I file that thought away with other impossibilities like agirl of twenty-three being interested in a man with more grey than black in his hair.
“Thank you,” she says when we’ve both finished, and polished off the crème caramel with fruit for dessert. “That was better than anything I’ve ever eaten. Particularly after work.”
“What do you normally do?” I ask mildly.
“Sleep,” she laughs. “Wake up so hungry I could eat my own arm.”
“Ah, that’s what happened to my arm. I was wondering. Shouldn’t have missed dinner.”
For a second she’s shocked, but then bursts out laughing. “Yes, try not to starve. It’s a lot of effort to fix once you’ve gnawed at it.”
We’re grinning at each other like kids, and honestly, I haven’t felt this free since I was a teenager. So light, so at ease.
“Apologies. It’s the lack of breakfast. You’ll have to help remind me. I have pastries and tea ordered for tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to?—”
“Yes, I do.” I want to provide for this girl.
There’s a heated pause. Then Callie takes a deep breath. “We should change your dressing, and then go to bed.”
Immediately, her cheeks flame. Almost as quickly as my cock rises. It wasn’t an invitation, I know that. But my body responds as though it was. Swift, and hot, and desperate. Yes, I’d very much like to go to bed with Callie.
“Not like that! I just mean I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired.” Her face is bright, burning red.
“I understand what you meant.” I don’t smile or laugh, not only because I don’t want her to be any more embarrassed, and I respect her. But because the thought of beingwith her is far too close to what I most want in the world to be any joking matter.
“It’s my day off tomorrow,” she tells me some minutes later as she’s finishing up the now-familiar task of changing the dressing on my arm.
“How do you spend your free time?” I have visions of us going out together. For dinner, or… Well, I don’t actually know what normal people do. Whatever she likes, I’ll join her.
She gives me a naughty smile. “You’ll find out.”
7
REID
The next day, the builders I hired are dealing with the shower and bathroom on the top floor, so I can have a decent wash, and Callie, after accepting breakfast with me and packing away an impressive number of pastries given her tiny stature, announces the last thing I expect. She’s going to spend her day off baking. So I join her in the pokey little kitchen—making a mental note that this needs to be upgraded very soon—and sit with my phone checking in with my men as she bakes.
“I’m going to make this one.” She opens a cookbook and shows me an enormous photo of a cake with multiple layers, and patterns of icing and brightly coloured marbling inside. The actual cake itself is different colours. Purple, red, and blue, as well as the usual creamy yellow.
“That looks wonderful. If you’re a unicorn.”
“You don’t like it?” She pouts at me. “Is colour that offensive to you, mister fancy suit mafia boss?”
I stare at her. Has anyone ever called me that? Has anyone ever dared say anything so disrespectful?
Would I have anticipated that I’d like it?
“It’s more that after twelve-hour shifts, you’re doing yet more work.”
She shrugs happily. “I need to bake a cake. I do one every week on my day off, for my ward at the hospital. I started doing it years ago. My mother really loved cake, though she couldn’t eat it. She said the smell was enough. She was the best at baking.”
I stare at her. “Not only do you take it upon yourself to cure everyone physically, you tend to your housemate’s ailments?—”
“Normally they’re very healthy. It’s just you,” she interrupts brightly.
“And bake cakes for your colleagues. And I did offer to pay you.”
