“I know what you mean. I haven’t exactly had time to date either.”

“I can’t imagine there’s anywhere to go for fancy candlelit meals in a war zone.”

He nodded. “You’re right there. Plus here in London, I’ve been so busy with this latest project. I’ve found it’s taken up a lot of brain space, and when I get like that I’m just so…”

“Focused?”

“Yes, that’s the word. Focused. It’s all I think about, day and night. I’ve got to get it done and get it done right. It’s consuming.”

“Because you’re a perfectionist.”

“Yes.”

“It’s a trait that is both a blessing and a curse. I’m like that with my shoes, they have to be perfect of course, but then there is the box, the after service, the website, the branding and marketing. If any of it isn’t absolutely spot-on, I just can’t rest.”

“Which is what makes it a successful business. But it can be exhausting being a perfectionist.”

“Exactly. Sometimes, if I add up the hours I’ve worked in a week, I shock myself.”

“Well in that case you do need an assistant. And the sooner the better.”

“Yes. I’m going to make it a priority. Get another desk and chair in my office, computer too, and delegate some of the more mundane tasks.”

He nodded and pressed his lips together.

Megan wondered if he was thinking about her desk. How he’d lifted her onto it the night before and kissed her.

“Here we are, my young lovers.” Rosseta set down a basket of bread and a terracotta bowl full of dark green olives.

Lovers.

Megan glanced away.

They so nearly had been.

They still might be.

Her stomach did a roll of excitement and she was aware of her heart thudding in her chest. “So what,” she said, reaching for a piece of bread and hoping her cheeks hadn’t flushed, “is next on the agenda for you? You said you’d nearly finished this project.”

“Yes, shouldn’t be much longer on it, only a matter of days. Then I’ll go back to the studios, hopefully take a bit of a break if there is nothing I need to fill in for then start on something new.”

“Do you know what yet?”

“Not exactly but I have a few ideas. I have to submit them to the board with all the details, approximate delivery time, cost and all that, and see if they go for it.”

“Not Afghanistan again?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not Afghanistan.”

Megan couldn’t help a sigh of relief. She knew these programmes were important and had to be made, but not by James. Not by her James.

Her James.

Where the hell had that come from?