Promised
Page 15
I’m clearing the last table, absent-mindedly swishing my cloth from side to side when the door to the bistro swings open and I’m confronted with Mr Wide Eyes.
He smiles awkwardly, shutting the door quietly behind him. ‘Am I too late for a takeaway?’ he asks.
‘Not at all.’ I grab my tray and dump it on the counter before loading up the filter. ‘Cappuccino?’
‘Please,’ he says politely, his footsteps getting closer.
I busy myself, ignoring Sylvie when she passes with the bins and pauses, clearly after clocking my customer. ‘Cute,’ she says simply, before continuing on her way. She’s right; he is cute, but it’s too much like hard work trying to fight another man from my mind to appreciate it. Mr Wide Eyes is the type of man I should pay more attention to – if I’m going to give my attention to any men – not moody, dark, enigmatic ones, who only want twenty-four hours and nothing else.
Firing up the steam pipe, I start heating the milk, swirling the jug and making a rushing hissing of noise in time with my racing mind. I pour, sprinkle, and secure the lid, then turn to deliver my perfect coffee. ‘Two-eighty, please.’ I hold my hand out.
Three pound coins are placed carefully in my palm as I stab the order through the till with my free hand. ‘I’m Luke,’ he says slowly. ‘Can I ask your name?’
‘Livy,’ I flip, tossing the coins into the drawer carelessly.
‘And you’re involved with someone?’ he asks cautiously, drawing a frown from me.
‘I’ve already told you that.’ For the first time, I allow his charming looks to push past my mental protective wall and the images of Miller. His mousy hair is floppy, but lies just right, and his brown eyes are warm and friendly. ‘So why are you aski—’ I halt mid-sentence and cast my eyes over to Sylvie, who’s just pushed her way back through the bistro door, minus two rubbish bags. I hit her with a reproachful look, knowing damn well she’s told Mr Wide Eyes here that I’m perfectly available.
She doesn’t hang around to soak up my animosity, instead skulking off to the kitchen where she’s safe. Mr Wide Eyes, or Luke as I now know him, is shifting nervously, blatantly ignoring my guilty friend as she disappears from sight.
‘My friend has a big mouth.’ I hand him his change. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’
‘Why did you fob me off?’
‘Because I’m not available.’ I repeat myself because it’s still true, even if it’s for a totally different reason now. I might have refused Miller’s offer, but it hasn’t made forgetting him any easier. My fingers reach up and rest on my lips, feeling his soft, full ones still there, lingering, tickling, biting. I sigh. ‘It’s closing time.’
Luke slides a card across the counter, and taps it lightly before releasing it. ‘I’d love to take you out sometime, so if you decide you’re available it would be great to hear from you.’ I look up and he winks, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.
I return his small smile and watch him leave the bistro, whistling happily as he goes.
‘Is it safe?’ Sylvie’s apprehensive voice drifts in from the kitchen, and I turn to see her black-haired head popping up over the swing door.
‘You told him, you traitor!’ I start yanking at my apron string.
‘It might have slipped.’ She still doesn’t venture into the bistro, choosing to remain protected behind the swing door. ‘Come on, Livy. Cut him a break.’ Her attention is firmly set on Luke now, after I followed through on her request to call before midnight the night Miller snatched me from the roadside. I didn’t tell her the details, but my despondent state down the line told her all she needed to know – no enlightenment of shocking propositions required.
‘Sylvie, I’m not interested,’ I argue idly, shaking my apron out and hanging it on the coat pegs.
‘You didn’t say that about the rude f**ker in the posh AMG.’ She knows she shouldn’t be mentioning him, but she has a point and every right to make it. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’
I shake my head in complete exasperation and push past her, heading into the kitchen to grab my jacket and satchel. All of these emotions – the annoyance, the irritation, the heavy heart and the uncertainty, are all a result of one thing . . .
A man.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I call, letting Sylvie lock up on her own.
My peaceful stroll toward the bus stop is short-lived when I hear Gregory calling me. Most uncharitably I sigh, pivoting slowly and not even bothering to plaster an insincere smile on my tired face.
He’s in his gardening clothes, looking all grubby with blades of grass in his messed-up hair. As soon as he reaches me, his arm drapes over my shoulder and he pulls me into his side. ‘Going home?’
