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“Your dad’s affair would have been hard enough for you to get your head around. But by begging you to keep it a secret, it’s almost like he made you complicit in the betrayal.”

“Aye, well, it all ended up coming out anyway, and when it did, I admitted to Maw and Iona I’d known for a while. To be fair, neither of them ever blamed me for anything, although that didn’t stop me feeling guilty, especially considering the toll it took on Maw. She was really devastated.”

I give a small shrug. “Anyway, it’s all ancient history now. But there it is, that’s my secret. Well, I suppose technically it was only a secret at the time, but it’s still not something I talk about much, so I hope that counts.”

“Hmm, one sec, I’ll check the guidelines.” Grace takes out her phone and pretends to look up something. “Yep! I can officially accept that as an answer.”

I grin.

“And do you know what I find really interesting about that story?” she asks.

“What?”

“It’s your origin story, Aidan! It explains why you don’t do relationships.”

I blink. “Huh?”

“Oh, come on! When your dad pulled you into his secret, you were at a formative age, a stage when most teenagers are beginning to explore relationships and sex. Then, when everything came out, and you saw the effect it had on your mum, you probably told yourself you’d never hurt a woman like your dad did. Maybe it was a conscious decision, maybe it was an unconscious one, but either way, the result was you’ve kept women at a distance ever since, except to sleep with them. That way, you can’t hurt them, right?”

I laugh and clap my hands together. “Wow, I didn’t realise I was sitting opposite Sigmund Freud! Thanks for the psychoanalysis. Oh, and I appreciate you giving me such a noble motive. I’m just a kind guy who doesn’t want to hurt anyone—that makes me sound so sweet! But I’m afraid you’ve got the wrong end of the stick. I just like sex. That’s all there is to it.” Cockily I lace my hands behind my head.

“Hmm.” Grace isn’t convinced.

I point a warning finger at her. “Hey, I worked hard to cultivate my image around the young men of Bannock as an absolute legend. Please don’t go spoiling that and turning me into some tragic lad with issues.”

Grace laughs, then we put a pin in the conversation because our food arrives. My beef is served with a red-wine sauce, artichokes, and oyster mushrooms, while Grace’s duck comes with Madeira sauce, Savoy cabbage, and mashed potato.

I cut into the beef, my knife gliding through the tender meat effortlessly. I pop a piece in my mouth and let out a contented sigh. It’s rich and slightly smoky, with a hint of saltiness, and the sauce perfectly complements it.

“This is incredible,” I say. “You have to try some.” I slice a bit, spear it with my fork, and hold it out to her.

Grace hasn’t even tasted her duck yet—maybe I’m being overly keen to share. She tilts her head, considering, then leans forward to accept the offered morsel. The way she slides it off the fork and chews on it, her eyes closing to further appreciate the taste, gets me hot and bothered. Fuck!

When her eyes reopen, her mouth forms a sly smile. I think she knows exactly what sort of effect that had on me.

“Delicious,” she says.

Her tongue flicks out, licking her luscious lips, and I give an involuntary shiver.

She tries her duck next, but I can’t watch. Instead, I glance out the window, giving myself a few moments to cool down. These last few days with Grace have been a new experience for me. Normally, when it comes to a woman I’m interested in, there’s a quick resolution. Either she’s up for a casual hook-up, in which case my urges are satisfied, or she’s not, in which case I move on.

But sharing a room with Grace—sharing a bed with her—while keeping my hands to myself has been quite the challenge. The more time I spend around this tantalising woman, the more my desire for her grows. Aye, we’ve already slept together, but with her, I want more.

“Aidan, you can look at me, you know.”

“Aye, sorry.” I meet her gaze again, forcing my emotions down.

We’re in a fancy restaurant. I have to behave. I take a sip of water.

Her playful expression becomes a wee bit more serious, and she says, “You told me something you don’t normally tell people, so I think it’s only fair that I open up too. This maybe isn’t the done thing on a date—even a platonic one—but can I tell you about my last relationship?”

“You can talk to me about anything you want.”

Grace gives a small smile then takes some more of her duck, chewing it slowly, perhaps mentally preparing herself to begin the story. “It was with a man called Mark, a banker, very career-driven. I was with him for two and a half years, which is embarrassing because I should have realised much earlier it wasn’t a good match.

“Looking back, I’m not sure why I always tried so hard to please him when he never prioritised me. I suppose, when we went out together, it was amazing. He had money to splash on posh restaurants and great seats at shows and incredible experiences. But . . . he worked long hours, and as time went on, date nights became fewer and fewer, although he never missed a lads’ night out.

“He had this brilliant flat, which he invited me to move into. With the crazy hours he worked, I ended up cooking most of our meals . . . and cleaning up the place . . . and ironing his shirts. To be fair, yoga instruction left me with more free time than his job, and he did earn a lot more than me. It seemed a reasonable distribution of responsibilities. But then . . .” She trails off.