created a very low-maintenance garden. Keeping a basil plant alive is the sum total of my green-fingered accomplishments. These scars came from my sister needing help with her garden.’
‘And you can’t say no to sisters.’
‘Sadly no,’ I sighed.
‘I get it too. My sister calls on my services a lot. I’ve no idea why. Do I look like a DIY expert to you?’ He held up artistic hands with long, elegant fingers.
It gave me the opportunity to take stock of him, instead of the surreptitious checking out I’d been doing since I arrived. He wore a grey V-neck T-shirt, which fitted rather well, the soft jersey moulding to a broad chest, the dip of the vee revealing a few crisp, dark hairs.
No, he didn’t look like a DIY expert; he looked flipping gorgeous. Absolutely edible, and I wanted to peel that T-shirt right off him, touch his golden skin, smooth a hand over that chest and run my fingers across the firm biceps beneath his T-shirt sleeves. I wanted… His mesmerising eyes darkened, the pupils wide.
My breath caught in my throat. The pause in the conversation stretched out as we stared at each other, the same fizz of sexual tension in the air that I’d sensed the first time we met.
I knew then that I was going to throw all caution to the wind. I was going to sleep with Ashwin Laghari. I was going to revel in touching every inch of his skin, stare into those delicious eyes and enjoy every minute of exploring that hot body.
And he wasn’t going to be saying no. His hand was on my forearm again, stroking my wrist, his eyes holding mine.
His smile was gentle rather than triumphant; it felt like the gamesmanship had died. Somehow, both of us had relaxed – and more – into the evening.
I’m not sure how long we’d have enjoyed that sexually-charged silence but it was interrupted by the waiter coming to take our orders. Of course, we hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu. Suddenly I really wasn’t that hungry and food seemed an obstacle in the way of the evening.
‘So you have a sister,’ I said.
‘And a brother. And my sister seems to think DIY is part of my DNA. She’s a brain surgeon, for God’s sake. She’s licensed to use a scalpel.’
‘A surgeon.’ I was impressed.
‘Of course.’ In the candlelight, his skin glowed like warm honey and he smiled. ‘My sister’s a surgeon. My brother’s a barrister.’ At this he grinned cheerfully. ‘My mum is a real tiger mum. She’s white. Dad’s a doctor, born here; his dad is Indian, came over from Uganda just before Idi Amin kicked the Asian population out in the seventies. What about you? Brothers, sisters?’
‘Just one. Alice. Single mum. I have two nieces.’
‘You close?’
I sputtered out a laugh. ‘Not especially. Alice prefers a more alternative lifestyle. She doesn’t really approve of corporates.’
‘She’d hate me.’
I wrinkled my nose and nodded. ‘Yeah, probably.’
‘Good job you don’t give a toss about what she thinks then,’ he said with an arrogant laugh.
‘Are you always this sure of yourself?’ I asked.
‘Pretty much. What’s the point otherwise?’ His eyes met mine, guileless and direct. ‘You could spend a lifetime worrying about what others think of you and where would that get you? Would you rather I lie to you and pretend to be modest?’
‘No,’ I laughed. I rather like his unashamed arrogance. ‘So what do you do when you’re not spraying coffee over unsuspecting commuters or working?’
‘The usual. Gym. See friends. You know… the job’s pretty all encompassing.’
Gym. Friends. It didn’t sound like much. And if he were like me, I knew the type of friends he meant. People you drank with after work. The others tended to drift away when you cancelled things once too often. I nodded in sympathy. ‘Don’t I know it.’
‘But if you enjoy it then none of that really matters.’ Ash’s gaze was steady but I caught the question buried in the words.
‘Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?’ The words came out before I was ready for them and I was halfway to thinking of a way to retract the comment when I realised Ash was considering my words quite carefully.
‘Yes.’ He rested his chin on his hand. In the clipped, unencumbered word, I felt a ripple of unease that mirrored my own.
‘Succinct.’
‘I was trying to think of the best way to put it into words. There’s a fear, isn’t there? Deep rooted, submerged, but it’s there. What if it isn’t worth it? What if the hours we put in aren’t worth the stress? What’s left?’
For a moment we held each other’s gazes as if the other was some kind of lifeline, holding fast against the emptiness of the answer. One that neither of us really wanted to visit. What drove us? Was it fear or lack of courage? The moment of honesty shimmered between us and I felt as if we’d taken a step below the surface. We were more alike than we’d realised.
‘I don’t know,’ I admitted. ‘It scares me sometimes. Maybe that’s why I keep working so hard, to fill the void. Because without work, I’m not sure… I’m not sure what I’d have.’
Or who I was? In the office I was the invincible go-getter, a role model, and the epitome of success. I avoided thinking about life outside of work and luckily there wasn’t too much of it because my job was all consuming.
‘Which is why there’s a lot to be said for job satisfaction,’ I said, feeling the need for firmer ground. For a moment I’d strayed into quicksand that had no place in my life. Those sorts of thoughts belonged to dead-of-night insomniac moments, when a person questioned life, the universe, and everything, not just the unremitting pressure of their job. Pressure came with the territory. ‘Not everyone has that. Imagine being in a job that you hate.’
‘Can’t.’ He gave a mock shudder which immediately lifted the shadow that had touched our conversation. ‘I guess we are both lucky in that way. I love my job.’
‘Me too. Although it’s been a busy week and I’m absolutely knackered.’ I deliberately lightened my tone, signalling that we’d left that line of philosophical enquiry behind but I was aware – and so, I could tell from his steady regard, was he – of that moment of connection between us.
‘Do you always get the early train?’ Ash didn’t comment on my uncharacteristic admission of weakness for which I was fervently grateful. Like me, he probably despised weakness. ‘How come I’ve never seen you before?’
‘Because you weren’t looking,’ I responded with a twisted, cool smile, feeling a little more myself.
He gave me an equally cool look and we were back to being sparring partners again. ‘I’d have noticed you… the attitude at the very least. You walk like a power house.’
‘That sounds… not attractive.’ But I rather liked it all the same. Anything else
