sorts of situations? She thought about calling Joni and asking for help—but, then again, it would make Joni think she was really serious about Jared, and … No, it was all too complicated. She had no idea how he made her feel, other than that he put her in a flat spin.
‘It’s dinner. Just dinner,’ she told her reflection. ‘Treat him as a friend. A colleague. And then everything will be fine.’
Except she knew she was lying. Because since that kiss, she hadn’t thought of Jared as a colleague—or as a friend. And he hadn’t asked her to dinner as a colleague or friend, either.
Would he kiss her again tonight?
And she wasn’t sure if the shiver down her spine was anticipation or fear.
BAILEY’S PANIC GREW as she walked up the path to Jared’s door. She almost didn’t ring the bell and scuttled home to safety instead, but she knew that would be unkind and unfair. He’d gone to the effort of cooking her a meal, so the least she could do was turn up to eat it—even if she did feel way more jumpy than the proverbial cat on a hot tin roof.
She took a deep breath and rang the bell.
When he answered the door, she was glad she’d opted for smart casual, because he’d done the same. He was wearing black trousers and a dark blue shirt that brought out the colour of his eyes. She could feel herself practically dissolving into a puddle of hormones, and her social skills had all suddenly deserted her.
How had she forgotten just how gorgeous the man was?
And his biceps.
Don’t think about his biceps, she told herself. Concentrate. Friends and colleagues.
She handed him the wine and chocolates. ‘I forgot to ask you if I should bring red or white, so I played it safe—and I should’ve asked you if you like milk, white or dark chocolate.’ Oh, help. Now she was gabbling and she sounded like a fool.
‘These are just fine, and you really didn’t need to bring them—but I appreciate it,’ he said.
And, oh, that smile was to die for. The butterflies in her tummy went into stampede mode.
‘Come in.’ He stood aside and gestured for her to enter.
How come he didn’t look anywhere near as nervous as she felt? How could he be so cool and relaxed when she was a gibbering wreck?
She followed him inside, her tension and anticipation growing with every step.
‘We’re eating in the kitchen. I hope that’s OK,’ he said, obviously trying to put her at ease.
‘That’s very OK, thanks.’ His kitchen was gorgeous: a deep terracotta tiled floor teamed with glossy cream cabinets, dark worktops and duck-egg-blue walls. There was a small square maple table at one end with two places set. ‘I really like the way you’ve done your kitchen,’ she said.
‘I’m afraid it’s all my sister’s idea rather than mine,’ he confessed. ‘When I bought this place and did it up, she offered to paint for two hours a day until it was done if I would let her choose the kitchen.’
It sounded as if he was as close to his family as she was to hers. ‘So you’re not really a cook, then?’
‘Given that you come from a family of restaurateurs and chefs, I wouldn’t dare claim to be a cook,’ he said.
She smiled. ‘I promise I won’t go into food critic mode.’
He pretended to mop his brow in relief, making her smile. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘Yes, please—whatever you’re having.’
He took a bottle of Pinot Grigio from the fridge and poured them both a glass. Bailey noted that all his appliances were built-in and hidden behind doors to match the rest of the cabinets. Efficient and stylish at the same time. She liked that. It was how she organised her own kitchen.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, indicating the table.
‘Thanks.’ She bit her lip. ‘Sorry. As I said, it’s been a while since I dated.’
‘Me, too. And it’s hard to know what to say. We could make small talk about the team and work—but then it wouldn’t be like a date.’
‘And if we ask each other about ourselves, it’ll feel like—well—we’re grilling each other,’ she said.
‘Or speed dating.’ He grimaced. ‘I let my best friend talk me into that one six months ago. Never, ever again.’
Speed dating was something she’d never done—along with signing up to an online dating agency or letting anyone set her up on a blind date. She’d made it clear to everyone that she was just fine as she was. ‘Was it really that bad?’
‘Probably slightly worse,’ he said. ‘But how do you meet someone when you get to our age?’
‘You make us sound middle-aged.’ She laughed, even though she knew what he meant. By their age, most people had already settled into a relationship or had a lot of baggage that made starting a new relationship difficult. It wasn’t like when you were just out of university and there were parties every weekend where most of the people there were still single.
‘I’m thirty-five—and sometimes I feel really middle-aged,’ he said wryly, ‘especially when I hear the seventeen-year-olds talking in the changing room about their girlfriends.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘They don’t do that in front of me. Probably because they think I’ll tell them off.’ Then she groaned, ‘Which means they think I’m old enough to be their mother, and at thirty I’m not quite that old.’
‘Or maybe they’ve got a secret crush on you and don’t want to sound stupid in front of you,’ Jared suggested.
‘I think,’ she said, ‘that might be a slightly worse thought. They’re still practically babies!’
He laughed and raised his glass. ‘To us,’ he said, ‘and finding some way to talk to each other.’
‘To us,’ she echoed, feeling ridiculously shy.
‘I forgot to ask you if you like fish,’ he said.
‘I do.’
‘Good. Though I’m afraid I cheated on the starter,’ he admitted. ‘Which is ready right now.’
He took two plates from the fridge: baby crabs served in their shell with a salad garnish, and served with thin slices of rye bread and proper butter.
‘I don’t care if you cheated. This is lovely,’ she said.
The main course was sea bass baked in foil with slices of lemon, rosemary potatoes, fine green beans and baby carrots. ‘This is fabulous,’ she said. ‘Super-healthy and super-scrumptious.’
