Chapter 17 #2
‘Let’s have coffee and cake inside,’ Mark said, standing and starting to clear the table, ‘and we can discuss the book.’
‘I’ll just ring my mother first,’ Claire said.
Claire went to her bedroom to make the call while Mark loaded the dishwasher.
When she came back into the living room, he was sitting at the table waiting for her with the promised coffee and cake, and a large pile of manuscripts in front of him.
When she joined him at the table, she was alarmed to see it was printouts of her blog.
She had to will herself not to blush as he calmly leafed through some of her raunchiest posts, discussing the different ways the book might be organised, chronologically or according to topic.
‘This cake is delicious. I’m impressed.’ A man who baked was a definite plus, Claire thought – and she was glad of the sugar to calm her nerves. She had to remind herself she was supposed to be the ballsy girl who had done all this stuff, and force herself to act casually.
‘I thought maybe it could be arranged episodically,’ Mark said, ‘but obviously with regular characters and a constant theme running through it – a bit like Sex and the City. The book, not the show.’
‘Right.’
‘So I think maybe you need to write some extra material to give it more cohesion. I also think it needs some sort of conclusion. Maybe you should end up with one of these guys.’
‘Who would you suggest?’
‘You know, I always kind of thought you’d end up with Mr Bossy.’
‘Really?’ She gulped.
‘He seemed like the one you were always drawn back to. But that was before I met you, of course. Now that I know you, he doesn’t really seem your type.’
‘I could still write it that way – it doesn’t have to be true.’ It could be fun to do, she thought. She had always enjoyed writing about Mr Bossy.
‘Or how about Mr Strange? You had something pretty solid going with him.’
‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘The clue is in his name.’
‘Can I ask you something?’ he said, his tone wary.
‘Yeah.’
‘This guy you’ve been writing about recently – the Artist. Is he real?’
‘Oh.’ Claire thought quickly. But she had no reason to lie. It was almost a relief that there was something in her blog that was at least partly true, and it wasn’t as if Mark expected her to be celibate – quite the opposite. ‘Yes, he’s real,’ she said.
‘And he’s around at the moment?’
‘Um… yeah, that part is true. I’ve been… seeing him lately.’ She blushed.
‘Well… maybe you’ll end up with him.’
‘Oh no,’ she said quickly. ‘He’s not boyfriend material.’
‘Right.’ Something like relief passed across Mark’s face. ‘Well, you could always meet someone new,’ he said, looking at her meaningfully.
‘Do you have anyone particular in mind?’
He smiled. ‘Call him Mr Right.’
‘And what would Mr Right be like?’ she asked.
‘Oh, I don’t know. Decent guy, likes cats. Makes a mean lemon drizzle cake, world-famous nachos…’
She laughed. ‘It would be a good way of wrapping up the blog, I guess. Because I wouldn’t want to tell everyone what Mr Right and I were doing. It’d be private.’
‘Do you plan to stop writing the blog?’
‘I think it’s run its course. I’m almost out of stuff to write about. Maybe it’s time to give NiceGirl her happy-ever-after and let her walk off into the sunset.’
‘Well, you might want to consider the timing of that. Publication is scheduled for next spring…’
Next spring sounded so far away. Claire wondered what her life would be like then. Would she be with Mark? Could he really be her Mr Right?
Claire had tried to sex up her wardrobe a bit for her visit, but she was glad she hadn’t strayed too far out of her comfort zone as she dressed for dinner that night.
She was nervous enough as it was. She felt like she was going on a first date.
But her little lace shift dress was a happy compromise – sexy, but not so blatant that it made her uncomfortable.
The restaurant was a cosy little neighbourhood bistro, where Mark was obviously well-known, and she relaxed as they chatted over the delicious food and wine.
She wondered what date they were on now as she sipped coffee.
This definitely felt like a date, but she wasn’t sure if last night counted – or did the whole weekend count as one?
It was on the tip of her tongue to ask Mark, but then she remembered what Yvonne had said: ‘We have all the power.’ It was her rule, so it was up to her to decide what counted.
She didn’t want things to move too fast – she still had a lot to learn.
‘Well, this definitely feels like a date,’ she said lightly. ‘But I don’t think I can count the cemetery – lovely as it was.’
Mark smiled. ‘What about last night?’
‘A night in?’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘That’s what old married couples do, so I don’t think I can count it.’
‘Even a night in with world-famous nachos?’
‘Even then. Sorry.’
‘Damn,’ he said, but he didn’t seem put out.
Claire suddenly felt like she really did have all the power, and it felt nice.
Mark took her hand as they walked the short distance back to his flat.
‘Nightcap?’ he offered, when they were inside.
‘Yes, please.’
He poured them both some Amaretto and they sat side by side on the sofa.
‘Well, here’s to second dates,’ he said, clinking his glass with hers, but instead of drinking, he leant in and kissed her.
At least kissing was something she knew how to do, so Claire put her free arm around his neck and kissed him back enthusiastically.
His lips felt warm and soft, and he was a good kisser.
His eyes were dark as he pulled away. They both took a sip of their drinks, then simultaneously placed their glasses on the coffee table and started kissing again, sweet, almond-flavoured kisses.
She recognised the almost imperceptible shift, like a gear change, when Mark’s breathing deepened and things became more heated.
This was the point where Luca would start pulling at her clothes, when his hands would become urgent on her body, and she would get impatient for the feel of his skin against hers.
Her hand reached out instinctively to unbutton Mark’s shirt, but she stopped herself, instead placing it firmly on his chest and moving away.
Mark sighed as he sat back and picked up his drink again.
He smiled at her lazily, his eyes on her lips, then tossed back the rest of his Amaretto.
‘Time for bed, I think,’ he said ruefully, and just for a moment Claire wished she was going with him.
But it was too soon. Instead, she went to bed alone, slightly frustrated and feeling guilty for wishing Luca was there to finish what Mark had started.