‘You can set the table, that would be helpful.’
‘Okay,’ he said, opening the dresser drawer and pulling out a cloth and some cutlery.
Cat watched him, the memory of his kiss lingering. The way she’d responded had been … she pulled in a breath at the memory. Best not to go there. It wasn’t about to happen again. It was clear the flowers were more than simply a thank you. They were an apology too. For stepping over the line. For taking liberties. The message was clear and she accepted it. That friendship was all he had to offer.
