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“DEB?” SOMEBODY SHOOK my shoulder as they shouted in my ear. “Deb, wake up.”
I squinted at the man looming over me in the darkness. I opened my mouth, but it was so dry only a squeak came out. I tried again. “Tom. You’re home.”
“Yes, I am.” He hoisted me to my feet.
“Oh,” I giggled. “You’re strong.”
“And you’re plastered.” He held me up with one arm as he unlocked his door.
“What time is it?”
“Two in the morning. What are you doing here, Deb?”
I frowned as he steered me into his flat, trying to remember why I was here. A lightbulb went on. “Oh! I know!”
He flipped on the light and shut the door behind us. “Care to share it with me?” he asked dryly.
“Yes. Yes. I came to share it with you.”
“Okay.” He led me to the couch, where I pretty much collapsed. “What did you come to tell me, Deb?”
I sighed and grabbed his hand, tugging him to sit beside me. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He seemed wary.
“For being an idiot.”
He almost laughed at that. I could see it lurking in his eyes, but he covered it with a cough.
“Could you be more specific?”
“You are a nice, nice man,” I said, petting his arm like he was a cat. I knew I was making a fool of myself, but I couldn’t seem to stop.
This time he didn’t hide his smile. “Yes, I am.”
“Very nice,” I cooed. “And sooooo handsome.” This time I stroked his face. That lovely, lovely jaw line. Those gorgeous, gorgeous cheekbones.
“It’s, ah, been said.” His grin got a little wider.
“Owen said I was a cougar,” I pouted.
“Owen is a prat.”
I giggled. “He kind of is. Is that why you were mad at him?”
“I was mad at him because he didn’t treat you like a gentleman. And because he knew I liked you and was a jackass about it.”
I sighed dramatically. “But you are.”
“A jackass?”
“No, silly. A gemelten.”
“You mean a gentleman?”
“Yeah, that.”
“I try.”
“You’re not too young. I’m just old and crotchety.” I laid my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes. Yeah. That felt good.
“No, you aren’t. You’re beautiful and full of life.”
“I am,” I said with a sigh. “Just like you.”
His chuckle vibrated through me. “Is that what you came to tell me?”
I sat bolt upright and stared at him. “I came to tell both of you I’m sorry.”
“Both of us?”
I nodded, nearly toppling off the couch. “You and you. But there aren’t two of you, are there? I think I might be drunk.”
“You are definitely drunk.”
“That’s okay. Do either of you accept my apology?” I asked sternly.
His smile widened. “Oh, definitely. Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“That I am a ninny, and I wish you would give me a second chance.”
“Why?”
“Because I like you,” I said, as if that solved everything.
“Is that so?”
I nodded vigorously, this time toppling against him. Snuggling down, I said, “Oh, yes. It’s so. It’s very so...”
I think he said something, but the rest was a haze. And why was Tom snoring?
# # #
I WOKE THE NEXT MORNING with about a dozen little men with jackhammers working away in my brain. I groaned and held out my hand to block the trickle of sunlight filtering into my room.
“I am never drinking again.”
I groped for my bedside lamp and switched it on and frowned. Wait. This was not my room. This was Tom’s room. And Tom’s bed. What was I doing in Tom’s bed?
I dredged up fuzzy memories of making a fool of myself the night before and winced. Oh, dear. It was a wonder he hadn’t thrown me out of the house.
Next to the lamp was a glass of water and two tablets along with a note. I downed the paracetamol before plucking the note from the nightstand. Flipping it open, my heart gave a lurch.
Deb,
Gone to get breakfast. Be back soon. Tea is in the kitchen.
Tom x
He’d written an X after his name. That was good, right?
With a sigh, I slid out of bed, noting I was wearing one of his T-shirts and my panties and nothing else. His shirt hit the tops of my thighs, barely covering my nether regions. But since I was the only one home, I figured it was fine.
While the water boiled, I wandered through Tom’s apartment. In the living room I caught sight of a framed photograph I hadn’t noticed before. I picked it up, astonished. It was me. A black-and-white shot, slightly fuzzy—taken on Tom’s cell phone, no doubt. It had caught me just right so that I looked, well, beautiful. There was a dreamy quality to my expression, a slight curve to my lips that hinted of laughter and mystery. Was this how Tom saw me?
The kettle whistled. I put the photo down and busied myself making tea, my stomach growling in hunger as I did. I fortunately had never been one to get queasy when hung over. Just headachy.
I’d just sat down at the dining table with my tea when Tom returned. He entered the kitchen, a white paper sack in one hand. He stopped when he saw me. I wished I could read his expression, but I had no idea what he was thinking, and it made me nervous.
“Hi,” I said lamely.
“Hi,” he said back. I still couldn’t tell if he was happy or mad or what.
“Listen, I’m sorry I showed up like that last night. Not my best moment. But I, ah, wanted to apologize.”
“So I gathered.” He calmly took plates from the cupboard and set them on the table. Then he removed fresh, warm scones from the bag and placed them on the plates. My nose perked up. The scones smelled like heaven. He pushed one in front of me, made himself a cup of tea, and sat down across from me.
“This isn’t just a fling,” he said finally.
I glanced up at him, startled. “What?”
“Well, you were pretty drunk last night, so maybe you didn’t mean to say it out loud, but you said you were worried all I wanted was a fling. That isn’t what I’m interested in.”
I swallowed. “Oh? What do you want?”
“I like you, Deb. I like you a lot.”
I blushed. “I like you a lot, too.”
He grinned. “Well, that’s good, because what I want is to see where this goes. To give us a chance to be something more.”
“I’d like that.”
“And no more of this ridiculous cougar business. Agreed?”
“Agreed.”
“Good.” There was silence as we both munched our scones and finished our tea. But it was a comfortable silence now, even though I was bursting with things I wanted to say.
As we finished our meal and got up to deal with the dirty dishes, I finally blurted out, “I’ve been pretty stupid about this, haven’t I?”
He chuckled. “Yes. You have.” And then he snagged me around the waist and pulled me up against him. “I know how you can make it up.”
I lifted an eyebrow. “Do you, now?”
“Kiss me, stupid.”
And so I did.