Page 116 of Paper Roses

I nod, sitting back as the waiter places my drink in front of me. I take a sip, relishing the chocolatey goodness, and Jed’s face softens as he watches me, pleasure at my pleasure written all over him.

He lifts his chin and straightens his shoulders. “So,” he says. “Friends?”

“Pardon?”

He fingers the neck of his jumper. The dark cashmere makes his eyes look very green. “You and Dieter?”

“Oh.” I shrug. “Yes, he’s nice.”

The wire of tension in his posture relaxes, and he grins at me. “A gay club?” His eyes suddenly widen with what looks like dread. “Did you get off with anyone?”

“No.”

He lets out a long breath. “Probably best, yes? Get your feet steady first.”

“Yes, you’re right,” I say slowly.

A few men had seemed interested in me at the club, but I didn’t encourage them. I’m hopelessly in love with the man sitting opposite me. Real love, not a fantasy. Jed’s dealt with builders, bricked-up doors, and malfunctioning boilers. He’s taught me to dance and how superb sex can be. We’ve sweated and groaned and climaxed together. My fantasy Jed became wonderfully real in the past few months, and my love for him has only deepened.

Now, as I sit at a respectable distance across from the man I’ve been so intimate with, I wonder what people see when they walk past. A couple of friends, or something else?

“How’s the office?” I ask, unable to hide my longing.

He brightens. “Fine. I put Raff and Joe on a wedding last week.”

“Together?” I ask incredulously.

He chuckles. “I must have had a senior moment.”

“Did it go well?”

“Oddly so, considering their usual disasters.” He pauses. “They all send their love. Everyone misses you.”

Do you?I think, but don’t say it.

His gaze shifts from me to the paper rose and back. “Everyone,” he says with emphasis, and I breath in sharply. “It isn’t the same without you.” He pauses. “But I said I wouldn’t do this now,” he adds firmly. “Tell me something.”

I grin at him. This is my favourite bit of our hour together. During our first meeting, Jed told me a story about his dad—something he’d never done before. Everything I’ve learned about his family has seemed accidental, but this bout of sharing was deliberate, and my heart had warmed from the gift of a piece of him no one else saw. After that first story, he’d asked me to share something as well. We christened the exchanges Tell Me Something, and while we’re apart in the week, I store up things I can tell him.

Today, I tell him more about the gay club and how Dieter split his trousers.

When he laughs, I savour the sound. His eyes twinkle, and his expression makes my heart thud. Then he sits back in his chair and waves a hand at the scene around us. “We have half an hour left. Why choose this café to meet?”

I sit up eagerly. “Ah, we need to walk a block or two, and I’ll show you.”

He nods, signalling for the bill. After he’s paid, he stands and pulls on his black peacoat. He holds out his hand, and I stare at him.

He waggles his fingers. “Hold my hand?” he asks, his voice slightly hoarse.

I stand up and slide my hand into his. It’s so smooth and easy, and I’m painfully aware that lovers hold hands like this. Not friends.

He squeezes my hand as if sensing I might pull away. “Lead on.”

I meet his gaze for a moment and then tug him away from the café. Down the street, we cross the road and begin walking up a slope.

“You have me intrigued,” he says, looking around curiously.

Drawing my attention away from his big fingers curling possessively around my hand, I focus on his comment. “I know you like Berlin, so I thought we could do more exploring.”

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