Page 40 of Unforeseen Love

“Cheers,” she says.

I take a sip and then wrap my spaghetti around my fork and bring it to my mouth, but not before the sound of Sienna groaning in appreciation as she takes her first bite. I hate that I suddenly have a vivid image of her groaning for another reason.

“This is so good,” she says around her mouthful of food, holding her other hand up to cover her mouth as she speaks.

I just give her a tight grin and concentrate on eating mine. Normally, I’d have some sarcastic come back, but honestly, lately, being around her has my head all over the place. Like me having her watch me wank myself off––not one of my finest moments. But when she went and promptly took care of herself too, it was worth.

When I suggested earlier that she should take a bath, it was because of how tired she looked. She’s been working too hard. I noticed how she’s been skipping lunch––it’s why I made a point to come up to the flat and make dinner, as I knew she’d be finishing late again. In fact, I might have to call rank and tell her she can’t keep doing it. If she gets sick, we’re pretty much up shit creek without a paddle. Even with me helping with embalming, we’re already getting busier, and with the deceased only being allowed up to ten people to attend a funeral, it’s having such an effect on mourners. The calls we take are also taking a toll mentally.

ChapterTwenty-Five

Sienna

Sneaking glances at Theo while we eat, I notice him frowning and wonder if he’s worried about work. It’s become quickly apparent I’m beginning to read him a little better, being forced to work together––and let’s face it, live together––has made it impossible to ignore one another. But what quickly surprised me was how much he actually takes what he does seriously. At first, I had my reservations. But I’ve seen a different side to him, beyond the jokes and the sneaking into my room. Why he doesn’t just ask to borrow my book is beyond me… no, instead he insinuates I’m a pervert. Is he for real? I hear it all the time, how romance novels are just lady porn or smut. Or sets unrealistic expectations in women. I strongly disagree with that statement, Chad. They’re about so much more––sexual empowerment for women for one. And hell, maybe it would give a lot of men an idea of where a woman’s clit actually is. I’m telling you, some romance novels could give a whole new insight into sex education and learning the female anatomy.

“Have you finished?” I ask when he’s been staring at his plate for almost five minutes. He doesn’t answer, so I reach for it anyway.

“I’ll get it,” he says, pushing to his feet, his chair scraping back.

I shake my head, already gripping his plate in my other hand. “You cooked, I’ll clear up.”

He looks as though he’s going to say something, but to my surprise, he concedes and reaches for his wine, finishing it off in one mouthful and then following me into the kitchen.

Bending down, I look under the sink for the washing-up gloves and get frustrated when I can’t find them.

“They’re in the drawer next to the cutlery.”

He holds up his hands in an apologetic gesture, and rather than snipe at him, I stand up and pull them out. Pulling them on, I squirt the fairy up liquid on the washing up sponge and find myself laughing softly to myself.

“What’s so funny?” Theo says, leaning against the counter beside me.

Pointing to the washing up liquid, I say, “In my head I just called that fairy up liquid instead of washing up liquid… it always made my mum laugh,” I admit and then get a deep ache in my chest from the hollow emptiness.

“Are you a lot like her?” he asks.

Eying him from my peripheral vision, trying to gauge if he’s genuinely interested, I begin scrubbing the plate.

“Yeah, my nan always said I was a mini version of her.”

Thinking about both my nan and my mum fills me with longing and a sadness I try to keep at arm’s length. The job I do helps in a strange sort of way, it’s my kind of therapy. Knowing before someone goes to their final resting place, I can do this one thing to fulfil their and their family’s wishes.

“Was?” His eyebrows are nearly to his hairline as his gaze searches my face. It’s odd having his sole focus on me in a serious manner but also kind of nice.

I nod and clear the lump in my throat, trying not to get choked up. “She passed away when I was fourteen.”

He reaches out and touches my arm. “I’m so sorry,” he says sincerely before removing his hand. “So, you’re close with your nan then?”

I glance to him and then back to the washing up bowl. “We were until she passed away when I was seventeen.” Why I am so openly sharing parts of myself with him baffles me.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Foot, mouth,” he says, and I notice how he scrubs his palm over his face. In all the time I’ve known him, I don’t think I’ve seen him remorseful.

Shaking off the excess water, I place the plate in the dish strainer. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“My mum’s an addict and I don’t have anything to do with my dad. Aunt Meredith and Uncle Ewan pretty much raised me.”

I stop what I’m doing and turn to my side. “They’re good people, you’re lucky to have them.”

He glances to me, his eyes skim down to my knee then back to my face.

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