Page 48 of One Month's Notice

“Nothing? It looked impressive from what I could make out.” He didn’t press further, and she was relieved he had respected the boundary she had quickly drawn.

Michael rolled up his sleeves and started lifting items out of the bags. “Let’s get started on making lunch. How do you feel about smoked salmon with a fresh tomato salsa on homemade bruschetta?”

“That sounds wonderful.” Her stomach rumbled in agreement as she joined him in the kitchen. “Let me give you a hand.”

“Could you chop these tomatoes and onions for the salsa?” Michael slid a knife and cutting board her way as he busied himself with the bread.

“Sure.” Nat picked up the knife and grabbed a tomato. She turned it round several times before deciding on the best angle to slice it. She watched Michael’s precise, swift movements, a stark contrast to her own hesitant chops.

“Here, let me show you.” Michael guided her hands. “A rocking motion, like this.” His fingers gently overlapped hers, and for a moment, Nat was acutely aware of the warmth of his skin. Her body tensed and she held her breath. With the first tomato done, he stepped back to place the bread under the grill, leaving Nat to carry on.

She finally allowed herself to relax again, making a start on the onions. With each slice, Nat’s eyes became more irritated by the pungent smell stinging her eyes. Tears gathered at the corners and she tried to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

“Why don’t you let me?” Michael lifted his thumb to Nat’s face, wiping the moisture away gently. “You’ll only make it worse.” He let his hand rest on her cheek for a moment and a hint of something flashed across his face. He broke eye contact before Nat could figure out what it was.

“These look perfect.” He turned to admire the neat pile of diced vegetables, adding a large squeeze of lime juice. “Now, for the spice—how brave are you feeling?”

“Um, moderately brave?” She allowed herself to relax a little as he moved away, the intensity of his touch dissipating.

“Moderately it is.” Michael reached for the chilli flakes. He sprinkled a conservative amount into the bowl before adding freshly chopped coriander and mixing it together. “Taste?” He lifted a spoon of the salsa and held it out for her to take.

“That’s really good.” The flavours exploded in her mouth with the perfect blend of heat and zest.

“Teamwork.” Michael grinned. “You grab some drinks from the fridge while I get this plated up.”

Nat took the seat across from Michael, their plates filled with the lively colours of the meal set out in front of them. Ever the interior designer, she found herself appreciating how the reds and greens of the tomato salsa popped against the soft pink of the salmon—a burst of food magic.

“OK, this looks amazing.” She reached for her phone to take a photograph. “And to think, my biggest achievement is not burning toast. Lexi won’t believe this!”

“Give yourself some credit. You were chopping those tomatoes like a pro by the time you got to the last one.” He took a bite, his expression one of content satisfaction. “But maybe we should get you some goggles for chopping onions?”

For once, Nat accepted the simple and sincere compliment. As they ate, the conversation turned to stories of travels and the foods that marked the memories.

“I think my favourite had to be the summer I spent in Italy with Enzo’s family.” A smile lit up Michael’s face. “That’s where I really learned to appreciate cooking. His Nonna wouldn’t let me leave the kitchen until I could make pasta from scratch.”

“Really?” Nat’s eyes danced with curiosity and a touch of envy. Travelling seemed like such a luxury now. She couldn’t imagine her finances allowing that for a long time. “I bet it was gorgeous there.”

“Absolutely. The rolling hills, the vineyards, the food—it was like stepping into a different world. A slower pace of life, you know?”

“Sounds perfect.” She took a brief pause to imagine such a place, so far removed from the hustle and bustle of Kensington and the demands of her family’s expectations.

As the last bites of their lunch vanished, Nat got up from the table and began gathering the empty plates.

“I’ll clean up,” she insisted, despite Michael’s protests. “You always do most of the cooking, so I’ll clear. It’s only fair.”

With a reluctant nod, Michael agreed. The clink of dishes and the hum of running water filled the room as Nat lost herself in the methodical task of rinsing and stacking the dishwasher. She turned off the tap, wiped her damp hands on the back of her jeans, and glanced back at Michael, who had already opened his laptop and was absorbed in work once more. The seriousness with which he approached everything was both intimidating and admirable. She could just imagine him in the Italian countryside, learning to make pasta under the watchful eye of a loving Nonna, meticulously following every instruction until each piece was perfect.

“Back to work then?”

“Unfortunately.” Michael grimaced. “Thank you for helping with lunch. It was nice.” His gaze lingered on her for a second longer than necessary before dropping to the screen.

“You’re welcome.” Nat smiled to herself as she sat back down and opened her own laptop. They definitely made a good team.

It was getting late in the afternoon when a brisk knock punctured the silence. Michael set aside his work and made his way to the front door, opening it to reveal Clara standing in the doorway.

“Hi.” She stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. In her hand was a sheaf of papers that looked as crisp and precise as her sharply tailored suit. “I’m here to go through the finances.”

“Why don’t you come in?” Michael laughed, closing the door behind her.

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