When I Wasn't Watching. Michelle Kelly

read it clear as day in his eyes and the way he had so very deliberately not looked at her bare legs when she had been perched on the counter. She had noticed at the edge of her awareness even back then, but it had barely registered, all information unrelated to Jack coming to her as if through a fog, the same fog that had followed her for years, always threatening to envelop her. Somehow, since the news of Prince’s release, that fog had gradually cleared after the initial shock, leaving behind a sharp anger yes, but also the feeling that she was fully alive again.

      The look Matt gave her when she opened the door to him was confirmation of her renewed state. His eyes drank her in, clearly appreciating the effort she had made with her hair, her make-up, her dress. Lucy found herself giving him a sultry smile.

      ‘You look lovely,’ he said, looking down at himself self-consciously, although he looked just as delectable himself, she thought with a half-smile. When they walked into Marco’s after a somewhat awkward car drive, Lucy saw the heated glances other women gave the man at her side and felt as giddy as a teenager at the school disco who had somehow managed to bag herself the hottest guy in school. Much as she had once felt with Ethan, yet back then she had been very much aware of being in his shadow. Somehow being next to Matt made her feel more secure, not less.

      She ordered wine in an attempt to calm the fizzing in her gut, even though Matt was of course not drinking. He watched her as she sipped at it, his expression unreadable.

      ‘So, things are okay at home?’ They had already spoken about Ricky, who had been very much subdued after his run-in with Matt, so Lucy knew what he was referring to. She took another sip of wine before looking straight at him.

      ‘As good as can be expected. I still intend to do something, I just don’t quite know what yet.’

      ‘Maybe no more tabloid interviews,’ Matt suggested, and although his tone was light Lucy wondered if he meant it as a reprimand. She had seen the protesters on the news, pacing the town square that lay between the City Hall and the main station, no doubt causing the officers some extra work. Although she had applauded their efforts Lucy thought it strange that in the angry crowd of faces, all of them there because of her child – she had even spotted a home-made banner calling for ‘Justice for Jack’ – there hadn’t been one she recognised. No one who had ever even met either her or Jack.

      Lucy smiled and opened her mouth to say something upbeat, but Matt reached over the table and closed a hand over hers.

      ‘Lucy, you don’t need to put a face on, not with me.’

      As sudden tears stung at her eyes Lucy pulled her hand away, more sharply than she meant to, nearly knocking the bottle of wine over until Matt caught it with a deft flick of his wrist. Lucy was impressed.

      ‘Good reflexes.’

      ‘I used to box.’

      Lucy looked at his broad shoulders and defined arms that his shirt couldn’t fail to highlight.

      ‘That fits. You look like a boxer, rather than a cop.’

      Matt laughed.

      ‘Should I take that as a compliment?’

      ‘Maybe.’ She was flirting with him again, she realised, except this time it was natural rather than a contrived effort on her part. Aware of the attraction he felt for her, for the first time she felt the stirrings of desire on her own part, completely independent of who he was and how they were involved.

      Although the question she needed to ask him still waited on her lips, it occurred to her that she could allow herself this at least; to sit opposite an attractive man and feel like a young woman again, with all the needs and desires of a young woman, that had been lying dormant under the weight of her grief.

      Her leg brushed his under the table. It was an accident, or at least an unconscious movement, but when Matt didn’t move his leg away, only looked at her with a smile playing around the corners of his mouth, she realised he thought she had done it on purpose and felt her cheeks heat up.

      ‘Shall we order?’

      She nodded and grabbed the menu, glad he had broken the loaded silence, and looked at the menu without seeing it, the words swimming in front of her eyes.

      ‘I’m having Bolognese,’ Matt told her, ‘not very original I know, but I don’t know what half of the things on that menu are. Why can’t they just write them in English?’

      Lucy laughed.

      ‘That’s not very cosmopolitan, inspector.’

      ‘Will you please call me Matt? You’re making me feel old. But yeah, I’m a pie and potatoes man to be honest.’

      ‘Not steak and raw eggs? Isn’t that what you testosterone-fuelled boxer types eat?’

      ‘I think that’s bodybuilders,’ Matt laughed, ‘but what are you having? Salad?’

      ‘God no. I’ll have the Bolognese as well.’

      They smiled at each other as Lucy took another sip of her wine. There was a pleasant warmth in her belly now that was as much due to laughter as alcohol.

      ‘You know, you’re surprisingly easy to be around. Even yesterday, when you brought Ricky back, it was nice to talk to you. I’ve been isolated lately.’ For a long time, she added to herself.

      ‘I can imagine,’ he said, leaning over as if he would say something more, but paused when the waitress came over to take their order. The girl’s eyes lingered on Matt as he ordered for them and Lucy felt a simultaneous stab of jealousy – the waitress was young, pretty and wearing a ridiculous tight uniform that showed every inch of her to full effect – and a frisson