Page 44 of Mistaken Impression

“Good question. In my dream, the Meal Master show had been an enormous success, and I was having to do the rounds of publicity appearances… dressed like Blain.”

“I see.”

“As if that wasn’t bad enough, the host of the show went off-script and asked me about my favourite food to cook with, and I blurted out that it was courgettes.”

“Right… and?”

“I didn’t say ‘zucchini’.”

“Oh. I see.” She smiles.

“It’s not funny, Ella. I’m scared.”

She pulls out the chair beside me, sitting down. I can smell her scent. It’s floral, but not sweet, with a kind of woody overtone and I inhale gently as she draws the chair a little nearer.

“What are you scared of?”

She’s being serious now… all thoughts of amusement forgotten.

“I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing… that I’ll call a cookie a biscuit or something.”

“So you know there’s a difference, then?”

“Only because I go to the supermarket, just like anyone else.”

“Hmm… except a lot of people over here call it a grocery store.”

I sit forward, resting my elbows on the table. “You see? That’s my point entirely. I’m going to make an arse of myself.”

“You mean ‘ass’.”

“Stop it, will you?”

She reaches out, placing her hand beside my elbow, the tips of her fingers almost touching me, and I forget all my fears as I struggle not to react. I wish she’d take that last step and let her fingers wander a little closer… maybe walk them up my arm and give me an excuse to clasp her face between my hands and crush my lips to hers…

“I won’t let you make an ass of yourself, okay? I’ll make sure you know the names of everything you’re gonna be using.”

Her words bring me back to reality, and although the desire doesn’t go away, I focus on what she’s saying, and I smile at her. “Sorry to be so pathetic.”

“You’re not pathetic. Hell… I’m terrified, and I won’t be doing any of this in front of the cameras.”

She pulls her hand away as she’s speaking. I want to grab it back, but I don’t. Time is moving on, and we need to move on with it…

“What are we doing today?” I ask as she gets up again, pushing the chair back under the table.

“That depends…”

“On what?”

“On how close you are to knowing your lines.”

I tilt my head. “I could do with a little longer, if that’s okay.”

“It’s fine. In fact, it’s perfect.”

“It is?”

“Yes. I was thinking I might prepare everything we’re going to need in advance today, so it’s more like it will be when you’re doing the show for real.”

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