He takes my hand, and I accept the compliment with a smile.
“Are you sure you can’t stay?” he asks.
“I’m afraid I must do some work. I’m going to change my flight, stay a few more days.”
“Well, that is good news,” he says, reaching forward to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear.
“Listen, I have a favor to ask you,” I say sweetly, feeling my body tense in anticipation. “I was on the phone to my boss earlier, and I happened to mention you and how we met and, well—”
“She loved it?” Jasper finishes my sentence.
“Yes.” I nod guiltily.
“She wants you to write about it?”
“Kind of. I know, it’s a bit much—”
“Laura, I get it, it’s a great story. Love at first luggage.” Jasper moves his hand through the air, as though envisaging the words on a billboard somewhere. Why does everyone keep using that line?
“The thing is, my boss got slightly overexcited—she wants to do a photo shoot—” I pause, checking his face isn’t reading “horrified.” It isn’t. “I know it’s all a bit nuts, but it would just be a few pictures to go with the article . . .”
“Do they want a shot of me getting down on one knee or something?” he asks. I’m pretty sure he’s joking, but I shake my head nervously anyway.
“No, no, nothing like that, just a few photos of the suitcase, of us together—they want to do it on Monday.”
I pull my shoulders up around my ears, making what I imagine to be the facial expression of someone who’s spent ages twiddling lightbulbs on the Christmas tree to find the one loose connection, and now they’re about to turn the power back on, to see if they’ve done enough to make it work.
Jasper reaches out to put a hand on each of my shoulders.
“Whatever you need, Laura, it’s not a problem for me.”
“Thank you, Jasper. I wouldn’t want you to feel awkward, I can always tell her no if you’d rather not . . .”
“Listen, I’ll be honest with you. I’ve been ready to meet someone for a while now. I’ve just turned thirty, I’ve got a great business, a beautiful house that’s too big for me, I’m going to need a Mrs. Contessa Kitchens at some point, perhaps some Baby Contessa Kitchens too.” He grins, closes his eyes, then when he opens them, he says, “When you knocked on my door— Well, let’s just say I wasn’t sure I believed in love at first sight until yesterday . . .”
Wow, this is intense. The mention of Baby Contessa Kitchens just made my palms start to sweat. My mouth emits a high-pitched humming sound. But I can hardly berate the guy for getting ahead of himself when I’ve just asked him to do a Hello-style photo shoot with me.
“That is so sweet, Jasper, but, um.” I swallow, my mouth dry, Maude’s words of warning heavy on my mind. “We have lots of time to get to know each other better, especially if you come to London sometimes. I wouldn’t want to put too much pressure on something that’s just beginning.”
“Sure, I know. Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
Jasper’s face contorts with boyish embarrassment and he scuffs his shoe against the concrete step. Now I feel terrible that I’ve made him regret his lovely, romantic words. Isn’t this exactly what I’d hoped to hear? Wasn’t I the one telling everyone yesterday that I thought I’d love him before I’d even met him? Dee’s words ring in my ears, about how I sabotage things, so I lean in to kiss him, determined not to let myself ruin this.
He pulls me gently into his arms and kisses me back. His lips are comforting and firm. It’s a good kiss, definitely an enjoyable experience, and I try to push all comparisons with Ted’s beach kiss from my mind.
When the kiss eventually ends, my mind feels exhausted from the pressure of trying to think the right thoughts, rather than the unhelpful ones.
“So, I was thinking,” Jasper says, holding me gently by both shoulders. “Perhaps we could do the photo shoot in one of my kitchens?”
“Oh?” I say, wondering how Suki would feel about that.
“I think the Malala would convey the right atmosphere, don’t you?”
TIGER WOMAN ON SELF-RELIANCE
Tigers are solitary creatures; they hunt alone, they sleep alone, they furnish their own needs. Do not look for another animal to make you feel whole. You are not someone’s “other half,” you are not half of anything; you are perfect, you are entire, you are complete just as you are.
Chapter 25
It is six o’clock by the time I get back to Sans Ennui. All the lights are off in the house, and I walk down toward the cottage wanting nothing but an early night and my laptop. Then I see the outside light on at Sandy’s. She’s sitting on her patio with Gerry, Scamp snoozing on her lap.
“Laura!” she calls. “Get over here.”
I clamber over the wall, pleased to see them despite the siren call of solitude.
“I thought you’d gone this morning, Gerry?”
“I made a break for freedom,” he says with a wry smile, but there’s a sadness in his eyes.
“He rang me this afternoon, saying he needed to see the sea one last time,” says Sandy, shaking her head. “As if he’s moved to the flipping Sahara or something rather than ten minutes up the road. You won’t get to like it if you don’t give it a chance, you old pickle.”
“They said I’d have a sea view from my room, but I can’t see a speck of water. I won’t be able to sleep without the sound of it.”
“Didn’t Ted make you a CD of sea sounds?” asks Sandy.
“Not the same.” Gerry sighs.
“Speaking of Ted, have either of you seen him this afternoon?” I ask, in my best casual-inquiry voice. Sandy gives me a knowing look. “I see his car’s not back?”
“Probably picking up fares—it’s where he goes when he doesn’t know what to do with himself,” says Sandy, raising both eyebrows and slowly nodding.
“I gave him the letter,” I tell Gerry.
“Ah,” Gerry says, and bows forward in his chair.
“What letter?” Sandy asks, eyes darting between us.
Gerry and I explain about Belinda’s letter.
“And now I’ve given it to him, and he’s gone,” I say mournfully.