He must have an interesting history—but she wasn’t going there. Emily sighed. So he hated gossip. She did too.
But they were both mad if they thought the whole hospital wouldn’t find out anyway. It always happened. She’d seen it time and again over the last sixteen years.
Somebody’s son would be a waiter on the boat or a deckhand on the ferry. A woman thought nobody knew and usually she was the last to figure out everyone had been talking about her for a week. Now she’d be one of those. Thanks, Marco.
And a bit of ill feeling might help keep him at bay. Maybe cultivating that wasn’t a bad idea. ‘As long as we don’t repeat the experience, I’m sure we’ll both be fine.’
He stepped across to her. ‘And yet I’d hoped to see you again, spend more time with you before I spoiled my chance.’
‘No. Thank you, Marco. You’re not my favourite person at the moment.’
The lift stopped and he moved back as the doors opened. Emily didn’t look at him as she left but she could feel him behind her as she walked towards the nurses’ station.
Then he was gone as she went on to Annie’s room.
When he walked in five minutes later Emily had herself well in hand. She smiled distantly at his left shoulder, watched her daughter’s face the whole time, and agreed that tomorrow morning would be a good time to pick Annie up.
Then he was behind the curtain, talking to June, and she could drop the silly smile from her face and get on with life.
‘You okay, Mum?’
She jumped. Annie was staring at her. ‘Sorry? Oh. Yes. Fine. I’m tired.’
‘Didn’t you sleep last night?’
There was silence from behind the curtain. Maybe he was just feeling June’s tummy. ‘Oh. Um. Not as well as I’d hoped.’
Conversation started behind the curtain and she frowned at herself. Stop it.
‘Why don’t you stay home this afternoon? Just chill. I’m fine. Some friends are coming in to see me in visiting hours and I have my phone credit now. I can ring if I want anything.’
And do what? Mope? ‘No. Don’t be silly. I’ll come back this afternoon.’
‘Seriously, Mum. I’m just as happy if you don’t.’
She looked at Annie. Hurt. Stung and embarrassed that everyone else in the room would have heard it too.
‘Oh. Okay. That sounds fine, then.’ Ridiculous stinging in her eyes and she’d be mortified if she cried. ‘I’ll catch up on all the things I’ve been meaning to do.’ Forced brightness. ‘Lovely.’
She leant over and kissed her daughter’s cheek. Avoided her eyes but, then, Annie seemed to be avoiding hers too. Maybe she realised she’d been an ungrateful little wretch. Wishful thinking probably. She had her friends coming. She didn’t need a mother. ‘See you tomorrow.’
She walked hurriedly away but not hurriedly enough. Marco caught up with her in four strides. ‘Are you okay?’
She paused, turned and stared at his tie. ‘Fine. I’m sorry. Perhaps we were both rude in the lift. Thanks for last night.’
Then she walked away. Thanks for last night? She winced. What did she mean? Dinner. Great sex. Today was a difficult day but she’d got through others.
She could feel his eyes on her back.
She wasn’t surprised when he turned up at her house two hours later. He was bearing gifts. Well, food anyway.
She stood back to let him enter. ‘I guess we do need to talk.’ A lingering trail of subtle exotic herbs and spices followed him.
‘And I wish to apologise again.’
What was in that bag? ‘For what?’
‘For my comment in the elevator. For doubting you.’
She forgot food and studied him. He had his mask face on again and she wondered where the smiling Italian gypsy had gone. But, then, again the smiling Emily seemed a tad AWOL at the moment as well. ‘Why are you here, Marco?’ Because I don’t want to fall for you.
‘To see you. To ask why you left this morning. To see if you are all right because I have been worried I made you unhappy.’
‘You don’t have to worry about me. I’m a big girl.’ Better on my own.
‘Last night at the fair you worried about my happiness.’
‘Last night was an illusion.’ She sighed. ‘A really fun one but still an illusion. Look, Marco. You’re a great guy. Too great. And I haven’t got the best track record in not falling for the wrong guys. You’re leaving in three weeks and I don’t want to get any more used to you being around. It’s too good. So there won’t be any repeats.’
‘What about lunch?’ He glanced at his parcel.
‘No.’
‘Please?’
She couldn’t throw him out. ‘Lunch I could probably manage but only because I need to know what that incredible smell is coming from those bags.’
He obliged in relief. ‘Let me show you.’
‘That’s what you said last night.’ She flicked a look at him from under her lashes and the other man was back.
Emily sighed because she knew she was in trouble. ‘Come through to the kitchen.’ It was just too hard to maintain distance when he was grinning and producing delicacies like rabbits from a hat.
‘Si. The rolls are crusty, the butter fresh churned, and many cheeses.’ He pulled out some plastic takeaway containers and she realised the aroma came from there.
‘Fresh sage?’
‘No festive Tuscan meal would be complete without chicken liver crostini.’
‘We’re not having a party.’
‘It is Saturday. We should. Crostini di Fegatini di Pollo.’ Emily wasn’t really sure she could eat liver.
As if he’d read her mind. ‘Even those who dislike liver enjoy this on thinly cut crusty bread. Trust me.’
That was what it all boiled down to, she thought glumly. Trust him. Or trust herself. If either of them dropped control, she doubted trust would have a look in.
He pulled out a dish of pasta. She could see mushrooms and red peppers, could smell the provolone cheese and the basil. It made her mouth water and he saw. He smiled.
‘We will have a picnic in your tiny back yard. Perhaps you could lay the table and I will serve these.’
So now he was ordering her around in her own kitchen. Was opening and shutting Gran’s cupboards as he looked for dishes to serve from. She couldn’t take it all in. Was bemused by his energy and sudden good humour and becoming fixated on the way his shoulders moved and his biceps flexed as he reached for highly placed articles.
Might be best to leave him to it and grab a checked tablecloth and some cutlery and bolt outside.
The air cooled her cheeks. It was a glorious day. Funny she hadn’t noticed that this morning. Not too hot. Outside anyway.
She glanced over her shoulder and he was singing in her kitchen. She’d never heard a man singing baritone in her kitchen before and she paused as the sound teased her. Made her smile. Chased away caution again because, darn it, it was good to have so much fun.
She set the table with new vigour, wondered about that bottle of cold Chablis she had in the fridge, and a rainbow lorikeet flew down and scratched in the empty bird feeder and then glared at her.
‘Okay.