11. Kate
Chapter Eleven
Kate
His Southfields flat was modern and stylish in that slightly impersonal way that screamed temporary. Sleek furniture. Neutral tones. A few tennis rackets leaning by the door like they were just visiting. Sports bags stacked neatly in the corner, like it was waiting for its real owner to come home.
He’d told me over dinner that he split his time between London and Australia, living mostly out of a suitcase with brutal schedules and constant travel.
No roots. I should’ve taken that as a red flag.
But right now, it just made him seem more human.
Like someone trying to build something solid in a world that kept moving. I could empathise with that.
“Make yourself at home,” he said, flicking on the kettle like it was second nature.
I slipped off my jacket, draped it over a chair, and leaned on the breakfast bar, eyes roaming the space while he moved around the kitchen.
Cupboards open. Mugs clinking around, like he was determined to give me the perfect one.
He looked good like that. Human. At ease.
Not the shiny tennis player from earlier.
Then I caught myself staring just a little too long, watching the flex of his forearms as he reached up, the way his jeans fit over his arse a little too well. My teeth grazed the corner of my lip before I even realised it.
“Milk?” His voice cut through my…completely innocent thoughts.
“Huh?” Heat rushed to my cheeks. Definitely caught.
He smirked. “Do you want milk in your tea?”
“Oh. Yeah. Please.” I cleared my throat, trying not to look like I’d been mentally undressing him.
There was a moment. Maybe two. Or maybe it just felt longer because I was suddenly aware of the little stretch of age between us. He didn’t know it yet, but part of me braced for that moment. For the flicker of uncertainty in someone’s eyes when they realised you weren’t a twenty-something anymore.
“How old are you, Jordan?” I asked before I could talk myself out of it.
He turned slightly, his grin curling. “Thirty. Why? You trying to judge if you’re into older men?”
I cocked my head. Older? Surely he was joking. “How old do you think I am, Jordan?”
He poured milk into both mugs, casual. “Dunno…twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
The scandal must’ve been written all over my face, because he froze mid-stir.
“What?…Shit. Was I wrong?”
I took the mug and raised my brows. “I’m thirty-bloody-four.”
His eyes widened. “That’s not…you don’t…”
“Look it?” I sipped my tea, feigning offence. “Go on, say it.”
He laughed, hands up. “That’s exactly what I was going to say.”
I smirked behind the rim. “Oh God, I’ve been outsmarted by a boy with very good hair.”
“Hey, I’m a proper adult, I’ll have you know. I pay taxes and everything.”
That dragged a real laugh out of me, one that I hadn’t heard from myself in longer than I cared to admit. When I met his gaze again, there was something more sincere there.
“Well,” he said, still watching me, “if it makes you feel better, I’m clearly into older women.”
“Of course you are. It’s the trauma that makes us irresistible.”
“It’s the terrifying capability, actually. Anyway…you’re only four years older, hardly a twenty-year gap.”
“You’re not wrong.” I smiled, reassured by the way he was looking at me. Clearly not put off by the age gap between us.
At some point, we’d migrated to the sofa, his arm draped across the backrest, close enough that the warmth skimmed my shoulders. Suddenly, my tea felt unnecessary when the air between us was so hot.
“This is gonna sound weird,” he said, glancing down at his mug like the words were hiding in there somewhere.
“Now I have to hear it,” I replied.
He smiled. “I’ve done this before. I mean, dated, flings and all that. But it’s never been like this.” He hesitated. “It’s just…easy with you. Too easy, almost. Like I’ve known you longer than a few hours.”
The honesty in his voice made something in my heart squeeze. “It doesn’t sound stupid,” I said gently. “Feels the same for me.”
His eyes stayed on mine. “Not supposed to be this easy, right?”
“Maybe. Or maybe we just don’t let things be easy enough.”
The air between us thickened, and I could feel that pull, the slow drift toward a feeling I didn’t want to say out loud yet.
He cleared his throat, like he needed to kick the moment sideways. “Alright, your turn. Embarrass yourself so I don’t feel like the only one getting deep tonight.”
I groaned. “Oh God…”
He grinned. “C’mon. Hit me with something good.”
“Fine.” I set my mug down. “Let me think…Okay, Gwen and I went to a spa once. I’d bought this new bikini, felt like something special in it. Got into the rooftop hot tub, leaned back, felt smug…and accidentally hit one of the jets.”
He raised a brow. “And?”
“It fired directly at the clasp of my bikini top. Thing flew off across the water right as the waiter arrived with our drinks.”
He burst into laughter. “No way.”
“Oh yes. Gwen nearly drowned laughing.”
“Lucky waiter.”
I sniffed with mock hurt. “And yet here I am, eternally single.”
His smile softened, eyes holding mine just a fraction longer than he needed to, shifted closer. “That’s their loss.”
And I knew if he leaned in, I wasn’t about to ruin it with common sense.