Page 77 of The One That I Want

‘Unctuous.’

‘Nowthere’sa word,’ he says with a mischievous smile.

Heat suddenly floods my cheeks, and I look away, sucking in a deep breath as the realisation lands with a thud. This isn’t just witty banter between two foodie friends. Ewan isflirting– andwell.

Oh god, Icannotunpack this right now. Not in the middle of dinner and not when I’m mere days away from meeting someone who could very well be my perfect match.

‘See?’ asks Ewan, evidently undaunted by my sudden silence. ‘You described that wine brilliantly. An excellent use of your writerly skills, I’d say.’

‘Thanks,’ I mumble, barely able to get the word out.

But I can’t just sit here struck dumb – time to change the subject!

‘So,’ I say brightly, ‘how was day three working behind the counter?’

‘Hopefully the last,’ he says. ‘We’ve got two new team members starting tomorrow and I’ve got an architect coming in on Friday to discuss my idea.’

‘You’re renovating already?’

‘Born of necessity, I’m afraid – already a victim of my own success,’ he says.

‘Ah, yes, the duality of the blessing and the curse.’

‘Precisely.’

‘So, what are you thinking?’

‘I’mthinkingof adding a walk-up window where people can order takeaway coffee. That would free up space inside for customers who want to stay a while and enjoy the ambience. I’m assuming that’s why you come every day?’ he asks, flashing me a grin.

‘Oh, absolutely. It’s an oasis inside The Daily Grind – verygreen. I’m assuming you have a close mate who owns a garden centre and owed you a favour?’

He laughs, a warm, throaty sound that sends a shockwave rocketing through me.Get a grip, Greta, I chastise.Harrison, Harrison, Harrison.

‘I was told there were too many plants.’

‘By whom?’

His expression suddenly clouds, and I understand immediately – Sally.

‘Oh, right.’

Sally certainly has a presence – like a spectre hovering over us. Their break-up must be reasonably fresh.

We’re quiet, sipping our wine and looking about, and I’m relieved when the waiter reappears bearing several plates. He announces each dish as he places them on the table:ensalada verde,gambas pil pil, andpatatas bravas con aioli.

The plates nearly fill the table and this is only half of what we’ve ordered. We move things around, playing a horizontal game of Tetris, only to have our efforts thwarted when he returns with three more plates:Catalan canelones de espinacas,confitado de pato, and two pieces oftosta de salmon.

We make more adjustments and now some of the plates are overlapping, sitting at angles so precarious that I’m struck by how ridiculous it was to order so much. I start to laugh.

‘I think we could feed the entire population of Lichtenstein,’ I say through my laughter.

‘I’d say Luxembourg,’ he retorts, making me laugh harder. ‘Wait, what if we…’ He takes our empty plates, the ones we’re supposed to eat from, stacks them, then calls the waiter back and hands them to him. Turning back to me, he says, ‘We can just eat straight from these,’ indicating the plates and bowls brimming with food.

‘Glad one of us has hospitality experience,’ I say.

‘Oh yes, my three days serving coffee have definitely saved the day – or, rather, thenight,’ he says with faux gravitas.

‘See, you really are Mr Coffee Man,’ I say, leaning into the silly thing I blurted out to him on Monday.

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