“Me too. Where’s your bedroom?”
Chapter 5
THE SOUP WAS DELICIOUS. After they’d made love, and God, it had been even more mind-blowing than the first time they’d come together, he’d gone back to the kitchen. And he’d sung while he cooked, so she learned something else about him. Not only did he know his way around a recipe, he liked rock songs from the nineties. There was a Metallica one first, then some Nirvana, then some Radiohead. She smiled as she listened, pretty sure he didn’t even realise he was singing.
She set the table on the terrace. It was still raining, but this space was undercover and it was a beautiful, balmy temperature. The air smelled of electricity, making her think of books she’d read about exotic, tropical places where summer storms like this were de rigeur.
When he presented the soup with a ‘voila’, she stared at it. Because it looked…
“Kind of disgusting, I know,” he supplied, before she could say it.
And it did.
“What is it?”
“Bread, torn up and added towards the end of cooking.” To that, he’d added some finely grated parmesan, roughly torn basil, a glug of olive oil and some salt and pepper. So far as appearances went, it was certainly… “Rustic,” she supplied after a moment.
He grinned. “That’s putting a PR spin on it.”
She took a spoonful and made a moaning noise. “Oh my God, Nico, it’s so good.”
She immediately took another scoop, and another, and then placed her spoon down when she realised he was watching her.
“What?” Self-consciously, she wiped her fingers over her chin.
“I just didn’t anticipate how much I’d enjoy cooking for you. Nor watching you eat.”
“Don’t watch me eat,” she complained. “It’s embarrassing. You eat.”
“I will,” he picked up his spoon. “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. You are beautiful, always.”
She dropped her head forward, shaking it a little. She didn’t like compliments. They made her skin crawl. Another hangover from Michael’s handiwork.
“I’m impressed. The soup is really, really good.”
“I know.” It was her turn to watch. He ate several spoons full then lifted his gaze to her. “You like the cottage?”
“I love it.”
“But you’ve just rented it for the summer?”
She nodded.
“You’re not moving here?”
“No.” She stilled. Staying longer term hadn’t even occurred to her. She supposed because it felt a lot like giving up – as though by walking out on London completely she’d be handing all the power to Michael and letting him win, by shoving her right out of her life. “It’s just a break.”
“A long break.”
“Yeah. Sometimes you need to reset, right?”
He frowned. “Right.”
“Isn’t that what you do, every summer?”
“Why do you say that?”
“To come here year after year, surely that’s for a reason? To get away from the pace of your every day life and reconnect with something a bit more natural, slower in speed?”