‘In absence of your bantering answer, I’m going to take it as a yes.’ Are we bantering? Maybe I’m a little rusty at this whole thing.
‘It’s a free country. You can take it however you like,’ I respond evenly.
‘I love it when a woman says things like that.’ Shocked, I open my mouth to respond when he holds up a forestalling hand. ‘Sorry, that was absolutelynotwhat I should’ve said, but the longer I stand here, the bigger arse I’ll make of myself. How about you put me out of my misery?’
‘It’s still called murder even if you asked for it.’
‘I deserved that, but I’d like to blame the glass of wine I drank before I came over here. Dutch courage and all.’ Unsure if that was a blatant ploy or a genuine admission, I look down at the flowers and take a deep breath.
‘Look,’ I begin, ‘I work a lot. In fact, I’ll be working most of this evening.’Hint-hint.‘How about we leave it to fate?’ His expression falters as though not quite catching my meaning. ‘One afternoon in the not too distant future, I may well pop into the restaurant for a coffee. Maybe if you’re there, we could have that coffee together?’
‘You’re likely to make a workaholic of me.’
‘Think of it as me protecting your business. I hear the mortality rate of new restaurants is pretty high.’
‘It’s a good job I own two more then, isn’t it?’ In man-speak, I think that’s Tate’s way of telling me how successful he is. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to put those in water.’ We glance at the flowers in my hand almost simultaneously.
‘They’re really lovely,’ I demure. A man brought me flowers. Maybe I should’ve been nicer to him.
‘Just think of me when you look at them,’ he says, stepping back onto the garden path. ‘I’ll be waiting.. .’
I smile as I close the door and mutter, ‘Then you’d best not hold your breath.’
When I return to my pasta dinner, it looks like congealed snails, but I do have a lengthy text.
Aunt Cam:Darling, I did so enjoy yesterday’s new inclusion. One note of criticism if I may. While girl-on-girl is always mildly enjoyable, this craze with waxing all the hair from one’s body is a little much. I’m all for avoiding the horror of the seventies bush, but what you youngsters don’t seem to understand is when you get my age, it all falls out anyway. And believe me, you really could do with the coverage!
Me:Thanks for the feedback and the horror story. I may well not sleep tonight.
~*~
‘Why are you staring at Stephen?’
Friday morning and we have a session in the studio. Stephen is fairly new to the industry, and he’s doing a solo shoot, excuse the pun. I’m shooting him solo while he, ahem, shoots solo. Meanwhile, Hillary seems a little.. . distracted as Stephen undresses. We have a changing area, but the young blond says it’s no big deal. I think I’ve become immune to nakedness and Paisley meanwhile has eyes for no one by Keir. Which leaves Hillary. And his lolling tongue.
‘Hey.’
‘Hmm?’
‘You remind me of a fat kid in a bakery.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ Tearing his eyes away, he slides me a blank look.
‘She means you look like you want to cram him into your mouth,’ Paisley reiterates. ‘Like he’s cake.’
‘Hmm. Someone didn’t spill their coffee this morning, I see,’ he says testily, immediately reminding me of our last shoot and the brochure full of sperm I have in my home office. That is—sperm donors, I mean. Not actual jizz.
But I’m not thirty yet, so I don’t have to think about it.
‘By coffee, do you mean sex?’ asks a slightly confused Paisley.
‘Why does it always come back to sex with you?’ Hillary replies with a slight flounce. ‘I thought I recognised him.’
‘What, by his ass?’ Paisley asks.
‘Don’t answer that,’ I add quickly.
‘It looked to me like you were trying to recognise himrealhard,’ Paisley then adds.
