The Little Teashop in Tokyo by Julie Caplin Page 0,76

knees …’

‘I think you’re still her favourite.’

‘I don’t know why,’ he slumped into his seat, rubbing at the pale shadows underneath his eye.

‘Because you adore her.’

‘She’s a grumpy, demanding old woman.’

‘Gabe!’ protested Fiona, her voice rising, and immediately she lowered it, glancing around at the other passengers. Luckily no one seemed to have noticed her quiet-carriage faux pas. ‘She’s not at all.’

‘You’ve only seen her good side.’ But despite his quiet harrumph and fierce whisper, she could see the gleam in his eye.

‘That’s because I’m the perfect guest.’ Fiona grinned at him.

‘Who told you that?’

‘Setsuko.’

‘See, I said you were a creep.’ He folded his arms and leant his head back against the headrest.

She rolled her eyes at him and pulled out a guide book.

‘And a swot,’ he whispered, his eyes closed as he nudged her arm.

‘I like to know where I’m going, don’t you?’

‘No, I like it to be an adventure. Besides I’ve been before.’

‘To Lake Kawaguichiko?’

‘Not there. I’ve actually walked up Mount Fuji. But you can only do that in July and August. You’ll have to come back.’

‘You know … I might do that. I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface. Every time I talk to Setsuko or Haruka they tell me something fascinating about the philosophy or the culture of the country. There’s so much … it’s an amazing place.’

Gabe opened his eyes and turned his head against the headrest, studying her face, a slow smile spreading over his, as if sleepiness had dulled his senses. Her heart turned over at the drowsy warmth of his expression.

Then he reached for the camera on his knee and before she could protest took a couple of quick shots.

‘Gabe!’

‘Sorry, just had an idea for a shot … on a train. Wanted to see if it would work. The blur in the background, you know. Arty sort of picture.’

‘Oh,’ she leaned back into her seat, eyeing him warily. He smiled at her, still sleepy and a touch dopey.

‘What?’

‘You’re something else.’ He continued to give her that gentle smile which made her heart miss a beat. ‘Very good at reminding me of things that I’d forgotten. Stuff that I take for granted.’ He closed his eyes again and for a moment she thought he was going to sleep.

There was a touch on her hand and she looked down to see him threading his fingers through hers. ‘I’d forgotten what a special place this country is,’ he murmured. ‘Haruka. She’s been trying to … to remind me for a while. I wasn’t paying attention. When I first came I was fascinated by those contrasts, by that spirituality. I lost my way for a while.’

‘And now?’ Fiona watched his face, saw the regret lining his mouth.

‘Tupperware,’ he murmured, or at least it sounded like that. It was obviously some Japanese word.

She waited for him to explain but all he did was smile that gentle smile at her, squeeze her hand, and then he leaned his head back against the headrest and went to sleep.

Watching someone sleep was supposed to be creepy and she knew it was an invasion of privacy, although she was pretty sure Gabe wouldn’t have any such reserve. He’d probably be taking photos. It didn’t excuse it … but she couldn’t help herself savouring the rare moment of unadulterated pleasure. He was, and always had been, a beautiful man with that thick, dark wavy hair swept back from his forehead. It brushed his collar but she’d never seem him fuss or fiddle with it. His eyebrows were slightly paler, untamed, over that strong brow. It was a masculine face rescued from harshness by those deep, intense eyes. Fiona sighed. He was gorgeous even despite the slight purple bruises shadowing his eyes which were fringed by the thick resting-spider-leg lashes. This close she could see the liquorice-black bristles breaking out over his chin and very faint freckles on his tanned skin, one in the corner of his mouth that for an uninhibited moment she wanted to lick … which was so not standard Fiona behaviour. Gabe brought out something in her. A yearning which was nothing like that desperate infatuation before.

And what was with the hand-holding? She wasn’t complaining … but what did it mean? God, she was out of her depth. She’d had a couple of dates with people … lost her virginity on one because she felt obliged to go through with it and had wanted rid of it. Went out with a guy called Olly who’d wanted her to