‘Well, what’s not to love about that?’
We stroll towards his apartment block and he lets us in. The reception area is nicely decorated in muted shades of peach and cream, offset by a profusion of shiny, oversized plants. We take a lift to the seventh floor and when he opens the door, a delicious umami scent of cooking food ignites my senses.
The flat is bigger than I was expecting and, contrary to what he’d said, less impersonal. It’s open-plan and filled with light, decorated tastefully in soft shades, but with splashes of intense colour from the contemporary furniture and pictures on the walls. There’s a small corridor leading to a couple of bedrooms, one of which I can already see is filled with an abundance of pink accessories.
‘That one’s Mila’s. Just in case you were in any doubt,’ he says, as he takes my jacket and hangs it on a peg near the front door.
‘This isveryswish, Zach. And my compliments to your cleaner George.’
He heads over to the kitchen area to open the wine. He pours two chilled glasses and hands me one, before stirring something in a pan as I wander to a floor-to-ceiling window that leads out to a balcony, where a small table and two chairs overlook the quays.
‘Can I go out here?’
‘Sure.’
I step outside and look across the network of waterways and skyscrapers of Manchester beyond. Given the weather around here, I don’t suppose this always makes for a glorious view. But today it does. Today, it is perfect. Everything is.
A hot summer sun is setting low over the water, creating a myriad of unlikely colours in the sky – deep turquoise through to burnished amber. Looking directly down, I get a full sense of how different the vibe is here at the weekend, the emphasis more on play than work. There are dog walkers and runners, as well as the odd cyclist, while in the canal beneath us, a group of thirty or so swimmers bob about in multicoloured caps.
‘They’re brave,’ I say, as Zach steps out to join me. ‘I don’t fancy the temperature in that water.’
‘No, it’s nice in there. Not quite Laguna Beach, but it still gets the endorphins pumping.’
I suppress a smile. ‘I might have known you’d have had
a go.’
‘I’m that predictable, huh?’
He places his wine glass on the table. Then he takes mine out of my hand and puts it down too.
‘Come here.’ He slides his palms around my waist and draws me in to his body.
I never want to forget what it feels like to be tenderly enveloped by these big, loving arms. As I breathe in the scent on his skin, I want to bottle it and inhale it forever.
I can’t decide which type of Zach’s kisses I like the best. The soft, sensual ones, like honey running through my whole body. Or the hard, hungry ones when he wants me so much he can barely breathe. Truth is, I’d take either. Anytime, anywhere, as the saying goes. But for now, it’s the first kind – slow and sultry and sweet, the type that hints at much more to come.
‘I like what you did with your hair tonight,’ he says, reaching up as his fingertips play with a soft strand.
‘Oh . . . curlers,’ I say, entirely ruining any sense of mystique. ‘So, what’s on the menu? It smells wonderful.’
‘Well, you were totally unhelpful when I asked what you wanted to eat . . .’
‘I’ll eat anything.’
‘Precisely. No help at all. After great deliberation, I decided there was only one menu I could possibly serve you.’
‘Which is?’
‘A taste of home. New York City style.’
‘Ah! I love a hot dog!’
He shakes his head. ‘Sorry, Darling. You are not getting a hot dog.’
What I get instead is a feast.
As the sun sets, we eat at a candlelit table just inside the apartment, both doors flung wide open to allow a gentle breeze to drift in. It starts with an incredible seafood platter, of fresh-shucked oysters, caviar, clams and shrimp. Next is a chicken dish with polenta and hazelnuts, served with a side of kohlrabi. He tells me this was all inspired by his favourite food from Gramercy Tavern.
