Not OK Cupid: A sparkling rom-com you won't want to put down! Page 6
‘Why don’t you wear an engagement ring?’
Ha. He wasn’t going to catch her out with that one. She pulled her nana’s ring out of her cleavage and showed him, trying not to look too smug. ‘When I wear rings I play with them, and end up taking them off and leaving them somewhere. So I wear it round my neck where I can’t lose it. That and my crystal. I always wear them.’
‘It’s unusual.’
‘It’s an antique. My nana left it to my mum when she died, and Mum gave it to Sam to give to me. It was all very romantic.’
‘Huh. That’s odd. At the party, I heard him say he bought you one. It was a size too small and you refused to marry him until he’d fixed it.’
Crap. She must’ve zoned out when Sam was telling that story.
‘Uh, yeah, that’s right,’ she said, thinking fast. ‘I really wanted to wear Nana’s but he felt cheap not buying one so I have another one. He went back and got the right size. It’s at home. In a drawer.’
That was a pretty quick-thinking lie. She tried not to smile in pride.
‘Huh,’ Marcus said, settling back on his elbows. ‘That’s even odder. I’ve just remembered it was Gavin who bought one too small, and Kaitlyn who made him return it.’
Ally whipped her head around. He was smirking. Eyes glinting. The whole shebang.
Ooh, he was devious.
‘How funny,’ she said through gritted teeth. ‘Must be because they’re brothers. That they both did exactly the same thing.’
He nodded. ‘Funny indeed.’
Ally squeezed the tube of raw umber until her thumbs went white and imagined it was one of his tricky, gorgeous eyes.
She chose terre verte for the first wash, and wet a cloth with turpenoid to thin it down.
‘What’s that?’ he asked.
She stared stonily at Debbie. ‘Paint.’
‘Not that.’
‘Paintbrush.’
‘Not that either.’
‘I paint best in silence.’
He paused, nodded, then got up and walked away.
Ally regretted it immediately. She hated sitting in silence and she hated upsetting people even more. With a sigh, she started painting.
She jumped when something appeared in front of her face. A pink rose. Behind it, Marcus looked contrite.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Forgive me.’
Ally took the rose and slid it into her hair, trying not to look too happy that she had company again. Maybe he felt bad enough to stop prodding her about Sam. ‘Forgive you for what?’
‘Having a bad memory.’ He widened his eyes.
Hmph. Or not. ‘You’re sneaky.’
Grinning, he sat down beside her and gestured at the turpenoid. ‘Will you tell me what that is now?’
He seemed genuinely interested, and before long Ally was narrating everything she did. Marcus watched her face with those warm brown eyes and distracted Harry from pushing his nose in her cleavage. At one point, the dog stuffed his whole muzzle in, pushing the neckline of her dress down and exposing the top of her pink bra.
‘You’re a bloody sex pest,’ Marcus scolded, keeping one hand on his collar. Harry looked up at him with puppy eyes. ‘Well, you are. We’re going to have a chat later.’
Ally wondered if Marcus had seen her bra. Probably not. He didn’t seem to realise she wasn’t a floating head.
‘You’re very knowledgeable,’ he said, when Harry had calmed down.
‘Ha. It’s the first time anyone’s ever called me that.’
‘Nonsense. You’re clearly made to do this. Why not do it full time?’
‘You sound like my gran.’
‘She has a deep voice.’
Ally burst into laughter. ‘I mean she keeps poking me to start a painting business again. I had one for a few months, but it was a disaster. I was a disaster. Forgetting appointments, always late, not listening properly to what clients wanted. I need someone else to be in charge.’
‘You seem very capable to me, and you sound far more enthusiastic talking about painting than nursing.’
‘Really? How odd.’
Ally tried not to glow at his misplaced faith in her capabilities. He was just making up for being a devious arse and tricking her over the ring.
‘What do you do?’ she asked, before he got back on to the subject of nursing.
‘Construction. Houses, mostly.’
Man, she always fell for the tradesmen. It was the muscly arms that did it. And the broad chests.
‘You don’t sound enthusiastic, either,’ she said.
