return ten minutes later carrying a tray of food, setting
it down on the table on the patio . It’s nice to have somebody to cook for again. Of
course, it would be better if it were my husband, but there’s no
chance of that happening. Besides, Matteo seems nice. I’d like to
get to know him better.
“ Take a break,” I say. “You deserve it.”
He
smiles as he walks over to sit down next to me. He’s removed his
shirt, and there are small beads of sweat glistening on his
muscles. His scent is musky and moreish.
“ You have a lovely garden,” he remarks, taking a swig of
coffee. “Much nicer than many of your neighbours’.”
“ Thank you,” I say, but I know it’s not true.
“ Do you spend a lot of time out here?”
“ In the garden?” I ask, as if it’s not obvious what he’s
talking about. “Not particularly. I suppose I should,
though.”
“ Definitely,” he says. He’s gazing off into the distance,
absent-mindedly swirling the coffee around in his mug. I take the
opportunity to look at his eyes while he isn’t paying attention.
They’re so blue that it’s almost mesmerising, and I have to force
myself to look away after a few seconds. I occupy myself by
silently cutting my scrambled egg into small pieces until he speaks
again. “Do you live alone?”
I hesitate. Come to think of it, I
pretty much do live alone. “My husband
works away a lot,” I mumble. “He’s a businessman. Very
busy.”
“ Ah.” He seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and
takes another swig of coffee before starting on his omelette. “Do
you see him often?”
“ Not particularly,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed to my plate.
“As I said, he’s very busy.”
“ He should make more time for you,” he says. I can feel his
eyes on me, burning through my skin. “You are like a beautiful
flower who just needs a little more attention so you can
bloom.”
I smile
at his awkward compliment. “Thank you.”
“ You are very beautiful,” he pauses, “and your cooking is
beautiful, too.”
I blush
at his sudden influx of confidence, and drink the rest of my coffee
in an attempt to hide my face with my cup.
“ Maybe when I finish giving your garden the attention it
deserves, I can move on to you.” The words leave his mouth so
casually that it takes a few seconds before I fully process his
suggestion. I choke on my coffee as a result of my surprise, and
I’m left spluttering and clutching my stomach. He leans over and
pats me on the back. “I should get back to work.”
“ Yes,” I gasp. “Sorry, I just swallowed the wrong
way.”
“ It’s fine,” he says, his chapped lips flirting with a smile.
“Be careful.”
I stare off at him as he walks back over to the flower beds
to resume his work. Was he flirting with
me? Yes, I think he was. For most women
this would be no big deal, but for me, it’s huge. In my 26 years on
this earth, nobody has ever spoken to me like that before, not even
my husband. Matteo probably didn’t mean anything by it, but that
doesn’t stop my heart palpitations. I suddenly realise I’m standing
in the middle of the garden staring after him, sweat pouring down
my forehead, and I quickly turn around and rush myself into the
house before he turns around and notices.
I spend
most of the day checking emails and spreadsheets as usual, but by
the time 2pm rolls around, I’m famished. I make a cheese sandwich
for myself and Matteo, but this time I walk back into the house
when I’ve served him. He seems mildly disappointed, but I can’t
help it. Forget about holding a conversation, I can’t even look at
him properly anymore. I give David a call when I get in.
“ Kelly,” he says, picking up after several rings. He sounds
mildly irritated. “What do you want?”
“ I was just wondering what time you’d be home,” I mumble.
“Sorry.”
“ Sometime later,” he says curtly. “Anything else?”
“ Tonight?”
“ Yes.”
“ For dinner?”
“
it down on the table on the patio . It’s nice to have somebody to cook for again. Of
course, it would be better if it were my husband, but there’s no
chance of that happening. Besides, Matteo seems nice. I’d like to
get to know him better.
“ Take a break,” I say. “You deserve it.”
He
smiles as he walks over to sit down next to me. He’s removed his
shirt, and there are small beads of sweat glistening on his
muscles. His scent is musky and moreish.
“ You have a lovely garden,” he remarks, taking a swig of
coffee. “Much nicer than many of your neighbours’.”
“ Thank you,” I say, but I know it’s not true.
“ Do you spend a lot of time out here?”
“ In the garden?” I ask, as if it’s not obvious what he’s
talking about. “Not particularly. I suppose I should,
though.”
“ Definitely,” he says. He’s gazing off into the distance,
absent-mindedly swirling the coffee around in his mug. I take the
opportunity to look at his eyes while he isn’t paying attention.
They’re so blue that it’s almost mesmerising, and I have to force
myself to look away after a few seconds. I occupy myself by
silently cutting my scrambled egg into small pieces until he speaks
again. “Do you live alone?”
I hesitate. Come to think of it, I
pretty much do live alone. “My husband
works away a lot,” I mumble. “He’s a businessman. Very
busy.”
“ Ah.” He seems to snap out of whatever trance he was in, and
takes another swig of coffee before starting on his omelette. “Do
you see him often?”
“ Not particularly,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed to my plate.
“As I said, he’s very busy.”
“ He should make more time for you,” he says. I can feel his
eyes on me, burning through my skin. “You are like a beautiful
flower who just needs a little more attention so you can
bloom.”
I smile
at his awkward compliment. “Thank you.”
“ You are very beautiful,” he pauses, “and your cooking is
beautiful, too.”
I blush
at his sudden influx of confidence, and drink the rest of my coffee
in an attempt to hide my face with my cup.
“ Maybe when I finish giving your garden the attention it
deserves, I can move on to you.” The words leave his mouth so
casually that it takes a few seconds before I fully process his
suggestion. I choke on my coffee as a result of my surprise, and
I’m left spluttering and clutching my stomach. He leans over and
pats me on the back. “I should get back to work.”
“ Yes,” I gasp. “Sorry, I just swallowed the wrong
way.”
“ It’s fine,” he says, his chapped lips flirting with a smile.
“Be careful.”
I stare off at him as he walks back over to the flower beds
to resume his work. Was he flirting with
me? Yes, I think he was. For most women
this would be no big deal, but for me, it’s huge. In my 26 years on
this earth, nobody has ever spoken to me like that before, not even
my husband. Matteo probably didn’t mean anything by it, but that
doesn’t stop my heart palpitations. I suddenly realise I’m standing
in the middle of the garden staring after him, sweat pouring down
my forehead, and I quickly turn around and rush myself into the
house before he turns around and notices.
I spend
most of the day checking emails and spreadsheets as usual, but by
the time 2pm rolls around, I’m famished. I make a cheese sandwich
for myself and Matteo, but this time I walk back into the house
when I’ve served him. He seems mildly disappointed, but I can’t
help it. Forget about holding a conversation, I can’t even look at
him properly anymore. I give David a call when I get in.
“ Kelly,” he says, picking up after several rings. He sounds
mildly irritated. “What do you want?”
“ I was just wondering what time you’d be home,” I mumble.
“Sorry.”
“ Sometime later,” he says curtly. “Anything else?”
“ Tonight?”
“ Yes.”
“ For dinner?”
“
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