‘Pineapple upside-down cake!’ Nan calls, walking in proudly with a silver platter in her hands. She places it in the middle of the table and everyone cranes their necks over, admiring the masterpiece. ‘This is my best to date. Would you like to try some of my pineapple upside-down cake, Miller?’ she asks.
‘I would love to, Mrs Taylor.’
‘It’s so good you’ll inhale it in a second,’ I say casually, picking up my spoon and flicking my eyes to Miller. He takes the bowl from Nan when she hands it over the table and places it down before turning it a few millimetres clockwise.
‘I’ve no doubt I will.’ He doesn’t look at me and he doesn’t begin eating. He waits politely for Nan to serve everyone else before she takes a seat and picks up her spoon. His manners won’t allow him to fulfil his suggestion to eat quickly either. He just can’t help himself.
His spoon is lifted and sunk into the cake, breaking a piece away. Then he scoops it up with ultimate precision and pops it in his mouth. My eyes make the journey, following his spoon from his bowl to his lips, my own spoon hovering in front of me. His whole being is a ridiculously strong magnet to my eyes and I’m beginning to give up trying to resist him. It seems my eyes are craving him as much as my body.
‘Are you okay?’ he asks, studying me staring at him as he takes another bite. Not even his awareness to my shameless gawking deters me.
‘Yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking that I’ve never seen anyone eat one of my grandmother’s cakes so slowly.’ I’m shocked by my suggestive observation and Miller coughing, his hand flying to his mouth, is an indication that he is, too. I’m glad. I have a feeling that I’ll need to match his poise if I’m devoting another sixteen hours to him, so I may as well start now.
‘Are you okay?’ Nan’s concerned voice hits my ears. I’m sure her old face will display concern, too, but I won’t look to confirm it because seeing Miller flustered is too much of a novelty to miss any of it.
He finishes chewing, sets his spoon down and wipes his mouth. ‘I apologise.’ He picks up his glass and gazes over to me, lifting it to his lips. ‘Beautiful things should be savoured, Livy, not rushed.’ He sips his wine, and I feel his foot brush up my leg under the table. I shock myself further by flashing him a secret smile and remaining composed.
‘It really is beautiful, Nan.’ I mimic Miller and take a mouthful, chewing slowly, swallowing slowly, then licking my lips slowly. And I know my unabashed string of actions have had the desired effect because my skin is being singed by his blue glare. ‘Did you enjoy it, George?’
‘Did I ever!’ He leans back in his chair and rubs his belly on a satisfied huff of air. ‘I may need to undo my top button.’
‘George!’ Nan hisses, reaching over and slapping his arm. ‘We’re at the dinner table.’
‘Never usually bothers you,’ he grumbles.
‘Yes, well, we have a guest.’
‘This is your home, Mrs Taylor,’ Miller interjects. ‘And I’m privileged to be welcomed into it. That was the best beef Wellington I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting.’
‘Oh.’ Nan waves a dismissive hand over the table. ‘You’re too kind, Miller.’
He’s a brown-noser, that’s what he is. ‘Better than my coffee?’ I’m throwing innuendos all over the place, but I simply cannot help it.
‘Your coffee was like nothing I’ve tasted before,’ he retorts softly, raising his eyebrows at me. ‘I hope you’ll have one ready for me tomorrow around noon when I’m passing.’
I shake my head on an amused smile, enjoying our private exchange. ‘Americano, four shots, two sugars and topped up halfway.’
‘I look forward to it.’ He gives me a hint of the smile I long to see again, the one I’ve seen only a few times since I’ve known him. ‘Mrs Taylor, would you object if I were to ask Olivia to join me for drinks at my home?’
I’m staggered by his confidence, and why didn’t he ask me? My grandmother wouldn’t say no, anyway. No, she’ll probably try desperately to find a silk negligee in my underwear drawer to stuff into my bag on my way out. She’ll be looking in vain.
‘I’d love to,’ I answer, halting the potential of the decision being made for me. I’m a grown woman. I make my own decisions. I’m the master of my own destiny.
‘How very chivalrous of you to ask.’ Nan’s excitement is clear but a bit of a gut wrench. She’s building hopes on the basis of what very little she knows of the man sitting at her table. The whole story would put her in an early grave. ‘We’ll clear up and you two go and have fun!’
My chair is being pulled out from behind me before I can drop my spoon, and I’m on my feet, being directed towards Nan and George’s end of the table without delay. ‘Mrs Taylor, thank you.’
‘Not at all!’ She stands and lets Miller peck each of her cheeks while she widens her eyes at me. ‘It’s been a wonderful evening.’
‘I concur,’ he says, holding his spare hand out to George. ‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, George.’
‘Yes.’ George is on his feet, taking position beside Nan and the opportunity, while she’s in such a good mood, to slip his arm around her waist. ‘Lovely evening.’ He takes Miller’s hand.
I’m silently begging them to hurry with the polite exchanges. Dinner has been a painfully long process of secret, suggestive remarks and sneaky touches. The pent-up lust in me is both unfamiliar and quite unsettling, but the overwhelming need to release it all is blocking any intelligence that I have, and I have lots of intelligence to block. I’m a smart woman . . . except when Miller is around.
I feel the soothing kneading of his fingers into my nape, completely obliterating that intelligence. I’m not going to try and find it because it’s long gone, leaving me vulnerable and desperate.