The Piano Man Project Page 0,86

wondered if he sang.

‘Is he a musician too?’

Christian laughed. ‘Actually no, he isn’t. He’s a surgeon. He fixed Mom’s arm when she broke it and feared she’d never play again. She likes to say she was so grateful that she married him.’

Honey relaxed as she listened to him tell her about the rest of his family. They sounded a scarily bright bunch; his brother, the violinist, his elder sister, the talented flautist.

‘You’ve got your own band right there,’ she smiled, impressed.

‘I know. Move over the Von Trapps, right?’

They paused as the waitress appeared with a pot of tea and placed it down on the table with a couple of fresh cups.

‘English breakfast tea,’ she said. ‘I’ll be right back with the food.’

‘Tea?’ Honey said, raising her eyebrows. ‘Not a cup of Joe?’

Christian grinned boyishly at her hammy attempt at an Americanism.

‘I thought you might like tea better,’ he said, almost bashful.

Honey looked at him for a beat before she spoke, feeling an undeniable tingle of pleasure at the thoughtful gesture.

‘Thank you,’ she said, simply. ‘I do.’

His blue eyes held hers for a second, and then the moment was gone as the waitress reappeared and placed two huge platters down in front of them.

‘Corned beef hash, and eggs over easy,’ she paused and smiled at Christian, who winked right back at her attempt to Americanise the perfectly standard-looking fried eggs. ‘With a side of pancakes, crispy bacon,’ she paused to clear away their empty coffee cups and touched the small jug on the side of Christian’s plate. ‘And maple syrup. Not golden.’

Wow. The man sure ate like an American. The waitress shot Honey a look that blatantly said, I’ll have him if you don’t want him, and then left them to contemplate the huge amount of food she’d somehow squeezed onto the tiny table.

‘This looks good,’ he said, tucking in with gusto.

Unless he was expecting his huge and super-talented family to join them for brunch, it also looked like far too much.

‘Tash tells me you’re something of a media star at the moment,’ he said, pouring her tea before his own. Another gold star for his impeccable manners, his cellist mama had taught him well.

‘I wouldn’t exactly put it like that,’ she laughed, and found herself telling him about how the campaign had spiralled over the last few weeks. He laughed in all the right places, and concern darkened his expression at the idea of the residents being forced out of the home they loved.

‘You make light of it, but in my book what you’re doing is pretty amazing,’ he said, pushing the jug of maple syrup towards her. ‘Have it with your bacon and pancakes. Trust me.’

There was something about Christian that told Honey she could do that. She could trust him. There was an innate goodness to him, a wholesomeness. Maybe it was just that he’d been lucky enough to live a gilded life that hadn’t given him the rough edges of some men she could mention.

Honey turned her attention back to the pancakes with a small smile. She’d watched enough episodes of Friends to know they were going to be good and happily took his advice on the syrup. It was sound advice, even if the pancakes cooked especially for Christian weren’t exactly as fluffy in the centre as they might have been. Not as pillowy or cloud-like as a certain bad-tempered chef’s.

‘I think they just needed a little more baking powder,’ he said, adding, ‘I’m a pretty keen cook,’ to clarify his credentials.

‘Me too,’ she lied, although in her defence her first attempt at bolognese had been a thing of wonder.

‘Cool,’ he grinned, making her feel bad for embroidering the truth so heavily.

He picked up his tea and sipped it, watching her over the brim. ‘I could cook something for you one of these evenings, if you’d like?’

He made it sound so easy. Everything about Christian, in fact, seemed easy. Easy eggs. Easy company. Easy on the eye. Easy to date.

‘I’d really like that,’ she said, and he touched his cup against hers and grinned.

Honey stayed on for another cup of coffee after Christian left, knowing she should text Tash and Nell and let them off the hook for setting her up for American pancakes with the wrong man. She tapped her fingers on the wooden table top to the beat of the song playing on the radio in the background, its lyrics absurdly appropriate. ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one