‘Gourmet,’ he says with a laugh. ‘Fiona would be appalled.’
‘She’d be bloody terrified is what she’d be,’ I say with a laugh. ‘Anyway. Tonight. Plans?’
‘Are you about to ask me on a date?’
‘What?’ My breath catches and something pops inside me. ‘No. Absolutely not.’
‘Thank God for that,’ he grumbles. ‘I’ve actually just sat down to draw something. Thought I’d use ink and watercolour. I envisage I’ll add it to the collection of those paintings you can’t have.’
‘You’re a horrible man.’
‘Terrible,’ he echoes. ‘Though that word has two meanings.’
‘That’s terrific, actually. Terrible is simply that.’ I smile, drawing my bottom lip through my teeth. When did talking to him become so much fun?
‘Aren’t you clever?’
‘So. the darkroom is ready.’
‘It is?’ he asks. I can picture him on the other end of the line, his back a little straighter than thirty seconds ago.
‘Want me to teach you something for a change?’
‘I do seem to recall there being some line in there about those who can’t do, teach.’
‘Oh, stop it.’ Now I’m unabashedly laughing. ‘You know, you really are something.’
‘You’re just making life difficult now.’ He groans. ‘I’d really quite like to get this project finished. It’s rather important. Can we pick another time? When else is good for you?’
‘I’m quite free this week, actually.’
‘How does tomorrow sound?’ he asks.
Chapter 21
I check and double-check and make sure I’ve got everything set up properly. I am absolutely sweating that I’ll stuff something up and look more of a fool than I’m convinced I already do. When I hear a knock on the door, I snatch my camera up from the bench and race down the stairs with a spring in my step and a beat in my chest.
Without so much as a single thought to what or who might be on the other side, I wrench the door open, thrust my camera out into the open, and take an unposed, unguarded photo of the first thing I see.
The result? Christopher standing there with a face full of doughnut and paper bag in hand while another parcel remains wedged under his other arm. I fall about laughing at the look of innocent surprise on his face. It’s going to make an epically candid photo. I wonder if he’ll put that on his website instead of the solemn looking one that’s currently there. I giggle as I wind the film onto the next shot.
‘What on earth are you doing?’ he says through his final mouthful, powdered sugar floating into the air.
I offer him the camera. ‘Last few shots. Want to take some before I lock you away in a dark space?’
‘Please.’ He hands me both bags. ‘Hold these.’
‘Just so you know, I’m going to hold these doughnuts in my mouth.’ I dig about in the bag, drawing some of the sugar and cinnamon up with a damp finger. ‘What else did you bring? Do you know how to use a manual SLR camera?’
‘I made you a loaf of bread.’ He fiddles with the lens. ‘And yes, I do.’
‘You made me bread?’ Though it’s a struggle, I manage to pull apart the end of the second parcel. It’s yeasty and warm and makes me think of cosy cafés on rainy days where you can snuggle into another person with freshly roasted coffee and a yellowing dog-eared book. Paradise. ‘You do realise, if you keep bringing me carbohydrates, I might keep you.’
Keep you? Where the hell did that come from?
‘Fun fact: I got up at five o’clock this morning to make sure it was baked in time. So don’t say I don’t ever put you first.’ He’s terrible at hiding the pride that sparks in his eyes.
‘Christopher.’ I gasp. ‘A proper gentleman knows the woman should always come first.’
He stands there in complete and utter silence, camera dangling from his hand. For a second, I wonder if I’ve overstepped the line, said too much too soon, again, and I watch him with wide eyes, doughnut poised at my mouth.
‘Katharine,’ he says, with all the seriousness of a funeral director.
‘Christopher.’
‘Do you honestly think I’m some sort of Neanderthal?’ he says as he lifts the camera and clicks a shot of me hiding sheepishly behind a doughnut.
I’m laughing again when I wave him through the front door. ‘I was aiming more for Homo erectus, myself.’
‘Get inside.’ He gives my shoulder a nudge. ‘Before I lock you away in a dark space and throw away the key. Honestly.’
‘I’m so excited,’ I say as I follow him upstairs. ‘You have no idea how disappointed I was that you were busy last night.’
‘Really?’ He sounds surprised.
I bury my nose in the loaf. ‘I can’t believe you made me bread. Thank you.’
‘Do you have jam?’ he asks, wandering around and making himself completely at home.
‘Thick cut marmalade.’
‘Bloody heretic.’ His top lip curls as he reaches for his bag and retrieves a jar of strawberry jam. It lands on the bench with a solid thunk. Is it too early in the day to admit that he’s making an amazing impression this morning?
I adore these types of moments, the ease of interaction, comments tinged with sarcasm and the laughter that follows. Not only can he give and take it in equal measure, but it rounds and softens him as a man, sloughing away my earlier image of him as a grumpy loner. He’s not that at all, he’s simply guarded. Like Adam said: at arm’s length.
Even after spending last Friday evening with him as I sifted through artists, even with the laughter and kind words, I’m surprised at this morning’s interaction. I’m also hesitant because this, whatever it’s becoming, is still crystalline fragile and morning fresh, and I’d hate to overstep the mark and shatter everything. As I place the bread on the side and fill the kettle, I keep an eye on him as he peers into the darkroom.
‘This is impressive,’ he calls back to me. ‘Well done.’
‘And you’ve never used one before?’ I ask.
He shakes his head. ‘Never.’
I wedge myself in beside him and switch the light on. ‘Do you want to learn it all, or do you just want to watch?’
‘As much as I like to watch, I’d love to learn, please,’ he says. ‘I use a digital camera to photograph my work for archiving and online sales, but I’ve never had this opportunity. It’s brilliant, thank you.’
After all the criticism and uncertainty, his turn of enthusiasm is lovely to see. That he believes I could teach someone of his skill level is thrilling and fills me with a cup of courage. I’m chomping at the bit while also feeling strangely nervous.
I leave him to finish the last few shots left in the camera, racing downstairs to lock the door before checking again that I have everything I need laid out on the bench of the darkroom. As I measure and pour out chemicals, I can’t help but feel I’ve forgotten something.
‘Shall we begin?’ I ask when I notice him in the doorway.
‘Do I need to take notes?’