Page 36 of Ice To Meet You

I glanced at Claudette. She was still curled up in my jacket,oblivious to my fashion—and potential frostbite—emergency. I didn’t have the heart to disturb her.

“It’s dark outside. I’m happy to take my chances. I’ve been told before that I can wear most colours.” I tucked my arms into the sleeves and pulled the cardigan around my body.

Esmé stood by her desk, hands on her hips, lips quivering at the corners. She looked me up and down. “It’s certainly a ‘look.’”

I dropped my mouth open. “I’m surprised at you. As an art connoisseur, you of all people should be able to recognise this cardigan’s aesthetic charm.” I turned around, examining my reflection in the window. “As long as nobody confuses me with aSesame Streetcharacter, I’ll be fine.”

Esmé grinned, and the angels sang a chorus somewhere in heaven. In that moment, she looked utterly beautiful, and it was all I could do to stop myself from kissing the end of her little turned-up nose. “I think I’m all set. I’ll get out of your hair.”

She turned and led me towards the door, un-slipping the chain and resting her hand on the handle.

I stopped at the step, leaning against the wall. “Bruno seemed nice. A little loud, with terrible taste in suits, but nice. Though I don’t think he was quite your type.” Was I being obvious? Did Esmé know I was fishing for her opinion of Lola’s friend? And perhaps her opinion on me?

She smiled, chuckling under her breath. “Bruno was very ‘nice’, but I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.”

My pulse kicked up in my chest. I reached for the door handle, but instead I gently brushed the back of my hand over Esmé’s. Her eyes widened for a moment before her cheeks fired pink.

“I’m glad,” I said. “Goodnight, boss.”

With a final wink, I stepped into the night, draped in Esmé’s pink fluffy cardigan.

She didn’t say a word; just watched me go with her large brown eyes.

“Sleep well,” I said over my shoulder.

The fresh air in the square hit me immediately, and I pulled in a breath. I didn’t want to leave—quite the opposite—but staying would only play havoc with my peace of mind. I had to keep my cool and not rock Esmé’s boat—or my own. We both had too much to lose. She, her reputation, and me, my focus.

I listened out but didn’t hear the door close behind me—didn’t hear her draw the chain across the lock. Was she still standing there watching me? I shook my head in the dark.

No matter how badly I wanted to, I couldn’t look back. If I did and found Esmé staring at me, I’d stop walking. I’d turn back and kiss her. Run my hands through her hair and pull her hard against me. I’d cross a line from which there was no return, and the thought terrified me.

12

ESMÉ

The next morning, bright and early—just like clockwork—I found Matteo waiting on the gallery doorstep. And like every other day for the past week and a half, he arrived with strong coffee and pastries.

Claudette faithfully trailed at his heels. She’d taken to arriving with him and then staying all day, rarely leaving his or my side. It was like we’d formed a weird mutual appreciation society.

I doubt he felt too appreciated last night, though, when she’d claimed his jacket for all of cat-kind. She’d covered it in a blanket of white fur. I’d tried to remove as much as possible, but even my best intentions and a roll of sticky tape barely made a dent.

And now he stood on the step, as if the late-night wine and the way he’d set my pulse racing had never happened.

Today, he carried my pink cardigan over his arm and a smirk on his lips. “Good morning, boss,” he said, running his eyes over my face. “I have something to return.” Matteo lifted my knitwear. “I thought I’d give it back before I got too attached. Like I said last night, the colour really suits me.”

I stifled a laugh. Matteo had a way of brightening my mornings. "It does give you a glow. You know, I could give you your own key to the gallery—then you could borrow it anytime you like."

Matteo grinned. “Today, my own key. Tomorrow, the world!”

As he wandered in, he put my cardigan on my desk, then moved to the back of the gallery to turn on the coffee machine. He knew I needed a second cup straight after my morning takeaway order.

I picked up my knitwear, and the faint scent of Matteo’s cologne filled my senses—the same pine and apple mix I looked forward to each day. I smiled, breathing him in. But before I could enjoy the moment, a voice grated through the air behind me.

“What’s that old thing doing here? It’s hideous.”

I whipped around to see Lola and my face heated. I bundled the pink monstrosity onto my desk.

“Morning. How was your night?” Judging from the sneer on her face, the answer was “pretty average.” If Matteo had spent his time here with me instead of partying with her, I suspected she was thoroughly disappointed.

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