He shrugged. ‘I wanted to be a graphic designer, like Sam is now. But Gavin came along while I was at university and an unqualified, inexperienced graphic designer wasn’t going to make enough money to pay for a house. So I started labouring and worked my way up.’
‘Does Sam know you wanted to do it?’ she asked curiously. It seemed too much of a coincidence for Sam to have the same ambition as his father, but he’d never mentioned this as a reason for pursuing graphic design.
‘I think so. We talked about it when he was choosing what to study. But I don’t think he got into it because of me. He just inherited my eye for design. Anyway,’ he said, standing up. ‘For the next hour I’m a chef. You are staying for dinner, aren’t you?’
Ally glanced at the fading light, startled to realise how late in the evening it was. He was easy to talk to. ‘I’d love to. Let me pack up and I’ll come and help.’
‘No, no. You’re a guest. I’ll call you in when it’s ready.’
Ally turned her mouth down. ‘I like cooking. Let me help. I’ll be sous chef.’
‘Does that mean I’m head chef?’
‘I guess.’
‘And you’ll call me Chef?’
‘Sure. Chef.’
‘Deal.’ Marcus picked Debbie up in his arms and kissed her head before carrying her into the house. She licked his firm forearm and slapped her tail against his thick chest.
Man. Why did he have to be Sam’s dad?
CHAPTER SIX
Ally left the painting drying in the warm evening air and joined Marcus in the kitchen. ‘What are we having?’
‘Grilled squid and salad.’ He stopped slicing the squid and frowned. ‘That’s boring. I should’ve thought of something more interesting. I can make some chips to go with it?’
‘Don’t make them specially for me. I’ll eat anything. Well, except liver. And fried tarantula.’
‘Fried tarantula?’
She shuddered. ‘Mum and I were on holiday and took the wrong boat, ended up on this island . . . I don’t like to talk about it. Anyway, I’m easy to please.’
‘We’ll have chips,’ he said. ‘And maybe I can do something more exciting with our squid.’
‘Seriously, don’t worry about me. If you like it plain, we’ll have it plain.’
‘I don’t. I lived on spicy food when I was at uni, but my ex-wife liked it plain, and I got used to cooking like that.’ He looked down at the squid. ‘Maybe . . . some sort of sauce? A . . . squid-type sauce . . . Hm. I’m out of practice.’
‘I know one squid recipe. Salt and chilli calamari. Like from a Chinese takeaway.’
‘I haven’t had that in years. Not since I worked near Chinatown. What ingredients do we need?’
‘Let me think . . . Cornflour, chilli, garlic, ginger, peppercorns.’
He opened a cupboard and pushed a bag of sugar out of the way. ‘Uh. How much of that can be substituted with vanilla essence and balsamic vinegar?’
‘You know what? I’m not that hungry.’
‘Where’s your spirit of adventure? All right, I’ll go to the shop. There’s a mini-mart down the road with a wall of spices. Enough chilli in there to fuel a small country.’
‘How far is the shop?’
‘Not sure. A mile or so?’
‘I’ll go. I need a run.’ Her flat shoes weren’t designed for running but, like Gran said, her knees would be shot when she got
old so she might as well use them now. Not that she thought Gran had been referring to running.
Marcus raised his eyebrow. ‘You want to go for a run in this heat?’
‘Well I overslept, so I need to get my hour in today somehow.’
‘Ugh. Stop showing off and get out of my house.’ He held her gaze as he pulled the guts out of a squid, and she gave him her sweetest smile.
Marcus glanced at Harry, who was pressed against Ally with his nose in the crook of her knee. ‘Will you see if you can coax Harry out? He might leave Debbie for you. Just make sure your dress is on firmly. Turn left at the end of the road, then it’s straight. You can’t miss it.’
‘I think you underestimate my powers of getting lost. If I’m not back in an hour . . .’
‘Don’t worry, your chips won’t go to waste. I’ll eat them.’
‘Charming.’ Ally put Harry’s lead on and ran out of the door without waiting for him to notice Debbie wasn’t coming. He loped along like a bear, gazed at her in adoration, and narrowly missed head-butting several lamp-posts. She managed not to get lost and was back with the ingredients in thirty minutes.
