Page 43 of The Missing Ingredient

“With the girls, Tom. We’ll need to be good.”

“We’ll make it work. In the meantime, next Wednesday lunchtime.”

“What about it?”

“I have a meeting in the morning. Finishes around eleven. I could be at your place by midday as long as I’m back on-site by two thirty. What about it?”

So that was how it was going to be, thought Marcus. Stolen moments. Not that he could complain. He had, after all, told Tom that what they had together was good enough for now. The problem is, nobody ever explains how long “for now” means.

“Done. Anything special you want for lunch?”

“Just you, naked and ready to go when I get there.”

Tom leaned in for another kiss, a hand straying down to Marcus’s groin.

“I think I can manage that,” said Marcus, pushing gently away from Tom. “Now show me this football jersey your father mentioned. Before we both get caught.”

Chapter Fourteen

THEweek leading up to the New York opening had been hectic. Marcus also had to sign off on plans for the Birmingham refit back in England, ensure the restaurant roster in London was sorted for his time away, and get the results of his medical—something the US investors had insisted upon—which fortunately came back all clear. Apart from work, he and Tom had managed to get together three steamy times; twice in Marcus’s apartment over lunch, and another whole night together on Tom’s “Friday night with the boys” pub night. And even though Marcus enjoyed their time together—especially the overnights—he was looking forward to doing regular things with Tom and the girls, to being with them together in New York.

Everything had been settled by the time they needed to leave. Tom had managed to get time off work but would need to attend one or two meetings via a web video chat program. Marcus would, of course, be called upon to talk to the press and make appearances in the restaurant whenever requested. But apart from that, they were set to go. Tina’s travel agent had arranged four economy seats together on their transatlantic flight flying out that Saturday morning. Although Marcus had to sacrifice his usual business-class luxuries, the payoff was well worth it. Tom and Marcus sat on each of the aisle seats with the girls in between. Both girls behaved perfectly, mesmerized by the airline’s entertainment system and cartoon films. Then, as arranged, a car picked them up from JFK and whisked them off to the luxury apartment for the beginning of their seven-night stay.

Everything went perfectly—until they reached the apartment.

“I am not sharing a bed with Charlie, Daddy. I want my own bed. You know what happened last time we went on holiday. She kicked me three times in her sleep and then pulled the covers off the bed.”

“Did not.”

“Did too.”

“Didnot!”

“How would you know, anyway, stupid? You were asleep.”

“Stop it, the pair of you!”

Tom rubbed at the bridge of his nose and breathed deeply. He had made the suggestion to Marcus at Gatwick airport that the two of them share the bedroom with the single beds and the girls could take the super king-size in the other. That way, once the girls were fast asleep, Tom might be able to sneak over during the night for a chat—or whatever.

Until Little Miss Cockblock had decided to scupper their plans.

“This bed is huge, Katie. Charlie’s going to be way over the other side.”

They all stood in the doorway to the master bedroom, cases still unpacked until the decision was made.

“I don’t care. She won’t stay there. You know what Granny calls her. Miss Fidget-pot Kickboxer.”

“Katie—” began Tom.

“Tom, it’s fine. Let the girls have the single beds. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Neither of us could fit on that thing. Your legs will be dangling over the end, and if I took it, my feet would be touching the floor.”

Tom had a point. Funnily enough, Marcus remembered the couch being bigger. But then he’d never had to sleep on the thing. Charlotte didn’t help matters by bursting into giggles at the image of Tom or Marcus’s feet hanging over the end.

“How about you sleep in here with me, then?” Tom asked Katie.

“I want myownbed,” said Katie, hands on her hips. “This is so stupid. Why can’t you and Uncle Marcus share the big bed? It’s made for grown-ups, not for us kids.”

---