We head into the market. There are no stalls yet, just pavement, but I can see visitors heading towards a covered area. I try my best not to glance up at Tommy too often, but I can’t help it; my eyes keep pinging back up to the gorgeous curve of his mouth. It’s twisted slightly, but in a nice way. Amused.
Oh, God – it’s because I’m staring. I force myself to look ahead as he politely pretends not to notice that I’m acting like an absolute weirdo, when my body lurches forwards and the pavement rushes up to slap me in the face.
“Woah, there!”
I thrust out my hands to break the fall, but Tommy’s there first, sweeping me up like I’m some nineteen fifties starlet. I should right myself, but instead I soak up the heat radiating from his body into mine.
He smiles down at me and brushes a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his fingers tracing a soft line down to my chin. He gently places me back on my feet and gestures to a loose paving slab.
“Careful.” His mouth does that twisty thing again and my insides turn to mush. “You should really watch where you’re going.”
“Thanks,” I manage. We turn a corner, and his eyes light up.
“What do you think?”
I’ve been to plenty of markets at home before, like the cattle mart granddaddy used to drag us to as kids, but they were full of old men and stank of cows. This is classy in comparison. Food stalls come into view, piled high with artfully arranged bread, cheese and cured meat. A trio of women totter past us, swinging designer bags in the crooks of their elbows, expensive sunglasses perched on immaculate blow-dries.
“It’s pretty cool,” I say. “Do you come here a lot?”
“I’ve been coming here since I was a boy. It’s changed a lot since then.” A jolt of electricity races up my fingers and I look down to see his hand brushing mine. “Is this OK?”
I nod, not quite able to manage words. He slides his fingers through mine, lacing them together. They lock together as though they were made to do it.
“Come on.” He pulls me along gently, pointing out the original features of the market as we weave through the crowds. I do try to listen to him but my inner self is too busy squealing with joy and mentally high-fiving strangers.
“See this?” Tommy slows to a stop and points up at a small, blue plaque, so I give myself a little shake and refocus. “Geoffrey was part of the campaign to get it up there.”
“London’s oldest fruit and veg market,” I read aloud. “Huh, cool. He’s into everything, isn’t he?”
“Yeah, he loves his history. I think his father used to work here when he was a kid.”
“Father, very formal,” I laugh and it’s finally Tommy’s turn to flush red.
“Dad, then.” He tugs on my hand as I laugh and draws me closer to him, burying his face in my hair. “Are you making fun of me, Miss Hughes?”
“Maybe.” I close my eyes as his warm breath tickles my ear, my body relaxing as his free arm wraps around my waist.
He plants a chaste kiss on my forehead, his lips soft, gentle on my skin. “I wanted to show you something.”
“OK.” I float behind him, trying to pay attention to the historical facts he shares. We pass a million food stalls that I desperately ignore, dinner only over the horizon. I listen to Tommy instead – he joked that Geoffrey was into his history, but he’s not too shabby himself.
“So this place is a thousand years old? Jeez.”
“Kind of.” He pushes sandy hair back from his forehead, craning his neck to look at the green steel beams that arch over our heads. “Some of it. The original site was on the other side of the river. This one has been here since the sixteen hundreds. The building is all Victorian, though.”
“It’s pretty.” It is, too. Ornate columns stretch up to a flourish beneath the glass sky above us. There isn’t a cloud, just clear blue as far as the eye can see.
“Here.” A floral scent alerts me to where we are before I look back to Tommy. Sure enough, we’re somehow standing in a little oasis. All around him, flowers spill from silver buckets and hanging baskets and greenery bursts from pots of all shapes and sizes, each one perched on a series of apple crates, set on their sides to form shelves.
“What do you think?”
“Oh.” His hand slides from my own as I wander further into the thicket of flowers. “It’s beautiful.”
Tommy beams at me.
“I thought you’d like it.”
I walk further into the stall, ducking through the curtain of foliage and into another little world. My fingers reach out to dance along petals of their own accord and a soft, velvet scent tickles my nose. Brief chatter invades the little haven as Tommy follows me through the fronds, dropping them back and blocking out the world once more.
