‘I think you must have. That’s the most he’s ever said to me.’ He must mean the most he’s ever said in one breath, but I’ll take your strange statement, buff dad, and raise you a confused expression. ‘Aye, well. It’s getting late,’ he says. ‘I suppose I’d better be thinkin’ on dinner.’ Leaning behind him, he opens a kitchen drawer, pulling out a wad of menus.
‘Is there something wrong with your nose?’
‘There isn’t. You’re cooking your dinner.’
‘Our dinner,’ I correct, bemusedly.
‘Ella.’ He sort of growls . . . and be still my happily reprimanded heart. Holy guacamole, what would that sound like whispered in my ear in the dark? I blink rapidly, coming back to the fact that he’s still talking, not instructing me in bedroom activities.
‘I don’t expect you to cook and clean and walk the rat.’
‘I’m living here, and I’ve got to eat. I don’t mind cooking now and then. Besides, you paid for the groceries.’ Breathe, Ella. Come up for breath now and again. And try to refrain from drooling as you answer him.
‘You’re sure?’ he asks uncertainly.
‘Absolutely. Besides, you have to taste Louis’s lemon sauce.’
‘Yes,’ Louis calls, his feet pit-patting as he runs back into the room. ‘I squeezed the lemon with my nipples,’ he adds proudly. Somehow, I manage not to burst out laughing. And to his credit, Mac manages, too.
‘You squeezed the lemons, did you, son?’ he asks with barely a ripple of laughter in his tone. ‘How’d you manage that?’
‘Because I am vewy strong, aren’t I, Waf?’
‘Oh, yes. Absolutely. I think you should show your daddy just how strong.’ I’ve barely got the words out of my mouth before Louis begins pushing the sleeve of his light sweater up his arms.
‘See, Daddy. I have vewy strong nipples!’ he says excitedly, making arms like a strong man in a circus tent.
‘Aye. I see that,’ Mac replies seriously. Too serious, it seems. His throat works as he swallows, and I’m not certain, but is that a tear in his eye? ‘Very strong . . . muscles,’ he repeats.
‘Ah, yes,’ I say, giving into my giggles, despite his pensive expression. ‘Very strong . . . nipples.’
We eat chicken and vegetables, along with Louis’s strong nipple-squeezed sauce, who is further delighted when he discovers there’s also ice cream. Myself, I’m just as excited as Mac pulls out a crisp bottle of Viognier from a wine fridge half filled with beer. He leaves me with a half glass, insisting it’s bedtime for anyone under the age of twenty-one. And though I’m not sure, he seems to look at me strangely as he says it.
Half an hour later, I’ve cleared away the dishes and curled up on the end of the sofa when he returns. I go to stand, realising quite suddenly that this isn’t my home—that Mac might want to relax and unwind alone. As much as I could see myself helping him in many, many positions—I mean, many ways. A game of Scrabble? A full-body massage? All while naked?
‘Stay where you are,’ he says, grabbing his glass and the bottle from the table. ‘Here, let me top you up.’
‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like me to—’
‘You’re grand. Sit,’ he commands, though not without warmth. ‘Do you know the average length of time it takes to get a three-year-old boy to sleep?’
Is he trying to catch me out? ‘It sounds like a trick question,’ I say, the wine loosening my tongue. ‘I’m not sure of the data, but I’m sure you’re going to fill me—’
I put my hand over my mouth, wine and air silently reappearing in my windpipe. ‘Oh, excuse me,’ I say, a little embarrassed, my eyes rising to his. ‘Fill me in,’ I finish.
Still towering over me, Mac stares down at me, his gaze filled with a heat I don’t recognise—a heat I’m probably imagining. A beat later, he blinks, straightens, and takes his own seat at the far end of the sectional sofa. He would only be farther away if he chose to sit in another room.
‘Ordinarily,’ he begins slowly, ‘it takes three requests for water, two stories, and about forty minutes of the Louis inquisition. But not tonight,’ he says, bringing his glass to his mouth. ‘What’s your secret?’
‘They’re all trade secrets,’ I reply with a wink.
‘I bet I’d have something to trade.’
Is it just me, or has it suddenly gotten hotter in this place? Me, definitely. If I look closely, I expect I’d see steam rising from my skin, meaning I’m the source of the heat. It’s a good thing he’s sitting so far away or else he might feel it.
Imagine that. Just for a minute.
‘But seriously, I’m not sure what magic you’re using, but thank you.’
‘No magic. Just fresh air and keeping his mind busy, I suppose. But can I ask you a question?’ Wine bravery works my loose tongue.