Page 65 of The Last Kiss

“I do not,” I protest.

He stares at me intently. “I’m interested to know where this firecracker went.”

“Two years ago, I got meningitis. I nearly died.” The words just blurt across the checked tablecloth between us. “It made me think that maybe what they’d said all along was right. Maybe I didn’t take things seriously. Maybe I didn’t strive for the best. Hell, by this point I was fully ensconced at Satire Weekly, a job that was pretty much going nowhere, as I found out yesterday when my boss told me we were going to fold.”

“What! No satire! And I’ve been enjoying my subscription so much.”

“What?” I frown over his side of the table.

He lifts his shoulders and drops them. “I wanted to know what it was all about. Call it an unexpected interest in satirical literature.” His midnight eyes stare at me unabashed.

“You paid for it?” I grin up at him, wanting to get rid of the heaviness that has fallen on our unexpected weekend dalliance. “Wow, I must have been good in bed.”

“Now that I can attest to.” He glances at his leather strapped watch. “Which makes me think. How long until this party?”

“Why?” I bat my eyelashes.

“Because I want you on that sofa and I can’t wait until tonight.

Well, if he puts it like that. I stand and grab my coat, and march for the counter where I pay for the breakfast before he can say otherwise.

“Are you coming?” I call out when I get to the door and he’s still picking up his paper. “Time is of the absolute essence here.”

“Ah, ma petite, you know I don’t like to rush.”

My legs turn to jelly and I can only wonder if I can walk home at all.

By the time we are at Notting Hill and standing outside my sister’s slate-grey front door my legs are still trembling. “What are you so nervous about?” Henri chucks my chin, a smile teasing his mouth.

What am I so nervous about?

“I don’t really know,” I state truthfully. The last couple of hours have been magical, unreal I suppose in many ways. “Who are you when we walk inside there?” I just need clarification on this point.

“You don’t want to introduce me as your lover?” he asks, his finger running down my cheek turning me to a shivering goo.

“Lover?” I can barely say the word, it seems so foreign. It’s an exotic notion to have a lover. Us British girls we have ‘boyfriends’, ‘that bloke I like’, and at a push ‘fuck buddy’.

None of those explain Henri properly.

I shake my head, scattering my confused thoughts. “You’re right. I’m overthinking it. This is just fun, right?”

His lips find mine, warm and sweet. “The very best kind of fun.” Another kiss. “Now can we knock on the door. I want to see the huge bear I bought.”

I laugh into a kiss, unable to pull away from his warmth, the taste he has. We don’t need to worry about knocking because the door pulls open, Liv standing there, her mouth as wide as the Dartford Tunnel. “What on earth?”

“Hi,” I duck my head, “Sorry we’re late.” She’s not staring at me. She’s looking straight at Henri, eyes and mouth wide circles. “And this is my lover.”

What the fuck?!

“No! Oh God, sorry, that’s not what I meant.”

Henri roars a laugh and then steps up towards Liv. “Olivia, I presume? I’ve heard a lot about you.” He holds her arms delicately while he kisses her on both cheeks. “It’s a pleasure. I’m Henri.” His accent seems even thicker if that’s possible and I’m not sure if he’s laying it on just a little.

“Uh.” She has nothing. I know, Liv, he rendered me speechless the first time we met too.

“Are we coming in?” I prompt.

“Sure.” Flustered and adjusting her loose fit sweater, she steps back to allow us in. Henri stoops a little as he ducks through the door. I hold onto the waistband of his jeans and follow behind, needing some anchorage in the moment. Until Liv pulls me back by the elbow. “What the hell?” she hisses. “Who the fuck is that?”