for him—but she wouldn’t let it affect her; she made it a personal policy never to make the same mistake twice.
Cale took the seat opposite her, took a sip of the coffee from her cup and snagged a piece of croissant with the familiarity of a current lover and not a blast from her past.
‘Order your own.’ Maddie slapped his fingers as they headed towards her plate again.
Cale, for once, listened and ordered an espresso and two croissants.
Maddie folded her paper and tucked it into her bag. Folding her arms, she tapped her foot. Squinting at him, she reacquainted herself with the object of her fantasies of the last week… and the last ten years. In daylight, she noticed the little things now: a couple of laughter lines, some strands of grey mingled with the streaky blond hair at his temples, and the high-tech watch on his wrist that could be the price of a new car. Well, not an entire car—maybe just a set of tyres. The sunglasses were top of the range too. Striking and successful, he’d become all the S’s she’d known he would.
Back then he’d had sardonic, sporty and sexy nailed. She could add super-successful and sophisticated to the list.
‘How did you find me?’
‘Easy. I went to your flat and your neighbour… Jim?… he told me that you spend most Sunday mornings here.’
‘You could’ve called.’
‘You neglected to give me your number.’ Cale whipped his BlackBerry out of his back pocket and looked at her enquiringly.
Maddie sighed, recited her number and handed over her mobile so that he could scan the barcode for her BlackBerry BBM. She’d never in a million years thought that she’d see Cale’s number in her phone again.
‘I can’t believe I’m letting you put your number in my phone.’
‘Was I that bad?’
‘Terrible. Have you improved?’ Maddie asked archly, openly curious.
‘Probably not as much as you’d hoped.’ Cale sat back as the waiter placed his coffee and croissants in front of him. ‘What about you? How long did you pine for me before you twisted the next guy up into a pretzel?’
‘About two seconds. Nearly as long as you spent missing me.’
‘Yeah, I really wish it had happened that way,’ Cale said, his eyes on his plate.
Maddie had opened her mouth to pursue the subject when her attention was distracted by the gaggle of young women who had entered the restaurant behind Cale, all wearing tops and shorts about three sizes too small for them. Maddie sourly wondered why they didn’t just go out in their underwear. They weren’t covering up much more.
Oh, man, she sounded just like a jealous old woman. Deciding it was a good time to take a bathroom break, she quickly excused herself. When she returned, she found one of the gaggle leaning over Cale’s shoulder as she watched him scrawl his signature on a paper napkin.
Please, shoot me now, she thought as she ambled back to her seat.
She sat down and waited till the girl had gone, then whispered, ‘That’s nice, dear, now run along and do your homework.’
Cale choked back his laughter.
‘Does that happen often?’ she asked Cale, horrified.
He shrugged. ‘Now and again.’
‘It would drive me nuts.’
‘You kind of get used to it. The trick is to remember that they don’t know you. They know the TV you. They don’t know that you hate going to sleep, or that you snore, or that you are allergic to peanuts.’ Cale took a sip of his espresso and lifted a broad shoulder in a shrug. ‘It keeps your head from getting too big.’
‘It’s already big,’ Maddie teased, mostly because he expected her to. She played with her teaspoon and decided to risk a personal question. ‘Why do you hate going to sleep?’
Cale bit the inside of his lip while he obviously debated what to say. Maddie was surprised when he gave her a real answer instead of responding frivolously.
‘The spooks come and get me.’
‘What?’
Cale sighed. ‘I normally delay going to bed until the early hours of the morning and then I can’t sleep anyway. The mind loves three a.m. The nastiest hour of the day.’ Cale toyed with a piece of croissant and smiled thinly. ‘Just because I’m a psychologist doesn’t mean that I don’t have my own demons to fight, Mad.’
Judging by the weariness that flashed in his eyes, she suspected that his demons were winning.
‘I can understand that,’ she replied, intrigued by this new side of Cale.
She sighed when she saw another member of the group stand up and head towards them, a small book in her hand. By the constant looks they sent Cale, and the animated discussion that followed, Maddie supposed that there was a bit of a dare raging to see who grabbed his attention. The fact that he was at least fifteen years older than they were didn’t seem to faze them in the least. It was also galling to realise that they didn’t think her much competition.
This one was a pale redhead with a breathy voice. ‘Sorry to disturb, but would you mind?’ She thrust the book under Cale’s nose.
Maddie sent her a cool look. ‘Excuse me, we’re trying to have a conversation here.’
‘It won’t take a mo,’ Strawberry Cake dismissed her.
Maddie looked at her super-flat stomach and the small medallion that hung off the ring in her belly button. She blinked and looked again. It couldn’t possibly be…
The girl drifted away with another signature and Maddie widened her eyes at Cale. ‘Did you see the picture on the medallion hanging off her belly button ring?’
‘I was too scared of you to do more than quickly scribble my name,’ Cale retorted.
‘Funny man.’ Maddie leaned across the table. ‘It was a very small, very clear picture of a… a sexual position. Very inventive. You’d probably have to be double-jointed to do it…’
Cale mock turned in his seat. ‘I need to see it… Let me call her back!’
Maddie pinched the skin on the back of his hand. Then she sighed heavily. ‘My mother would applaud her upfront attitude to sex, but I think it looks tacky.’
Cale pushed his plate away. ‘Speaking of… how are your parents?’
Maddie leaned back in her chair and rolled her eyes. ‘Still mad as a box of crickets. My mother is working as a guest lecturer in Women’s Studies at Edinburgh University. She’s still got that waste of oxygen with her—Jeffrey. I think you met him.’
‘Mmm.’
‘My father is still a Professor of English Literature, drinking cheap red wine out of pottery