‘Yeah. What are you doing?’
‘I’ve come to give you a lift.’ He sounds genuine, but I know different.
‘Come to take me home or come to squeeze me for information?’ I retort drily, earning myself a flick of his hip into my waist.
‘How are you feeling?’
I think carefully about what word to use in an attempt to prevent further interrogation. He knows enough and has filled Nan in, too. I won’t be enlightening him on the twenty-four-hour proposition, either, which I’m now in two minds over. I said no and I feel like crap, so perhaps I should just dive right in and feel like crap, anyway. But at least I’ll have an experience to remember while I’m feeling like crap – something to relive.
‘Good,’ I answer eventually, letting Gregory lead the way to his van.
‘If he’s said he’s emotionally unavailable, Livy, it can’t be a good sign. You’ve made the right decision not to see him again.’
‘I know,’ I agree. ‘So why can’t I stop thinking about him?’
‘Because we always fall for the wrong men.’ He leans in and kisses my forehead. ‘The ones who will mess us around and stamp all over our heart. I’ve been there, done that, and I’m glad you’ve held back before falling too far. I’m proud of you. You deserve better.’
I smile, remembering many times when I’ve held Gregory’s hand after he’s fallen victim to a man’s charm, except Miller isn’t charming – not in the least bit. It’s difficult to nail exactly what it is about him, except for his spectacular looks, but that feeling . . . oh God that feeling. And what Gregory has just said is perfectly accurate. There’s a lack of a mother in my life because of her poor decisions when it came to men. That alone should have me running in the other direction from him, but instead I’m being drawn in. His lips are still soft on mine, my flesh is still warm from his touch and I’ve lain in bed every night replaying that kiss. Nothing will ever measure up to those feelings.
I let us in the house and head with Gregory to the back kitchen. I can hear Nan and George chatting and the sounds of a wooden spoon colliding with the side of a huge metal pot – a stewpot. It’s stew and dumplings tonight. I screw my face up and contemplate escaping to the local chippy. I can’t stand my grandmother’s stew, but it’s George’s favourite and George is here for supper, so it looks like I’m having stew.
He smiles awkwardly, shutting the door quietly behind him. ‘Am I too late for a takeaway?’ he asks.
‘Not at all.’ I grab my tray and dump it on the counter before loading up the filter. ‘Cappuccino?’
‘Please,’ he says politely, his footsteps getting closer.
I busy myself, ignoring Sylvie when she passes with the bins and pauses, clearly after clocking my customer. ‘Cute,’ she says simply, before continuing on her way. She’s right; he is cute, but it’s too much like hard work trying to fight another man from my mind to appreciate it. Mr Wide Eyes is the type of man I should pay more attention to – if I’m going to give my attention to any men – not moody, dark, enigmatic ones, who only want twenty-four hours and nothing else.
Firing up the steam pipe, I start heating the milk, swirling the jug and making a rushing hissing of noise in time with my racing mind. I pour, sprinkle, and secure the lid, then turn to deliver my perfect coffee. ‘Two-eighty, please.’ I hold my hand out.
Three pound coins are placed carefully in my palm as I stab the order through the till with my free hand. ‘I’m Luke,’ he says slowly. ‘Can I ask your name?’
‘Livy,’ I flip, tossing the coins into the drawer carelessly.
‘And you’re involved with someone?’ he asks cautiously, drawing a frown from me.
‘I’ve already told you that.’ For the first time, I allow his charming looks to push past my mental protective wall and the images of Miller. His mousy hair is floppy, but lies just right, and his brown eyes are warm and friendly. ‘So why are you aski—’ I halt mid-sentence and cast my eyes over to Sylvie, who’s just pushed her way back through the bistro door, minus two rubbish bags. I hit her with a reproachful look, knowing damn well she’s told Mr Wide Eyes here that I’m perfectly available.
She doesn’t hang around to soak up my animosity, instead skulking off to the kitchen where she’s safe. Mr Wide Eyes, or Luke as I now know him, is shifting nervously, blatantly ignoring my guilty friend as she disappears from sight.
‘My friend has a big mouth.’ I hand him his change. ‘Enjoy your coffee.’
‘Why did you fob me off?’
