‘Yes, I know it—and, yes, that’s fine. But before you go can I ask just one more favour?’
Leo eyed her suspiciously.
‘I’m staying for dinner,’ she explained. ‘Don’t worry—I have a booking. It’s just that my date—Gary, his name is—is a massive foodie, and he’d really love to meet you. Perhaps you could just pop out and say hello...?’
‘Oh, sure,’ Leo agreed easily. He’d been expecting something worse—maybe that he have a shot of Botox!—and, anyway, speaking to his customers was part of his routine.
‘And do you think I could have this exact table? It has a lovely view over the park. If it’s reserved I’ll understand, but—’
He caught his impatient sigh before it could erupt. ‘You can have the table, Sunshine.’
‘And could I have a Campari and soda while I wait for Gary?’
‘Fine,’ Leo said, irritated that it made him curious about her—because he would have pegged her for a Cosmopolitan girl. And who the hell cared what she liked to drink? ‘I’ll get one sent over.’
‘And—’
‘Good God, what else?’
‘Just that it’s Gary’s birthday...so if there’s a special dessert or something...?’
‘Yes. I. Will. Send. Out. A. Special. Dessert. Now, are you all right for socks and undies, or do you need me to get you some of those too?’
‘Actually, I never wear socks.’ Sunshine smiled serenely. ‘And I’m not wearing undies tonight—not under this dress!’
Leo could feel his eyes bug out of his head. ‘Thanks for that mental picture, Sunshine. Anything else you’d care to share?’
‘Well...’
‘Yeah, hold that thought,’ he said, and made a bolt for the kitchen. Where he leant against the wall and burst out laughing.
His sous chef looked at him as if he’d grown a gigantic unicorn horn.
Clearly it had been a long time since he’d laughed.
* * *
Yum.
That was the word that had been popping into Sunshine’s head with monotonous regularity from the moment Leo had sent out a bowl of polenta chips with a gorgonzola dipping sauce to snack on while she drank her Campari.
Q Brasserie had an open kitchen, so she could not only smell but also see the magic being wrought on an array of seafood and meat—and, okay, vegetables too, although they were a lot less interesting if you asked her.
She rubbernecked as a steady stream of mouthwatering dishes was whisked past her en route to other diners, agonised over the menu choices and wished she could eat everything.
Sunshine basically Hoovered up her entrée of six plump, perfectly sautéed scallops, served with a Japanese-style dressing of cucumber, rice vinegar, mirin, and ginger. And it took great willpower not to beg a taste of Gary’s mushrooms with truffle custard. She wouldn’t normally covet a vegetarian dish but, come on, truffle custard? Yum!
The main meals were sublime. She ate every bite of her Angus beef brisket, served with smoked bone marrow and potato confit, and, giving in to her inner piglet on the date-taste issue, was in the process of polishing off one of Gary’s divine king prawns—chargrilled with coriander and lime, yum, yum, yum—when up bowled Leo.
He’d changed from his jeans, T-shirt and way cool brown leather lace-ups into a spotlessly clean, double-breasted chef’s jacket, finely checked pants and classy black slip-ons, and he looked sigh-worthy.
Leo looked at her well-cleaned plate. At Gary’s. At the tiny piece of prawn on the end of her fork. His eyebrows shot up.
Sunshine knew she was presenting as a glutton—but so what? She liked food! Sue her! She calmly finished the last bite of prawn and laid her fork on her plate.
She made the introductions, then retreated as Leo engaged Gary in a conversation about food.
Gary looked a little starstruck. Which was kind of sweet. He was kind of sweet. Not that their relationship was going anywhere. This was their third date and from her perspective he’d settled into purely platonic material. She hadn’t had even one lascivious thought about him.
The conversation moved on from food and Gary was explaining a little about his job. He was an investment banker—which was more interesting than it sounded. Truly!
‘Nice talking to you Gary,’ Leo said eventually. ‘Dessert is on the house. Happy birthday, and enjoy the rest of your evening.
* * *
Leo had been aware of Sunshine beaming her approval all through his talk with Gary. It was irritating, like a tiny pebble stuck in your shoe, to have her there—just there...just...there. Like a hyped-up Miss Congeniality.
In fact the whole evening had been irritating, because that damned table he’d pinched from one of his regulars was in his line of sight from the kitchen, so he’d been in Peeping Tom mode all night. Watching as she ate. And ate and ate. As she made Gary laugh. And laugh and laugh.
Gary was clearly besotted with her. Poor guy. He was handsome—a nice man—but not in Sunshine’s league. Not that Leo knew what Sunshine’s league was, only that Gary wasn’t in it. Which had been underscored by the expression on Sunshine’s face when the Persian nougat glacé had arrived at the table. The way her glowing eyes had closed as she took the first bite, then opened as the taste hit her. How her mouth had oozed over the spoon...
And why hadn’t he noticed the shape of her mouth before? Too much coloured gunk, he supposed. But once the lipstick had worn off she hadn’t bothered reapplying it. Which was odd, wasn’t it? He’d never known a girl not to race off and reapply her lipstick ad nauseam during dinner.
Not that Sunshine’s lipstick habits were any of his business.
Except that now he couldn’t miss her too-heavy top lip, glistening as she darted her tongue over it. The wide and chewable bottom lip. She had a little gap between her two front teeth that was kooky-meets-adorable. And she moved her mouth over her spoon as if she were having a food-induced orgasm.
He wondered if he was thinking in orgasm terms because she was going commando tonight. Not that he was going there. No way! And please, God, get the thought out of my head!
Whatever, she’d clearly appreciated the 2002 Cristal her boyfriend had ordered to go with dessert.
Leo preferred the 1996 vintage.
Talk about splitting hairs. What the hell was wrong with him?
He sighed. Stretched. It had been a long night, that was all. He just needed to get to bed. Right after he emailed Caleb. He was going to get the dinner party back under control at their meeting tomorrow. Put Sunshine the Bulldozer back in the shed.
Sunshine. Groan! She was like a six-inch electric blue thorn in his side.
So it didn’t make sense that he would be humming as he thought about that manifesto-sized checklist of hers.
And damn if it wasn’t that cheesy Natalie Clarke number about love biting you in the ass.
The most diabolically awful song of the century.
Clearly, he needed a drink.
TWO
TO: Caleb Quartermaine
FROM: Leo Quartermaine
SUBJECT: Seriously?
Caleb, mate
What’s the deal? Where’s your invitation list? Are we really talking 150 guests? I thought it was an intimate dinner.