Page 100 of One Night With You

‘Come in, monsieur,’ I say, unsure why I’ve pulled out a ‘monsieur’. ‘I’ve got the champagne on ice.’

It isn’t champagne, it’s cava, and it isn’t on ice but rather in the lettuce drawer of the fridge, because that felt coldest. I’ve washed my hair and took almost an hour to do my make-up in a way that looks like I’m not wearing any at all. It feels strangely like a first date – I’ve got those same nerves, gurgles in my tummy, and I can tell he’s made the effort as well. He’s in a shirt and jumper with jeans, and exactly like the first time we met he insists on taking off his trainers after he hangs up his coat. But there’s an element of goodbye to the evening too: I feel like we’re two protagonists in a season finale of a Emmy-award-winning show.

‘This is nice,’ he compliments, taking in the vibe of the room. I’ve lit some tealights and got music on, put some crisps in a bowl. I agonised for ages about snacks – it seems so grand to decant Morrisons Mature Cheddar family pack as if I’m entertaining the neighbours over a friendly game of bridge, but he’d already buzzed in downstairs before I could change my mind.

‘I figured you’re worth it,’ I say, shrugging.

‘I am,’ he replies, and the edge to his voice is perilously close to flirtatious.

We pour the drinks and nibble at the sliced cheese and he makes a prawn jambalaya.

‘You’re looking good,’ he says, covering the rice to let itcook and turning to take a breath in between cooking steps. ‘If I’m allowed to say that.’

‘You’re allowed,’ I say, from my perch on the dining room table where I’ve got my feet up on a chair. ‘You look good too,’ I add. ‘Sort of, at peace.’

‘Yeah.’ He nods, taking a big gulp from his glass. ‘I’m happy.’

‘Good,’ I say. ‘I’m happy you’re happy.’

He looks at me, goes to say something, and then changes his mind.

‘What?’ I press.

‘I was just thinking that this is nice. I like being in your kitchen. I like you watching me cook.’

‘Well, I can wholeheartedly say I like being cookedfor, so this is some good teamwork.’

‘I cook, everyone else eats. Got it.’

‘I can set the table, though,’ I say, hopping down to hunt down some cutlery.

I have to lean across him to open a drawer for the forks and as I do so he says, ‘You smell like you.’ He says it softly. Quietly. It makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle with something close to desire. I can feel his eyes on me, waiting for my reaction.

‘Don’t,’ I say, stepping away from him.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I didn’t mean to …’ He shakes his head. ‘That’s a lie, actually. I did mean to. I don’t know how to be around you as your friend, Ruby. I’m trying, but shit, look at you. Your hair and your eyes and your smile and your stupid jokes and inability to use a piece of furniture properly. I can go, if you want. I don’t mean to mess you around.’

‘So don’t mess me around,’ I say, clear as day.

He looks up.

I move my shoulders up and down as if to say,It’s really that simple, dude.

‘What does that mean?’ he says.

‘I don’t know.’ I sigh.

‘Come here,’ he says, reaching out a hand and pulling me towards him.

We’re interrupted by my phone: it’s Harry, waiting to be let in via the buzzer, with Beau, JP and William in tow too. I free myself from my Nick-induced trance and hit the buzzer, opening the front door onto the third-floor corridor where I can hear the lift grumbling.

‘Where is he!’ Harry says, as way of greeting.

We eat, we chat, we drink a little bit of the wine Beau has brought after toasting to completing the project with the champagne. I don’t remember much. Nic keeps looking at me when I’m talking, and when he’s talking I keep stealing glances at him, and so it all feels like a giant prelude to the inevitable. JP announces that we’re idiots not to be together, and it makes us both laugh, and as everyone else says their goodbyes Nic doesn’t make a move to leave, and I don’t expect him to.

‘That was cool,’ he says, when we close the front door and hear the lift take them back down.

‘It was,’ I say. ‘I’m glad you’ve been able to meet everyone.’

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