I wave my hand at him. “Then go and cross things off your stupid list on your own.” I pull the duvet towards me. “While I sleep the sleep of the innocent.”
“Not remotely possible. You’d get done for libel. Come along. You know the drill. Where I go, you—?” He puts a hand to his ear.
I glare at him. “Follow behind, hoping to push you down a flight of stairs?”
He tsks, his face creasing into a wide, white smile. “And this is why I don’t turn my back on you.” He shakes his head admiringly. “Feral,” he says affectionately. “Get dressed, and I’ll make breakfast.”
I blink as he lopes out of the bedroom and then pull the pillow to my face and scream.
“I heard that,” he shouts.
“Good. You were meant to.”
I lie there for a few minutes and then remember his words. I jackknife out of bed and race to the door. “Reuben?”
He appears at the bottom of the stairs with a spatula in his hand. “What?”
“Did you say you were making breakfast?”
“Yep.”
“Oh my god, it isn’t bread again and … and fried things.”
His lip twitches. “I’m making a full Scottish.”
“Noo,” I groan. “Saturated fats, sodium, andsomany calories. Your stomach must contain more lard than the fridge counter at Tesco’s.”
“You’ve seen my stomach, so you know that isn’t true.”
I swallow. I have. It’s flat and heavily muscled. I push the thought away for a time when I’m not standing in front of him in a pair of teeny briefs. “I want my usual breakfast.”
He grimaces. “Is it fresh air?”
I shudder. “No, fuck that. It’s a cigarette, coffee, and total silence.”
“Yes, you need to stop that, too.”
I put my hands on my hips. “Am I to have no pleasure in life? Are you a Quaker person, Reuben?” He starts to laugh, and I huff. “I will just have coffee.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. Please start your shower.”
“Why?”
“Because it takes youhours.”
“Perfection takes time and effort.”
“No, it doesn’t. You look amazing at any hour of the day or night, and you know it.” I stare at him open-mouthed, and he shifts, looking suddenly awkward. He rubs his hand down the back of his neck. “Hurry up.”
I tsk. “I’m afraid I don’t want to now. Shall we address the elephant you just introduced into the room?”
“The cottage is far too small for one of those. You’d have to reduce the size of your vocal cords to fit it in.”
“It’s a metaphor for you complimenting me.”
“Nope.” He strides back into the kitchen. “Putting the bacon and tattie scones on now.”
“What the hell are tattie scones?”
