The Piano Man Project Page 0,89

she said, pouring the wine into the glasses she’d set on the table and reaching across to flick the radio on in the background. ‘Come and sit down. It’s almost ready.’

Hal listened to Honey moving around the kitchen. The clank of plates, the rush of heat from the oven when she opened it, the scent of food. It was intoxicating, all of it, even more so than the decent glass of red she’d finally given him.

He could practically feel the pride radiating off her in waves when she placed his meal in front of him.

‘Voilà,’ she said. ‘Fillet steak, little potato things, roasted vegetables, and a red wine juice.’

‘Jus?’ he said.

‘Don’t question the chef,’ she warned, sliding into the chair opposite him.

‘Are there any lit candles on this table?’ he asked.

‘Yes, because I’m stupid and want to set your head on fire,’ she said. ‘Of course there aren’t any candles.’

He didn’t reply, mostly because he’d actually been thinking that her first homemade steak dinner deserved the romance of a candle.

‘Oh my bloody God,’ Honey suddenly said. ‘This steak. Hal, it’s perfect,’ she sighed, with something that sounded like rapture. ‘I didn’t think it was going to be anywhere close to cooked, but you were totally right.’

‘Don’t question the chef,’ he quipped lightly, and found that he could only agree when he tasted his own steak. It wasn’t a masterpiece, but given his diet over recent months it was pretty damn close to perfect. They ate with the sound of the radio in the kitchen, low music to accompany the chink of cutlery against china and their idle chat about the well-oiled plans for the covert event she’d planned at the home the next day.

‘Will you come?’ she asked. ‘They say an army marches on its stomach, and Skinny Steve is no born leader.’

‘I like him,’ Hal said, jumping to Steve’s defence. His young apprentice for the week might not be a culinary genius, but he was a hard worker and good at following instructions. ‘He’ll make a decent chef one day.’

‘Yeah, but not by tomorrow,’ she wheedled. ‘Say you’ll come?’

‘Fine,’ he relented. ‘I’ll come. But I’m staying in the kitchen, okay?’

‘Deal,’ she said, and he knew he’d pleased her from the smile behind her voice. Considering the volatile nature of their relationship, Honey was actually a pretty easy person to please. He’d been accustomed to a life surrounded by high-maintenance people before the accident; demanding customers, his party hard friends, and of course, Imogen. Had he himself been high maintenance too? Probably. If a penchant for expensive clothes, good food and fast cars made someone high maintenance, then maybe so.

Honey stood and cleared the plates.

‘I didn’t buy dessert,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why, but you don’t strike me as a dessert man.’

He didn’t argue. He’d always choose a cheeseboard over a cheesecake. ‘I’ll take some Stilton?’ he said, teasing her.

‘You’re welcome to a Dairylea triangle,’ she laughed lightly.

‘I’ll pass,’ he said, pushing his chair back. ‘Shall we go through to the lounge?’

He followed Honey and settled on the sofa, accepting his refilled glass with thanks.

‘I have something for you,’ Honey said, hovering close enough for him to smell the light scent of her perfume and sounding uncharacteristically shy. ‘For your birthday.’

He put his glass down carefully on the coffee table in front of him. ‘You brought me a present?’

In years gone by, he’d given and received many extravagant gifts. This year his only wish had been for his birthday to slide in and out again unmarked, so quite why he’d had a skinful and blurted it out to Honey was beyond him. The fact that she’d gone to all of this trouble and rustled up a late notice gift had actually touched Hal greatly. Although, knowing Honey, he should probably approach any gift she’d chosen with a certain degree of trepidation.

She perched beside him on the sofa and placed a package into his hands.

‘It’s not much,’ she said. ‘I didn’t know whether to wrap it or not,’ she said. ‘It’s in a box so I left it.’

He felt around the contours of the box and picked open the lid, feeling inside until his fingers closed around something cool and metal.

‘It’s a hip flask,’ she said. ‘I thought it might help you drink less whisky if it comes in a smaller bottle.’

‘There’s that girl guide again,’ he said, but without malice. ‘Thank you, Honey, for all of this. You didn’t have to.’

‘I wanted to,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s your birthday.