Chapter Thirty
Connor had become quiet and withdrawn on the way home, and Rosie noticed he’d spent most of the time checking his phone and sending messages to people.
She assumed it was friends he had met up with the previous evening, but she didn’t pry.
Nor did she want to ask about Stefania. She knew enough to understand this was part of Connor’s past that he was not comfortable talking about, and she didn’t want to spoil a nice day.
However, any hopes she’d been entertaining of a cosy afternoon at the flat were crushed when Connor announced he had some urgent things to attend to.
She briefly considered going home and changing into her gardening clothes, but she wasn’t in the mood for manual labour today.
She’d let her painted fingernails have one more day of glory.
The following day, Rosie texted Connor in her lunch break to thank him for a lovely evening on Saturday and said she would try and get over one day after work to check on her seeds.
It was now past the middle of March and not only were the days getting warmer, but it stayed light until after six o’clock.
If she left straight from work, she calculated that she could squeeze in an hour in the garden and eat afterwards.
She could even bring everything with her and cook dinner for her and Connor in his kitchen.
Before she could send over this suggestion, his reply appeared.
Sorry, might be a bit busy this week but I want to see you. Important things to talk to you about. Can I take you to dinner on Thursday? No extras this time, just you and me.
Rosie stared at the message. Important things to talk to you about.
What did that mean? Over dinner. Was this…
? She didn’t even want to think the word.
After all, they hadn’t been together that long, and Connor was a celebrity of sorts, plus she was seven years older than him, but Saturday night had felt so right, so perfect.
Even now, just thinking about how he had held her, kissed her and pressed his naked body against hers made her want to instantly rush over to Mickleborough Gardens.
She was going to be sensible. She wasn’t going to jump to conclusions even if it did sound exceptionally romantic. She had given James eight years of her life and he’d turned out to be Mr Unfaithful. She could afford to wait three days for Mr Perfect.