Page 90 of Mistaken Impression

“Is this about what happened earlier?” she says, nodding her head as she starts to peel and slice the onions. “Are you thinking about how it felt to watch yourself on television?”

That’s not it at all, but I don’t know how to tell her I’m struggling to work out what someone like her is doing with someone like me. So, I nod my head.

“Well, I thought you were amazing.”

I can’t help smiling and even though I’m still nervous as hell, I decide to go with it. “Did I do okay with the cooking? I didn’t make myself look a fool?”

“No. You were perfect.” She stops, stares across at me and tilts her head, and then leans across, resting her hand on my arm. “In every way.”

“As long as I didn’t let you down.”

She puts down her knife now and comes around to my side of the island unit, waiting until I turn to her, and then she wraps her arms around me, leaning up and kissing me. “Never,”she whispers, and I deepen the kiss, hoping to find some reassurance in her lips.

She pulls back far too quickly. “Dinner…” she mutters, and returns to the other side of the island unit, lowering the heat under the pan before she picks up the knife and gets back to chopping.

“If you don’t mind me asking… what on earth are you making that needs so many onions?”

She smiles up at me. “French onion soup.”

“A recipe inspired by your time in Paris?”

“Of course. As I told you before, I cook a lot of French food… unless I’m in a hurry, in which case I’ll usually fall back on pasta, or stir-fries. Besides, I like this recipe because all you have to do is slice up the onions and then leave them to caramelise for thirty minutes or so.”

“Thirty minutes?”

Her eyes lock on mine, and she bites on her bottom lip. “Yes.”

“So… we’ll have some time to kill?”

“We will.”

She sucks in a breath, and although I’m still nervous, my cock responds to the thought of how we could fill the next half an hour.

Ella finishes slicing, tips the onions into the pan of melted butter and oil, and stirs them briefly before she puts on the lid, and washes her hands. Then she turns back to me and I hold out my hand. She takes it across the island unit and I pull her around, and let her lead us back into the living room, where she takes us over to the three large sofas that surround the fireplace. It’s not cold enough to light the fire, but we sit in the one facing it. She’s in the corner, and although I go with my initial instincts and lean over to kiss her, I’m finding it hard to concentrate.Even as my lips touch hers, I can’t focus, or feel comfortable, and after a few seconds, I pull back.

“Sorry… I can’t do this.”

She leans in to the sofa, staring up at me, confusion clouding her eyes. “Why? What’s wrong?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

I wave my arm around. “This, Ella.”

“My apartment, you mean?”

“This isn’t an apartment. I live in an apartment. This is a palace… and I don’t understand. You said working on the show was your first job.”

“It is.”

“In which case, how can you afford to buy somewhere like this? I can’t believe they’re paying you a lot more than they’re paying me, and I just about get by paying a subsidised rent. So how can you make the mortgage payments?”

“I don’t have a mortgage. I bought this place outright.”

I struggle not to choke. “Right… because that makes it so much better.”

She sighs, shaking her head. “Is this a problem, Mac?”

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