Page 75 of You Float My Boat

‘I’ve known Jamie a long time, he trained under my dad, who’s a chef … my parents own a restaurant group, primarily in London. What … why are you looking at me like that?’

This time, I closed my mouth before I did something stupid like reel off the names of all of Charlie’s dad’s restaurants, which I worried might come across a little odd. But honestly, there’s not much a teenage girl with access to the internet can’t find out.

‘Um … sorry. Do you cook?’ I asked, scraping thebarrel of logical questions I could ask without a) arousing suspicion and b) lying.

He nodded, his grin widening, ‘Yup. If I didn’t, we’d all starve in the house. Your brother’s not bad, when I let him in the kitchen. But everything he knows, I’ve taught him. And don’t let him tell you otherwise.’

My eyes widened because that was, in fact, news to me. I tried to tamp down the smile though, ‘I didn’t know you liked cooking.’

‘Brooks has been hiding it … clearly. You’ll have to come over for our Sunday lunch one weekend.’

‘I’d like that,’ I chuckled, trying to suppress the giggle which really wanted to let itself out because sixteen-year-old Violet would have died if she’d known one day Charlie Masterson would take her for lunch then invite her round to his place so he could cook for her.

It would have taken weeks to plan her outfit.

‘What’s so funny?’

I rolled my lips, ‘Nothing really, I was just thinking … I like getting to know things about you …’

He was silent for a moment, his finger running around the edge of the water glass, ‘Yeah, me too. Even though I’ve known you for years, I’ve never properlyknown you, known you.’

I nodded, ‘Same.’

‘Though,’ he grinned, ‘I bet I still know more about you.’

My eyebrow arched. I wasn’t about to tell him he’d lose that bet spectacularly. ‘Oh yeah? What?’

‘I know you like books. I remember a couple of summers ago I was at your place, and you spent mostof it in the swing reading. You wouldn’t even come and swim.’

I hoped the blush on my cheeks wasn’t as obvious as it felt. I remembered that summer very well, and my memories weren’t of me not swimming or wanting to read, but rather from my vantage point in the swing I could get away with staring at Charlie wearing his swim trunks and nothing else. Reading provided my perfect alibi.

But the fact he noticed I’d stayed in the swing, more sorememberedI’d stayed, had my heart fluttering.

‘I do like books.’

‘And you have your tattoo.’ He glanced down at my wrist resting on the table, and the little hand-drawn stack I’d had done on my seventeenth birthday. It was filled with the classic love stories –Pride and Prejudice,Emma,Romeo and Juliet,Little Women,Wuthering Heights– because one day I wanted a love worthy of the greats.

‘Very observant, Mr Masterson,’ I smiled at him.

‘Is that your only one?’

‘No. I have another. Right here.’ Charlie’s eyes dropped to my finger, rubbing the bottom of my ribcage. ‘What about you? Any tattoos?’

He shook his head with a grin. ‘Nope. I’m scared of needles.’

The thought of this man sitting in front of me, almost too big for the tiny school-style chairs, being scared of anything had me giggling hard. ‘It’s just a tiny scratch.’

‘Maybe, but I’m not willing to find out.’ His laugh boomed out, before he quietened and looked me. Hisgreen eyes held mine for long enough that a tiny heartbeat kicked up between my thighs.

I found myself reaching for my glass of water to gulp down, just to break the tension, right as two enormous sandwiches were placed in front of us, and from the look on Charlie’s face he’d completely forgotten about anything that had happened up to this very moment.

Layers and layers of dark pink meat overspilled from the softest-looking bread, smothered with a gooey sauce dripping down the sides. From the size of it, I wasn’t even sure how I would fit it in my mouth. There was no way of eating this and maintaining a pretence of being ladylike – it was worse than spaghetti bolognese and I already knew most of it would end up around my face.

‘Sorry, I should have warned you it can get messy,’ Charlie laughed as he pulled one of the plates towards him, sunk his knife into the bread and somehow managed to cut it in four. He pushed it back over to me. ‘Here, this makes it easier.’

‘Thank you …’ I reached over, examined it for longer than I should have and picked up the one that looked least like it would fall apart. ‘Here goes.’

Charlie was watching me so intently, with so much childlike anticipation brimming in his eyes, that even if this sandwich was only worthy of being thrown straight into the bin, I’d have told him it was the most perfect thing I’d ever tasted.

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