‘If he wants to, he will.’
‘So I shouldn’t ring him and check …?’
‘Oh, no!’ Elsie said. ‘Absolutely not.’
‘What if he doesn’t come?’
‘You have to trust that he will.’
‘But what if he doesn’t?’
‘Then you bring in the food for us lot tomorrow,’ Elsie said. ‘Of course he’s coming.’ She put her hands on Annika’s cheeks. ‘Of course he’ll come.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
IT KILLED her not to ring or page him, but Elsie had been adamant.
She had to trust that he would come, and if he didn’t … Well, he had never been going to.
So, when she finished at the nursing home at nine a.m., she went home and had a little sleep, and then went to the Victoria Market. She bought some veal, some cream, the most gorgeous mushrooms, some fresh fettuccini and, of course, some more raspberries.
It was nice to be in the kitchen and stretching herself again.
Melting chocolate, whisking in eggs—she really had loved cooking and learning, but cooking at a high level had to be a passion. It was an absolute passion that Annika had realised she didn’t have.
But still, she could love it.
She didn’t know what to wear. She’d gone to so much trouble with the dessert that she didn’t want to make too massive an effort with her clothes, in case she terrified him.
She opened her wardrobe and stared at a couple of Kolovsky creations. She had a little giggle to herself, wondering about his reaction if she opened the door to him in red velvet, but settled for a white skirt and a lilac top. She put on some lilac sandals, but she never wore shoes at home—well, not at this home—and ten minutes in she had kicked them off. She was dusting the chocolate boxes and trying not to care that it was ten past eight. She checked her hair, which was for once out of its ponytail, and put on some lip-gloss. Then she went to the kitchen, opened the fridge. The chocolate boxes hadn’t collapsed, and the veal was all sliced and floured and waiting—and then she heard the knock at her door.
‘Hi.’ His voice made her stomach shrink.
‘Hi.’
He was holding flowers, and she was so glad that she had taken Elsie’s advice and not rung.
He kissed her on the cheek and handed her the flowers—glorious flowers, all different, wild and fragrant, and tied together with a bow. ‘Hand-picked,’ he said, ‘which is why I’m so late.’
And she smiled, because of course they weren’t. He’d been to some trendy place, no doubt, but she was grateful for them, because they got her through those first awkward moments as he followed her into the kitchen and she located a vase and filled it with water.
Ross was more than a little perplexed.
He hadn’t known quite what to expect from tonight, but he hadn’t expected this.
Okay, he’d known from her address that she wasn’t in the smartest suburb. He hadn’t given it that much thought till he’d entered her street. A trendy converted townhouse, perhaps, he’d thought as he’d pulled up—a Kolovsky attempt at pretending to be poor.
Except her car stuck out like a sore thumb in the street, and as he climbed the steps he saw there was nothing trendy or converted about her flat.
There was an ugly floral carpet, cheap blinds dressed the windows, and not a single thing matched.
The kitchen was a mixture of beige and brown and a little bit of taupe too!
There was a party going on upstairs, and an argument to the left and right. Here in the centre was Annika.
She didn’t belong—so much so he wanted to grab her by the hand and take her back to the farm right now, right this minute.
‘I’ll start dinner.’
She poured some oil in a large wok, turned the gas up on some simmering water, and then glanced over and gave him a nervous smile, which he returned. Then she slipped on an apron.
And it transformed her.
He stood and watched as somehow the tiny kitchen changed.
She pulled open the fridge and put a little meat in the wok. It was rather slow to sizzle, so she pulled out of the fridge some prepared plates, and he watched as she tipped coils of fresh pasta into the water and then threw the rest of the meat into the wok. Her hair was in the way, so she tied it back in a knot. He just carried on watching as this awkward, difficult woman relaxed and transformed garlic, pepper, cream and wine. He had never thought watching someone cook could be so sexy, yet before the water had even returned to the boil Ross was standing on the other side of the bench!
‘Okay?’ Annika checked.
‘Great,’ Ross said.
In seven minutes they were at the table—all those dishes, in a matter of moments, blended into a veal scaloppini that was to die for.
‘When you said dinner …’
‘I love to cook …’
And she loved to eat too.
With food between them, and with wine, somehow, gradually, it got easier.
He told her about his farm—that his sisters didn’t get it, but it must be the gypsy blood in him because there he felt he belonged.
‘I’ve never been to a farm.’
‘Never?’
‘No.’
‘You’re a city girl?’
‘I guess,’ Annika said.
She intrigued him.
‘You used to model?’
‘For a couple of years,’ Annika said. ‘Only in-house.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Just for Kolovsky,’ she explained. ‘I always thought that was what I wanted to do—well, it was expected of me, really—but when I got there it was just hours and hours in make-up, hours and hours hanging around, and …’ she rolled her eyes ‘… no dinners like this.’ She registered his frown. ‘Thin wasn’t thin enough, and I like my food too much.’
‘So you went to Paris …?’
‘I did.’
‘What made you decide to do nursing?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Annika admitted. ‘When my father was ill I watched
