Page 40 of The Love of Our Lives
‘Well, it’s your birthday,’ Adam says, ‘another year on this planet, and I think that’s worth celebrating, Emily.’
I take a breath, unsure what to say, but a second later he pulls one of the chairs out from the table, ushers for me to sit. After he’s sat down himself, he pulls the champagne bottle from the bucket with a shuffling of ice.
‘Not entirely sure we needed the ice out here tonight,’ he says, pouring me a glass. ‘Are you warm enough?’
‘I’m very warm right now,’ I say, truly meaning it. With the heater on beside me and the blanket across my lap now, I feel perfectly cocooned.
‘To you, Emily, and your new life,’ Adam says, and lifts his glass to mine.
I kiss my glass gently against his, the bubbles leaping to the top as I do so.
‘Thank you, Adam,’ I say, and think how handsome he looks, how insanely attracted to him I am. My heart is racing.
I take a quick sip, before nodding at the closed plates. ‘Please tell me Sven’s made his pizza.’
‘Not tonight, I’m afraid,’ he admits. ‘I got him to do something a little fancier for the occasion. Take a look.’
Shaking my head in mock disappointment, I lift the top, and immediately grin. Because there on the plate is the most delicious-looking cannelloni, still piping hot, steam rising off it. It’s coated in some sort of rich, red sauce, a shimmer of Parmesan on the top.
‘Oh wow,’ I say softly, recalling the little Italian we went to, how much I loved the food.
And he remembered it all.
‘I’d suggest eating it pretty fast, given the climate in our restaurant,’ Adam says pointing at the sky. ‘And on that note, I should probably also have worn a warmer coat than this number,’ he says, nodding at his jacket.
‘It’s very smart.’ I smile, touched at the effort.
‘And vaguely ridiculous?’ he says, raising one eyebrow, and we both start laughing.
Relaxing a little, we set the napkins Charlie clearly crafted for us to the side, and tuck into the food, immediately getting lost in conversation about our days: I tell him I tried knocking at William’s door, just to say hello, but he told me to bugger off again. Adam suggests leaving a cake at the door next time, and I think I just might. Then I fill him in about the photos I took at Calton Hill, and he talks about the finished suite of furniture for the client up north, which he’s dropping off in his van tomorrow.
‘You’re welcome to come along with me if you like?’ he says, his eyes flicking to mine, ‘make a day of it. You could even take some photos on the way.’
I find myself pausing. God, I’d love to go with him, but I just don’t know. That definitely feels like an acceleration of whatever is happening here tonight. Because I can’t deny that this isn’t about us being friends anymore, up here, in the most romantic setting of my life. I can’t deny what I feel about him either, despite my fears about hurting him. Or me for that matter.
‘You don’t fool me,’ I say eventually, ‘you just want someone to chat to you on the way up.’
He laughs at that, that deep, genuine sound I love. He always makes me feel like the most interesting person in the world.
‘Well, maybe it’s also selfishly because I have a feeling you’d get on well with the client Magnus’s wife, Daphne,’ he says mysteriously. ‘She’d love to throw some scones at you too, I’m sure. Together sixty years, the two of them, if you can believe it.’
‘Is that . . .’ I start, ‘I mean, have you ever come close to being serious like that with anyone before?’
I’m not sure exactly why I’m asking the question – perhaps it’s the champagne or the night sky above or the candles – but he doesn’t miss a beat, as I should have known he wouldn’t.
‘Once,’ he says steadily. ‘Her name was Claire, and we were together for about two years, my longest relationship to date, but we broke up last summer.’
A twinge of jealousy jabs at me, though it’s ridiculous, really – of course he had a relationship before; he’s the most attractive guy I’ve met, in every sense.
I clear my throat. ‘So, why did you break up then?’
His eyes darken slightly in the candlelight. ‘It was good while it lasted,’ he says, swallowing. ‘But I’m not sure we were quite right for each other, and it wasn’t fair to either of us to keep it going. I’m not sure what we had was what it should feel like.’
‘And what should it feel like?’ I say without thinking.
But he just looks across at me softly, and my whole body tingles.
‘And you?’ he says, taking a sip of his champagne.
