‘Plain and boring?’
‘Not necessarily. Seriously good vanilla ice cream is one of the best pleasures in the world—which is why I just ordered it.’
‘True. But remember what I do for a living. And my favourite bit of my job is when I work with the R and D team. Am I really going to pass up chocolate?’
This was a side of Sean she’d never really seen. Teasing, bantering—fun. And she really, really liked that.
She watched him as he took a spoonful of ice cream. He rolled his eyes at her to signal that he thought she was overselling it. And then she saw his pupils widen.
‘Well?’ she asked.
‘This is something else,’ he admitted. ‘I can forgive the gimmicky stuff. Good choice.’
‘And if you hadn’t gone with the flow, you wouldn’t have known the place was there.’ She grinned. ‘Admit it. I was right.’
‘You were right about the ice cream being great. That’s as far as I go.’ He held her gaze. ‘For now.’
It should’ve been cheesy and made her laugh at him. But his voice was low and sexy as hell, and there was the hint of a promise in his words that made her feel hot all over, despite the ice cream. It was enough to silence her, and she concentrated on eating her ice cream on the walk back to her shop.
‘Well, Ms Stewart,’ he said on her doorstep. ‘I’ll see you later. Though there is something you need to attend to.’
She frowned. ‘What’s that?’
‘You have ice cream on the corner of your mouth.’ Just as she was about to reach up and scrub it away, he stopped her. ‘Let me deal with this.’
And then he kissed the smear of sweet confection away. Slowly. Sensually. By the time he’d finished, Claire was close to hyperventilating and her knees felt weak. Sean was kissing her in the street. This was totally un-Sean-like behaviour and it put her in a flat spin.
‘Later,’ he whispered, and left.
Although Claire spent the rest of the day alternately talking to customers and working on the dress, in the back of her head she was panicking about what to cook for him. She had no idea what he liked. She could play safe and cook chicken—she was fairly sure that he wasn’t a vegetarian. Wryly, she realised that this was when Sean’s ‘plan everything down to the last microsecond’ approach would come in useful.
She could text him to check what he did and didn’t like. But that meant doing it his way and planning instead of being spontaneous—and she didn’t want to give him the opportunity to say ‘I told you so’. Then again, she didn’t want to cook a meal he’d hate, or something he was allergic to, so it would be better to swallow her pride.
She texted him swiftly.
Any food allergies I need to know about? Ditto total food hates.
The reply came back.
No and no. What’s for dinner?
She felt safe enough to tease him.
Whatever I feel like cooking. Carpe diem.
When he didn’t reply she wondered if she’d gone too far. Then again, he’d said that he was going to be in meetings all afternoon. She shrugged it off and concentrated on making the dress she’d cut out that morning.
Though by the end of the afternoon she still hadn’t decided what to cook. She ended up having a mad dash round the supermarket and picked up chicken, parma ham, asparagus and soft cheese so she could make chicken stuffed with asparagus, served with tiny new potatoes, baby carrots and tenderstem broccoli.
Given that Sean was a self-confessed chocolate fiend, she bought the pudding rather than making it from scratch—tiny pots of chocolate ganache, which she planned to serve with raspberries, as their tartness would be a good foil to the richness of the chocolate.
Once she’d prepared dinner, she fussed around the flat, making sure everywhere was tidy and all the important surfaces were gleaming. Then she changed her outfit three times, and was cross with herself for doing so. Why was she making such a big deal out of this? She’d known Sean for years. He’d seen her when she had teenage spotty skin and chubby cheeks. And this was her flat. It shouldn’t matter what she wore. Jeans and a strappy vest top would be fine.
Except they didn’t feel fine. Sean was always so pristine that she’d feel scruffy.
In the end, she compromised with a little black dress but minimal make-up and with her hair tied back. So he’d know that she’d made a little more effort than just dragging on a pair of jeans and doing nothing with her hair, but not so much effort that she was making a big deal out of it.
The doorbell rang at seven precisely—exactly what she’d expected from Sean, because of course he wouldn’t be a minute late or a minute early—and anticipation sparkled through her.
Dinner.
And who knew what else the evening would bring?
HE WAS ACTUALLY NERVOUS, Sean realised.
Which was crazy.
This was Claire. He’d known her for years. There was nothing to be nervous about. Except for the fact that this was a date, and in the past they’d never really got on. And the fact that, now he was getting to know her, he was beginning to realise that maybe she wasn’t the person he’d thought she was.
Would it be the same for her? He had no idea.
He took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.
When she opened the door, she was barefoot and wearing a little black dress, and her hair was tied back at the nape with a hot pink chiffon scarf. He wanted to kiss her hello, but was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop himself—it had been tough enough to walk away at lunchtime. So instead he smiled awkwardly at her. ‘Hi. I wasn’t sure what to bring, so I brought red and white.’
‘You really didn’t need to, but thank you very much.’ She accepted the bottles with a smile. ‘Come up.’
She looked so cool, unflustered and sophisticated. Sean was pretty sure that she wasn’t in the slightest bit nervous, and in turn that made him relax. This was just dinner, the getting-to-know-you stuff. And he really should stop thinking about how easy it would be to untie that scarf and let her glorious hair fall over her shoulders, then kiss her until they were both dizzy.
He followed her up the stairs and she ushered him in to the kitchen.
‘We’re eating in here, if that’s OK,’ she said. ‘Can I get you a drink? Dinner will be ten minutes.’
‘A glass of cold water would be fabulous, thanks.’ At her raised eyebrows, he explained, ‘It’s been a boiling hot day and I could really do with something cold and non-alcoholic.’
‘Sure.’ She busied herself getting a glass and filled it from the filter jug in the fridge, adding ice and a frozen slice of lime. When she handed the glass to him, her fingers brushed against his; it sent a delicious shiver all the way down his spine.
Her kitchen was a place of extremes. The work surfaces had all been used, and it looked as if most of her kitchen equipment had been piled up next to the sink. The fridge was covered with magnets and photos, and a cork board on one wall had various cards and notes pinned to it, along with what looked like a note of a library fine. Chaos. And yet the bistro table was neatly set for two, and there was a compact electric steamer on the worktop next to the cooker, containing the vegetables. So there was a little order among the chaos.
Much like Claire herself.
‘Something smells nice,’ he said.