Page 16 of Someone Like You

He was nervous and couldn’t understand why. Everything was in check: he was as polished as he could get, had thetiramisuSandra had kindly made for him, and a nice composition of flowers for Abigail.

The West End address he punched into his phone led him to an elegant residential area Ian couldn’t have afforded if he worked around the clock. He was lucky enough to find a parking spot right in front of number 9 of Fairlie Park Drive at 7 PM sharp. The place had a brand new Georgian door painted dark green and plump hydrangea bushes filling the flowerbeds at the sides of it; the glossy brass plaque on the wall read:‘A. Carswell, P. J. Hanson’.

Ian rang. Seconds later, the door nearly burst open.

“Ian! It’s so lovely to finally meet you! I’m Abby!”

A step back was required for Ian to be able to look the woman in the eye as she shook his hand with a staggeringly powerful grip. She was exactly how Phil had described her: petite, beautiful, and blooming with life.

“Wow.” Bright dark eyes examined Ian head to toe. “Phil wasn’t kidding when he said you’re aunit.”

Ian had never been this close to blushing. He blamed it on Abigail’s candid honesty taking him aback.A unit. Very pleased with himself, he wondered if those had been Phil’s textual words.

He handed Abigail the flowers. She was so small that for a second she disappeared completely behind them.

“Oh, they’re beautiful!” She beamed up at him. “You didn’t have to! Come on in!”

A small hand beckoned Ian inside, to a mouth-watering smell that swept away any remaining doubt about this invitation. Good food was always an unregrettable choice.

“I was starting to think you didn’t exist!” said Abigail as she briskly led the way to the kitchen. Phil was by the sink; he turned around when he heard them walk in, the white t-shirt stretching across the wide shoulders. A lopsided smirk stretched his lips.

“Where aremyflowers?”

“My bad. I’ll remember next time.” Ian placed the bag with the dessert on the island. “This one needs to go in the fridge.”

Abigail pulled a vase from a cabinet and padded out of the room. “Phil, offer him a drink while I find a place for these gorgeous flowers!”

Phil popped the tiramisu into the fridge. He looked good in his casual clothes and his hair neatly slicked back, but not better than he did with a hoodie and messy hair. After folding the plastic bag with millimetric precision, he cast Ian a gleeful look.

“You clean up nice.”

“I know.”

“Son of a bitch,” Phil tittered under his breath.

“You, too,” Ian noted. “Clean up nice.”

It was a shameless understatement.

Phil’s beard, which had been unkempt since they’d met, was finely trimmed, short enough to reveal the pale skin beneath and a sharp jawline. His hair was shorter, too, with an undercut that suited his fine features. If he was attractive before, now he looked straight-up dashing.

Ian gulped, but his mouth was dry. The kitchen was hot and way too small for his taste. He shrugged off his jacket and draped it on the back of the closest chair, pushing the pullover’s sleeves up to his elbows. It didn’t do much.

“Yeah, it’s a little too hot in here.” Phil went to open the window above the sink. “Want something fresh? Wine? Beer?”

“Water.”

Phil looked gobsmacked, but still got Ian the water he’d asked for. He even threw a couple of ice cubes and a slice of lemon in it.

“Show-off.”

“Peasant.”

Ian took the glass from Phil’s hand but forgot about it the moment he met Phil’s gaze. The softness in it caused his brain to short-circuit. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. A rawwantpunched him, filling him with an unsettling mix of euphoria and sadness. He had to set the glass down, afraid he might crush it for how tightly he was holding it, but kept his hand around it, because he didn’t trust himself to leave his hands unoccupied. Phil was too close, and his closeness tootempting.

“What a sight for sore eyes!”

Ian and Phil jumped. Abigail was on the doorway, wearing a giant smile, and suddenly they weren’t close any more, but three feet apart and staring at the ground. Fortunately, Abigail’s contagious liveliness wiped away the lingering tension in less than a second. The oven bleeped and she rushed to it to take out a fragrant casserole oflasagnethat could have fed a family of six.

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