Page 48 of Heart Match

BRUT

Maison Fondée en 1770

Élaboré par Maison de Champagne Lamaire à Reims, France

‘What?’ he asks, curious why I’m staring at him.

‘Must be really cool to grow up tasting champagne,’ I say.

‘Yeah, it was really cool,’ he says, washing his hands in the sink.

‘Was it really founded in 1770?’

‘It was. It’s on its eighth generation already, it’s always belonged to the family.’

I’m still analysing the bottle when he comes to stand in front of me.

‘Should we open it? I know you might still be hungover from last week, but …’ he teases.

‘I’m not …’ I say, punching his hard-worked stomach. He doesn’t even budge.

We open the champagne before we eat, soon after he’s put the quiche in the oven. I get the flutes, he pours.

Staring into each other’s eyes—we’re better not risking the seven-years-without-sex curse—we toast.

‘To kitchen teamwork,’ he says.

‘To men who are immune to tickles,’ I say in return.

He laughs, tipping his head back in amusement. We take a sip from our flutes, and it’s delicious. I might retire my rosé drinking and upgrade it for champagne.

Luc’s eyes don’t leave mine, his dark eyebrows are serious, making his gaze even more intense. I’d say he’s planning something.

‘What?’ I ask.

‘Give me your phone,’ he says.

‘Why do you want my phone?’

‘Just give me your phone, Olivia,’ he commands, the corner of his mouth curving into a mischievous grin. I think I like mischievous Luc.

I obey and give it to him, still sceptical. He takes the phone and rolls his eyes at me because it’s locked. He uses my face to unlock it.

He snorts as he types something onto it, then some more. I’m watching, curious to know what he’s doing. I wait impatiently until he gives my phone back.

On the screen are my last calls. The first on the list is an outgoing call to someone named Immune to Tickles. He waits for my reaction and looks like the most satisfied person when he sees me laughing. He types something on his own phone then tells me to call him. When I do, he shows it to me, and on its screen appears the picture he took from me at Fresh Me Up yesterday, and the caller’s name: Olivia followed by a heart.

Oh God.

My stomach flips. It might just be because I’m hungry.

‘Just thought that by now you might have thought it was weird we hadn’t exchanged phone numbers yet,’ he says, tugging on the hem of my T-shirt, pulling me to him and closing the distance.

‘I might have thought about it once or twice,’ I confess.

We’re now as close as we can get to one another, and his big warm hands have found their way onto my waist.

‘Oh yeah?’

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