‘Because I’m not available.’ I repeat myself because it’s still true, even if it’s for a totally different reason now. I might have refused Miller’s offer, but it hasn’t made forgetting him any easier. My fingers reach up and rest on my lips, feeling his soft, full ones still there, lingering, tickling, biting. I sigh. ‘It’s closing time.’
Luke slides a card across the counter, and taps it lightly before releasing it. ‘I’d love to take you out sometime, so if you decide you’re available it would be great to hear from you.’ I look up and he winks, a cheeky smile spreading across his face.
I return his small smile and watch him leave the bistro, whistling happily as he goes.
‘Is it safe?’ Sylvie’s apprehensive voice drifts in from the kitchen, and I turn to see her black-haired head popping up over the swing door.
‘You told him, you traitor!’ I start yanking at my apron string.
‘It might have slipped.’ She still doesn’t venture into the bistro, choosing to remain protected behind the swing door. ‘Come on, Livy. Cut him a break.’ Her attention is firmly set on Luke now, after I followed through on her request to call before midnight the night Miller snatched me from the roadside. I didn’t tell her the details, but my despondent state down the line told her all she needed to know – no enlightenment of shocking propositions required.
‘Sylvie, I’m not interested,’ I argue idly, shaking my apron out and hanging it on the coat pegs.
‘You didn’t say that about the rude f**ker in the posh AMG.’ She knows she shouldn’t be mentioning him, but she has a point and every right to make it. ‘I’m just saying, that’s all.’
I shake my head in complete exasperation and push past her, heading into the kitchen to grab my jacket and satchel. All of these emotions – the annoyance, the irritation, the heavy heart and the uncertainty, are all a result of one thing . . .
A man.
‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ I call, letting Sylvie lock up on her own.
My peaceful stroll toward the bus stop is short-lived when I hear Gregory calling me. Most uncharitably I sigh, pivoting slowly and not even bothering to plaster an insincere smile on my tired face.
He’s in his gardening clothes, looking all grubby with blades of grass in his messed-up hair. As soon as he reaches me, his arm drapes over my shoulder and he pulls me into his side. ‘Going home?’
‘Yeah. What are you doing?’
‘I’ve come to give you a lift.’ He sounds genuine, but I know different.
‘Come to take me home or come to squeeze me for information?’ I retort drily, earning myself a flick of his hip into my waist.
‘How are you feeling?’
I think carefully about what word to use in an attempt to prevent further interrogation. He knows enough and has filled Nan in, too. I won’t be enlightening him on the twenty-four-hour proposition, either, which I’m now in two minds over. I said no and I feel like crap, so perhaps I should just dive right in and feel like crap, anyway. But at least I’ll have an experience to remember while I’m feeling like crap – something to relive.
‘Good,’ I answer eventually, letting Gregory lead the way to his van.
‘If he’s said he’s emotionally unavailable, Livy, it can’t be a good sign. You’ve made the right decision not to see him again.’
‘I know,’ I agree. ‘So why can’t I stop thinking about him?’
‘Because we always fall for the wrong men.’ He leans in and kisses my forehead. ‘The ones who will mess us around and stamp all over our heart. I’ve been there, done that, and I’m glad you’ve held back before falling too far. I’m proud of you. You deserve better.’
I smile, remembering many times when I’ve held Gregory’s hand after he’s fallen victim to a man’s charm, except Miller isn’t charming – not in the least bit. It’s difficult to nail exactly what it is about him, except for his spectacular looks, but that feeling . . . oh God that feeling. And what Gregory has just said is perfectly accurate. There’s a lack of a mother in my life because of her poor decisions when it came to men. That alone should have me running in the other direction from him, but instead I’m being drawn in. His lips are still soft on mine, my flesh is still warm from his touch and I’ve lain in bed every night replaying that kiss. Nothing will ever measure up to those feelings.
I let us in the house and head with Gregory to the back kitchen. I can hear Nan and George chatting and the sounds of a wooden spoon colliding with the side of a huge metal pot – a stewpot. It’s stew and dumplings tonight. I screw my face up and contemplate escaping to the local chippy. I can’t stand my grandmother’s stew, but it’s George’s favourite and George is here for supper, so it looks like I’m having stew.
