Page 111 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually
Sean picked up the knife and turned toward me. As I looked up at him I noticed his eyes glisten under the bright kitchen spotlights. “I do wish you’d chop those onions under water like I said, Scarlett,” he said brusquely, hastily turning his face away. “They play havoc with my eyes.”
I didn’t like to point out I’d actually finished chopping the onions ten minutes ago and I was now well into the mushrooms and carrots.
“So everything’s going well, then?” Sean asked, when I’d finished my story and he was fully up to date.
“Yes. That’s partly what tonight is all about, so Mum can meet some of my friends—well, most of them. Maddie and Felix are still away on their honeymoon.”
Sean was silent. He pretended to concentrate hard on something in the recipe book.
“Look, why don’t you stay for dinner tonight too, Sean?” I suggested, putting down the casserole dish I was carrying. “After all, you’ve practically cooked the meal yourself.”
“But won’t it throw your numbers out?” he asked, turning his gaze from the book toward me.
I shook my head. “No, there were only five of us anyway; six will make it look much neater.”
“Who’s the five?”
“Me, obviously, and Mum. Then there’s Oscar, Ursula, and David.”
I saw Sean’s shoulders tighten when I mentioned David’s name.
“David’s coming?”
“Yes, Mum wanted to meet him.”
“I see.”
“But I’m sure she’d love to meet you too, Sean,” I said hurriedly. “She’s heard all about you from me.”
“Has she?” Sean asked keenly, his eyes bright with anticipation.
“Yeah, I told her all about how you helped me search for her.”
“Oh, right.” Sean turned back to the book again.
“Please stay, Sean,” I said, walking across the kitchen toward him. “This is an important night for me. I’d like you to be here.” I touched him gently on the shoulder.
“Of course I’ll stay, Scarlett,” he said, turning to face me again. “If that’s what you’d like?”
“I would, Sean—yes.”
As we stood silently staring at each other, I had to fight the urge to reach out and wipe away the small beads of sweat that had formed on Sean’s brow. Because if I did so, I knew my fingers would want to continue to trace a line along his nose to his mouth, where they would pause, and I would slowly replace my fingers with my lips…
There was a sizzling sound. It took me a few seconds to realize it wasn’t coming from me.
“Sean, the sauce!”
Sean spun round to see red wine sauce bubbling over the side of the saucepan on to the hob. “Damn, it’s not supposed to boil,” he cursed, hoisting the saucepan aloft. “I’ll have to start again now.”
Hurriedly we returned to our kitchen duties, and all sizzling—of any kind—was momentarily forgotten.
Thirty-Two
“You know what’s just occurred to me, Sean,” I said a little later when things were back under control again. “You could be Mark Darcy standing there cooking in my kitchen.”
“I don’t think Mr. Darcy cooked, did he?” Sean said, looking puzzled. “Not in the Jane Austen I’ve read anyway—he would have had staff to do that for him.”
“No—not Mr. Darcy fromPrideandPrejudice. Mark Darcy fromBridgetJones!”
