I know he’s teasing by the tone of his voice, but I wonder could this be him ever so slightly flirting with me?

“I’m free now,” I say.

What the hell brought that on? Five seconds ago, I wanted to get home, eat toast with lashings of peanut butter and have a long bath.

“Perfect,” Scott says. “I was just finishing my last job here. Should I pick you up?”

While chatting at the wedding, we’d discovered that we live in neighbouring suburbs. I’ll admit there’s been a few times when I’ve been at the local supermarket or out walking that I’ve found myself looking around, hoping I might spot him.

The sensible thing to do would be to meet Scott at the restaurant. If he picks me up, he’ll know where I live. Not that it’s a bad thing. I completely trust he’s not a psycho, but still, I need to stay in control of the situation.

“You don’t have to.”

“It’s no problem. I work from home, so I’m close to your place right now anyway.”

If he picks me up, it’ll give me more time to recover, shower, get changed, question what on earth I’m doing. It’s a perfectly logical, sensible idea. I don’t know why I’m making a big deal out of it.

“OK, that would be great. Could you give me an hour? I’m actually still in the taxi from the airport.”

“How about I pick you up at six, then? Give you a bit more time.”

“That would be great.” I reel off my address.

“See you soon. And it’s casual. Nothing fancy.”

“Good. I like nothing fancy.”

Scott laughs. “Yeah, me too.”

I picture his hair flopping over his face and his eyes so dark and penetrating, and my stomach lurches as if I’m still on the plane and it’s dipped its nose forwards to begin a steep descent towards land.

21

“I’m stuffed.” I lean back against the leatherette booth. “I should have stopped eating ten dumplings ago.”

Scott grins and clasps another dumpling with his chopsticks. “It takes stamina, Trish. I’ve been training for years.” He dips the dumpling in the dark soy sauce and puts the whole thing in his mouth in one go. “Not sure I can finish this last plate, though,” he mumbles, his mouth full.

Giggling, I take a sip of water. Scott is on the water too, though he did drink a modest half-pint of beer when we first arrived.

“I love this place,” I say, glancing around at the other small raised booths crammed with happy, chatting customers. “Can’t believe we got a table.”

Scott nods and swallows. “It gets booked up pretty quick. I rang them as soon as I got off the phone with you and was lucky they still had space.”