Say Hello, Kiss Goodbye - Jacquelyn Middleton Page 0,132
for the wicked.” Leia raked her fork through her cake’s icing. “I’m lucky you could spare me an hour or two.”
“Hey, impatient architects can wait, but coffee? Never.” He muted his grin. “Thanks for texting this morning. After everything with Shantelle, I wasn’t certain you would.”
Her posture softened. “Tarquin, the reason I kept quiet about being here—”
“Leia”—he held his palms up—“you don’t owe me an explanation. We weren’t talking, we weren’t even friends anymore, really.” He dropped his hands in his lap and blinked downward, contemplating the sea salt caramel cupcake on the plate in front of him but left it untouched. “If I could do things over…”
Leia deserted her fork and her cake. “No, this isn’t on you. I was horrible to you on the High Line.”
“I deserved every word.”
“Whether you did is debatable, but my apology isn’t. I’m sorry, Tarquin.” She sighed, spinning the charm on her bracelet under the table. “I was dismissive and confrontational.”
“And I was impatient and selfish. What are we like, eh? If we keep going, we’ll cover all the Mr. Men and Little Miss books.”
Leia giggled. “Well, Sarah does call me Little Miss Princess and Little Miss Busy.”
“Love it.” Tarquin sipped his coffee, the conversation sinking into silence.
Leia sampled her cake, the vanilla sponge’s sweetness drawing a tempered grin and her fork back for seconds. Tarquin bypassed his dessert and sat back in his chair, straightening the spoon on his coffee-stained napkin as four women laughed and snapped selfies outside the café’s pink façade.
He’s never this quiet. Leia swept cake crumbs into a pile with her fork. He looks uncertain, like he’s waiting for me to put a label on this—on us. Friends? Lovers? A full-on committed relationship? But how does Tarquin feel? Alex told me he’s single, but that doesn’t mean he wants more than sex. She laid down her fork. There’s only one way to find out. “Tarquin, I know we were joking before about being busy and stuff, but it is great to see you. Really.”
He blinked up from the table, his eyes soft with longing and regret. “Where else would I be?”
She shrugged with a nervous smile. “Lunchtime pints with Harry? A midday coffee date with a cute blonde?”
Tarquin shook his head. “I do the odd pub quiz with Harry, Si and the gang, but beyond that”—he lifted his cup—“no coffees, no dinners, no dates. I got shot of the matchmaking firm months ago. Wasn’t a good fit.”
Like he needs help finding women who’ll sleep with him. Leia picked at the side seam of her jeans. “But you’re having sex, right?”
“Oh, yeah. Quite regularly—but only with myself.” Tarquin took a sip.
Well, that’s a relief. She smiled.
“What about you?” He returned his coffee to the table.
“Same. No breaking news there.”
As he pressed his lips together, the dimples in his cheeks flexed, then disappeared. “Leia”—his voice grew serious—“are you…happy? On your own?”
How do I answer that? Nervous knots tightened in Leia’s stomach. If I say no, I’m kinda lying. But if I say yes, will that push him away? She sipped her water then cleared her throat.
“Well, I’m happy being free of my husband, but for a long time, staying with him felt less scary than being divorced and alone. Better the devil you know, right? Then, something awful happened and I finally cut him loose. I feared I’d never get over it, but with the help of my family and hours of therapy, I’m doing okay—for the most part. I’ve learned a lot, mostly from making mistakes. At least now I know exactly what I want, professionally…and personally.”
“That’s great. Good for you.” He nodded but something in his eyes surrendered, suggesting he wouldn’t press any further.
Would he look this disappointed if he wasn’t interested in me? A storm of butterflies swirled in her stomach. This feels like I’m teetering atop a rollercoaster about to plummet. She rocked forward, leaving her glass beside her plate. I need to hang on, ride this through. Fleeing beneath the table, her hands latched onto the folds of denim gathering by her knees. “So, what do I want? Well, I want kissing. Tons of sex. Pancakes with Canadian maple syrup for breakfast. Hot baths filled with bubbles and Star Wars ducks, and a sexy British guy to share it all with. But he must love Dr. Seuss and keep a catstagram account, or the deal is off.”
A hint of a smile curved his lips. “That’s a pretty tall order.” His eyes dropped briefly to her