At the breakfast bar she chopped chilli while Harry sat pressed against her leg. When she turned to Marcus, he was wearing the exact same expression . . . whilst staring at the spices.
She was starting to get a complex about this. A gnarled ginger root was more attractive than her?
No, she was being ridiculous. Of course he was more enticed by the idea of playing with spices than playing with Ally, after years of plain food. Cooking it must be as dull as eating it.
She added ‘likes spicy food’ to her mental list of the ideal man, and stepped back from the chopping board.
‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’ll probably rub chilli in my eye. Will you take care of the calamari? I can do the salad.’
Marcus handled the spices like a child in a toy shop. Ally was content to be his sous chef and watch the grin on his face, but Harry was a health and safety hazard. He was determined never to be more than an inch away from Ally, even where there really wasn’t room for two humans and a bear.
‘He’s in love,’ Marcus commented.
‘Me too. He’s this close to getting my dress off voluntarily.’
‘Could you leave the room first?’
‘Spoilsport.’
Harry licked her knee.
‘Well, somebody’s got to stick up for your poor fiancé here,’ said Marcus, shaking cornflour into a bowl. ‘Speaking of Sam . . . I messaged him about the surgery and he didn’t reply.’
Ally concentrated on chopping potatoes. ‘Should’ve called him then, shouldn’t you?’
‘I didn’t want to put him on the spot.’
Hmph.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Just tell me if you think he wants the surgery. If he’s got no interest in it, I’ll leave it. I don’t want to embarrass him.’
What bloody surgery? Obviously something optional, but what kind of chest surgery could be optional? She should’ve asked Sam about it. But he must have his reasons for keeping it quiet, and she wasn’t going to force him to talk.
An idea hit her. ‘Exactly!’ She snapped her fingers, then grabbed a potato to stop herself doing it again. ‘It embarrasses him, so I don’t mention it. I don’t know how he feels about it, but I love him just the way he is. So there.’
‘Hm. All right.’
Ally congratulated herself on her lie.
‘Go jogging together, do you?’ said Marcus, as if it was a throwaway comment.
Ally sensed a trap, and thought quickly. Sam avoided exercise like the plague. He’d gone to the gym with her a few times and had been bright red, panting, and pouring with sweat within minutes. He claimed he was lazy and unfit. Ally thought it was because he’d turned up in a thick polo shirt. Rachel thought he was intimidated by the men with six-packs. But it must be because he had medical problems. Asthma? Was there surgery for asthma? Maybe experimental surgery that didn’t always work?
‘No,’ she said, meeting Marcus’s eyes to show him his trick hadn’t worked. ‘Jogging isn’t a good idea with his chest problems, is it?’
‘I see.’ Marcus nodded and turned to the sink.
Ha. She’d outwitted him.
Pausing at the sink, he looked back at her. ‘That’s odd. He shouldn’t have any chest problems.’ He smiled. ‘Is a wok OK for the calamari?’
Marcus didn’t mention Sam’s chest again, and Ally busied herself with cooking. He put the radio on Heart FM for her, and she danced around the kitchen until everything was done.
‘Don’t you ever get tired?’ Marcus asked, leaning on the breakfast bar.
‘Nope. Sam calls me Rampant Rabbit.’
‘Does he now?’
‘Just because I don’t get tired. I mean, not when—Can we change the subject? Embarrass you for a change?’
‘You can try, but I’ve never been compared to a sex toy.’
‘It’s not too late.’
He smiled. ‘Will you bring the wine?’
She picked up the glasses and bottle and followed him, carrying their plates, into the living room. The colour scheme here was muted like the bedroom, but the walls were dominated by a framed oil painting of a Mediterranean harbour. A lone figure in a pink dress sat on a balcony, looking over the golden water as the sun set.
‘That was in your room, in your old house,’ Ally said.
‘How did you know?’
‘There was a dark square on the wall where it’d been hanging.’
‘You’re good. What’s your expert opinion?’
‘I’m not an expert.’
‘I say you are, and it’s my house, so I’m right.’
