Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Maurizio
Iwas like an anxious father as I paced the room and continued to periodically check through the window to see if Flora had returned home.
She hadn’t. I’d spoken to Sophie and although she was a bit wishy washy initially, when I explained how concerned Rosie was at the idea of Bea’s departure, she agreed that her contact needed to be more frequent and consistent.
She’d committed to getting back to me over the next few days with some concrete dates and times to visit and hopefully take the children overnight to reassure them that although their parents were no longer together, they would always have us both and be our priority.
Unsure what else to do, despite the fact that I had work I could be getting on with, I meandered through to the kitchen and put the kettle on, not that I wanted tea or coffee.
It was from my position standing in the window that I saw headlights coming up the drive.
When the car eventually came to a stop, I saw it was a taxi, one Flora was climbing out of, and then I watched as she dipped back in to kiss Bea and Carrie goodnight.
I liked them both, although I knew Bea better than her friend.
I was transfixed at the sight of Flora in body hugging jeans and a casual sweater as she swayed towards her entrance to the upstairs.
She disappeared briefly from sight, and I wondered if she had fallen, but then she reappeared, her hair slightly dishevelled, as she held her keys in the air as if in victory.
She’d dropped her keys. I laughed at how happy she was to have successfully bent down to retrieve them.
Should I go out? Say hi, invite her in for the tea I didn’t want. She had passed the kitchen now and it was now or never. So, without much in the way of thought, I flung the side door open, almost knocking her over but certainly startling her judging by her jump and shriek.
“Fuck!” she muttered under her breath as one hand went to her chest, as if clutching her hammering heart.
“Sorry. I was just wondering who was creeping around out here.” Had I really come up with that lame excuse for appearing at the back door?
Checking who was there? Well, who else could it be?
Although, my use of the words creeping around might have suggested that I was expecting to find an intruder rather than the most beautiful face that looked back at me. Beautiful, ruffled, and rather tipsy.
“Me,” she whispered then held her hand in the air as she giggled. “I’m creeping around,” she said and blew her wayward hair off her face making it fly up.
I laughed now. She was fucking adorable.
“I have my keys,” she told me proudly, her keys held aloft again.
“You do,” I agreed.
“I’m going home.” She pointed towards her door. “Maurizio.” She giggled again as she uttered my name.
It sounded amazing the way she said it, and every time she said it, I liked it a little more.
“Perhaps you’d like to join me for tea first.” I’d had no intention of doing that, the tea or the invitation, and I couldn’t help thinking it was potentially a bad idea.
“I’d love to.”
With a cheesy grin, I turned my back and prepared to lead her in.
I spun around quickly to say something, but when I did, she was staring at me.
Checking me out. Checking my arse out. Probably due to the alcohol, she didn’t try to offer up any excuses, she just gave another giggle and muttered something about Carrie having a point.
I had no idea what to make of that other than assuming my arse had been a topic of conversation and although my contact with Carrie Caldwell hadn’t been extensive, it appeared that she appreciated my arse, as did Flora, the latter was a fact I appreciated more than the former.
Once she’d shut the kitchen door, I turned to Flora again and put the kettle on. “Sugar?” I felt a sudden determination to remember how she took her drinks.
“Just milk,” she replied on another little giggle. Then with a snort added, “I’m sweet enough.”
I stared at her, not doubting for a second how sweet she was, my mind awash with immoral thoughts of just how sweet she’d taste on my tongue.
The flush that crept up her cheeks suggested that she was either embarrassed by her own words or was aware of the thoughts in my head.
I quickly returned to the tea making and grabbed a couple of cups and added teabags.
We sat in the lounge with our tea made and for a couple of moments, silence surrounded us.
I wasn’t sure that it wouldn’t turn awkward as giggly, tipsy Flora disappeared.
Suddenly, she was replaced with a quietly confident version of herself who was a sight to behold.
Buoyed by alcohol but relaxed enough to chat freely, she led the conversation.
“If you could see one artist, dead or alive, in concert, who would it be?” She leaned forward, waiting for my response.
“The King.”
“Michael Jackson?”
I did nothing to hide my horror. “Michael Jackson is not The King. Elvis Presley.”
“I’m sure Michael Jackson is considered The King of Pop,” she replied, total faith in what she was saying.
“Maybe. But I am talking The King of Rock ‘n’ Roll. What about you?”
“Abba. The greatest pop band in the world. Like did they ever have a bad song?” She didn’t come up for breath, answering her own question. “No, they didn’t. Banger after banger.”
A smile curled my lips at her sheer enthusiasm and confidence of this woman, even if alcohol was still facilitating this. “Favourite film?”
“That’s tough one. Depends. Nothing where an animal dies, nor where the girl gets her heart broken and no dead parents.
” She choked on the last two words. “Why do kids animations always kill the parents?” She sniffed back tears and in the blink of an eye shouted out as if she’d just won a prize. “Dirty Dancing. What about you?”
I shrugged. She was right, it was a tough one. “Not Dirty Dancing.”
She pulled a face and bobbed her tongue out.
I liked sassy Flora. “Maybe The Godfather, or Heat with De Niro and Pacino.
Flora grinned at me. “Are you really a barrister or are you on the other side of the law? A bad boy?”
The way she almost whispered those two words, her voice turning husky before she licked her lips gave me ideas on just how bad I could be with her.
“Depends. Do you like a bad boy?”
“Depends.” She flushed as she repeated my own word. “On the boy.”
“Boy or man?”
“Man.”
We both jumped when my phone sounded with a message from my brother. A message I had no intention of responding to.
The interruption had been enough to move her away from the path we were previously on. One I imagined being paved with me telling her exactly how bad I could be for the right woman.
“If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”
Her. That was the initial reply that I contained in my mind. I wondered if she’d remember this tomorrow and if she did, would she regret it. I knew that if she didn’t remember it, I would be the one with regrets.
“Come on, one food?” She repeated making me laugh again, something I’d been doing a lot more of since this woman entered my home and my life.