I call Simon.
“I’m not in the habit of asking men I hardly know to dinner,” I tell him. “But if you really meant what you said, I’d appreciate the company.”
“Of course. Do you want me to bring anything?”
“Well, I don’t have any wine in the house. I won’t be drinking, but you might want some. I do have steaks. None of your supermarket rubbish—these are from the smart butcher on the High Street. I warn you, though, I’ll eat yours as well as mine if you’re late. My appetite’s ferocious at the moment.”
“Good.” He sounds amused. “I’ll come at seven. And I promise not to go on about Monkford murdering my girlfriend this time, okay?”
“Thanks.” I’d been going to suggest we didn’t discuss Emma and Edward tonight—I’m spooked enough already—but I couldn’t think of a tactful way of saying it. Simon is a very considerate person, I’m beginning to realize. I remember what Mia said. For what it’s worth, I think you’d be far better off with someone like him than with your crazy architect.
I put the thought out of my mind. Even if I wasn’t fat and pregnant with another man’s child, that wouldn’t happen.
When I open the door to him a couple of hours later, I see he’s brought flowers as well as a bottle of wine. “For you,” he says, handing me the bouquet. “I always felt bad about being so rude the first time we met. It was hardly your fault that you didn’t know who those flowers were for.” He kisses me on the cheek, and the kiss lingers just a little longer than it needs to. He is attracted to me, I’m pretty sure of that. But I don’t think I could ever be attracted to him. Whatever Mia says.
“They’re lovely,” I say, taking the roses to the sink. “I’ll put them in water.”
“And I’ll open this. It’s a Pinot Grigio—Emma’s favorite. Are you sure you won’t have any? I checked online. Most people think a small amount of alcohol is okay at around fifteen weeks.”
“Maybe later. But you go ahead.” I arrange the roses in a vase and put them on the table.
“Em, where have you put the corkscrew?” he calls.
“It’s in the cupboard. The one on the right.” I do a double take. “Did you just call me Em?”
“Did I?” He laughs. “Sorry—I guess it’s just such a familiar thing, being here with you and opening a bottle. I mean, not with you, obviously. With her. I won’t do it again, I promise. Now, where do you keep the glasses?”