‘Shouldn’t you defer to guests?’
‘Not when they’re wrong.’ He gestured to the table, and Ally sat and looked at the painting.
‘I like it. The colours are beautiful, and she seems happy. Alone, but not lonely.’
‘Agreed. That’s why I bought it. Balsamic?’
‘Uh, no.’
‘Just wanted to offer something.’ He poured her a glass of Riesling, and held up his own glass. ‘Well, cheers to our new business relationship.’
‘Cheers.’ Ally tipped her glass against his, and their knuckles brushed.
Ally didn’t realise how late it was until she had to squint to read the inscription on a book Marcus handed her. A copy of Neither Here Nor There, signed by Bill Bryson himself. She glanced at the window, and saw the sky turning burnt orange.
‘It’s on my bucket list to follow his route through Australia in Down Under.’
‘I have no doubt you’ll tick off everything from your bucket list, and some. Do you need to get home before Sam thinks I’ve abducted you?’
‘Probably. Thanks for dinner, it was lovely. And you actually have a spice in your cupboard to keep the sugar company.’
‘The sugar is delighted. Can I drive you home?’
‘Oh, no, I like getting the train. Thanks though.’
‘But it’ll be pitch black by the time you get to Acton.’
‘It’s OK. I’m a vampire.’
‘Nobody as lively as you could be dead. Or even undead. OK, but I’m driving you to the station. There are some dodgy people round here at night. Got all your things from the garden?’ He took his car keys from a hook.
‘You don’t have to take me. I could do with a run.’
‘I can’t let you leave alone in the dark. What if something happened to you? Sam would be furious, and I’m pretty sure he could take me in a fight. I mean, I’m pretty sure you could, but I’d still rather drive you. Or maybe the dogs and I can walk with you.’
Ally needed to let off steam. Sitting still for long periods of time just wasn’t her. ‘I have a better idea. Let’s race. You carry Debbie.’
‘A race?’
‘Yes.’
A slow smile spread across his face. ‘I’m old. I can’t race.’
‘You’re no
t old, and yes you can.’
‘I can’t run carrying a dog. Everyone will think I’m mad.’
She shrugged. ‘Why do you care?’
‘Because . . . oh, all right.’
Ally collected her supplies, attached Harry’s lead to his collar, and stepped into the dark evening.
‘Ready?’ she asked Marcus, standing next to her with Debbie in his arms.
‘No. This is a bad idea.’
‘Set.’
‘No. Ally, I’m an old man, I—’
‘Go!’
‘Ally!’
He groaned, but she heard him following.
Ally took it easy, but was still surprised by how soon he caught up with her. Long legs. He had to be about six foot, and in her flat shoes she was five seven.
When she finally outstripped him, it was close to her maximum comfort speed.
‘You’re sneaky. You’re not out of shape.’ She glanced back at him and came to a halt. He was sweaty and out of breath, making her simultaneously guilty and triumphant.
‘Need to . . . start . . . smaller,’ he panted, as he leaned on a lamp-post. Debbie snoozed in his arms. ‘Going . . . to die.’
‘Why didn’t you stop?!’
‘Wanted . . . to beat you.’
‘Ugh. Male egos.’ She swatted his arm with the back of her hand, pressing harder than was necessary so she could feel the outline of his muscle.
‘Dying,’ he insisted.
‘If you’d been running every day since October, you’d be doing marathons by now. Come on, the station is just around the corner.’
‘No it isn’t.’
‘Well, pretend it is. Ready?’
‘No.’
‘Set.’
‘Ally.’
‘Go!’
‘Oh god.’
She took off again at a slower pace, then began sprinting when the station was in sight. When he caught up she beamed. ‘I win.’
Marcus leaned on the wall and panted. ‘Having . . . heart attack.’
‘Drama queen.’ She punched his shoulder.
‘Debbie . . . slowed me . . . down.’
‘Sore loser. We’ll have a rematch without the dogs.’
He groaned. ‘You’ll kill me.’
‘Not today. Thank you for dinner, and I had a great time doing the painting. I’ll let you know when it’s ready.’