Page 21 of A Secret Escape

Lila

W e pull into the car park of a pleasant looking building with a green sign that reads Meadow & Mill. The windows of the restaurant glow with a warm, inviting light and as we step out of the car, a rich, earthy aroma of a wood-fired stove fills the air.

My stomach grumbles as Marcus opens the door and follows me into the foyer, where a friendly-looking hostess greets us.

“Good evening, and welcome to Meadow and Mill. Do you have a reservation?”

“Yes, table for two, please, Andersson. And could you please let Chef Elliot know Marcus is here?” His voice is smooth and confident.

“Absolutely. Right this way.” We follow her through the restaurant to a cosy booth by a window, the aroma of fresh herbs and sizzling meats making my mouth water.

I pretend not to notice Marcus’s eyes glued to me as I take off my coat, but the butterflies in my stomach are doing gymnastics.

“I know I’ve already said it, but you really do look incredible,” he says, his eyes gleaming with admiration.

“Thank you. So do you. ”

At that moment, a man approaches our table, wearing a white chef’s jacket and apron. He has a confident and warm energy to him and he smiles as soon as he spots us.

“Marcus! Good to see you, mate!”

Marcus stands up, pulling him in for a one-armed hug. “Hey, great to see you, Elliot. How’s everything?”

“Wonderful, can’t complain. Business has been great. Some incredible reviews coming in – all thanks to you, I’m sure. And Gemma’s been grand. Got a little one on the way now.”

“That’s fantastic, congratulations man!” Marcus says, patting him on the shoulder.

Marcus turns, holding his hand out for me to join him. “Elliot, this is Lila. She’s on the social media team at Catalyst, but she’s just wrapped her first solo project for Sapphire Lounge which was a major win – in more ways than one,” he says, squeezing my hand with those last few words.

Elliot’s face lights up as he looks at me. “No kidding? Congratulations. Lovely to meet you, Lila. You watch this one – let me know if he tries anything inappropriate, I’ll throw him out myself,” he jokes.

I laugh and try to ignore my heart skipping a beat as Marcus squeezes my hand again. God, I hope he does try something.

“Thank you. I’m sure he’ll be the perfect gentleman.” I look up at Marcus, barely containing a giggle when he winks at me.

Elliot flags down a passing waitress. “Sam, can you please get a bottle of the Corton-Charlemagne, compliments of the house?” The waitress nods and walks towards the bar.

“Thank you, Elliot, that’s very generous of you,” Marcus says .

“No problem. I could never thank you enough for putting this place on the map.”

“Hey. It was your food that did that, alright? I only helped spread the word.”

Elliot squeezes Marcus’s shoulder. “You two enjoy yourselves tonight. I’ve got to get back, but I’ll catch up with you later.”

“Thanks again, mate,” Marcus says as Elliot heads back towards the kitchen, giving the waitress a nod as she approaches our table with a bottle of white wine in a bucket and two glasses.

She presents the bottle with practiced elegance.

“Compliments of the chef, we have the Louis Jadot Corton-Charlemagne Grand Cru 2016, one of our finest selections. It pairs beautifully with the roasted butternut squash and sage risotto, the pan-seared scallops with cauliflower puree and crispy pancetta, or the braised veal shanks if you are looking for something heartier.”

The waitress uncorks the bottle and proceeds to pour a small amount into Marcus’s glass.

I watch with fascination as he swirls the light-coloured wine and breathes in deep, inhaling the aroma before tasting it with obvious expertise.

A slight shimmer of the wine lingers on his lips as he sets the glass back down.

“That’s beautiful, please thank the chef for me.”

“Of course.” She fills my glass about a third of the way with the sweet-smelling wine before topping up Marcus’s glass to the same amount. “Are you ready to order, or would you like a few more minutes with the menu?”

Marcus looks at me, and I smile.

“Surprise me.”

His eyes catch mine, warm with quiet amusement, before he turns back to the waitress. “We’ll start with the wild mushroom brioche to share,” he says, handing her the menus. “Then the sage risotto for her, and I’ll have the veal. Thank you.” The waitress nods with a smile and walks off.

“This place is really nice.” I lift the glass and inhale deeply, surprised that I can actually pick out distinct aromas of apple, pear and citrus with a smoky undertone.

The wine tastes smooth and creamy, almost buttery, without the harshness I’d come to associate with most wines.

The flavours linger on my tongue, continuing to evolve even after I’ve swallowed.

“It’s one of the best I’ve been to in a while,” Marcus says.

“The campaign heavily focused on emphasising their ethos – everything farm-to-table, sourced locally or from sustainable growers. You could trace each cut of beef back to the original cow that was bred on a farm within an hour of here, each herb to a specific grower - nothing imported.”

“That’s amazing,” I say.

A comfortable silence settles between us as I take another sip of the wine.

“I feel like I should know what I’m doing with this wine,” I say. “I mean, it tastes nice. But how do you know if it’s good ?”

Marcus laughs. “If you like it, that’s all that matters.

But if you want to sound like you know what you’re talking about, you could talk about the body…

” His tone shifts, the look in his eyes taking on an intense sensual gaze as he reaches across the table and takes my hand.

“How it feels on your tongue. Or the balance… how the individual flavours come together to create something rich, and smooth. But really, it’s all about how it makes you feel,” he says, rubbing my hand as his eyes remain locked on mine.

“Wow.” I exhale slowly, my pulse quickening. “I… never knew wine could be so… nice.”

“A fine wine is one of the nicest things in life. The poet Lord Byron once said, ‘wine cheers the sad, revives the old, inspires the young, and makes weariness forget his toil.’”

I blink, my jaw hanging slightly open.

Holy crap. He is so fucking sophisticated. He’s quoting poetry, meanwhile, I can barely name three types of wine, if that.

I force a smile as I hold up my glass. “To fine wine.”

“And to inspiration,” Marcus says, clinking my glass with his.

Our eyes hold each other’s gaze for a moment as we take a sip.

“So, tell me about you,” he says, setting down his glass.

“What do you want to know?”

“Anything. Everything.” His smile crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Have you lived in Manchester your whole life?”

“I grew up in Adlington. About forty minutes out of the city. What about you?”

“Manchester born and raised. Grew up in Eccles. Pretty traditional upbringing, as far as things go. Mum, dad, me and my little sister. My folks still live there in the same house I grew up in, but my sister moved out to the Lake District. She’s married, got two kids, a dog, great big plot of land.

I mainly see her at the holidays, but I pop into my folks’ from time to time, see how they’re getting on. ”

“How come you’re not married?” The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them. “Sorry,” I say instantly, looking away in embarrassment.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, his warm laugh reassuring me as I slowly look back at him.

“I don’t really know.” He leans casually against the back of his seat.

“I haven’t had all that many serious relationships.

My last one was over ten years ago. She wanted to settle down, get married, have kids, but I just…

wasn’t there. I’d just had a big promotion at work and that was my focus.

So, I told her that, and she left. Fair enough. ”

I nod and look down at my hands, thinking of all the times I’ve had to stay late at work and hadn’t seen him leave. Does he want marriage and kids at all? The question burns in my mind, but I hold back.

“What about you? Do you have any siblings?” he asks.

“Nope.” I take another sip. “My mum died when I was three and dad never remarried, so it was just me and him.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No, it’s fine. I don’t even remember her. And anything I think I do remember is probably just stories I’ve been told about her, more than actual memories.”

Marcus nods thoughtfully. “Are you and your dad close?”

“We were, sort of,” I say. “Growing up… he drank a lot…”

I take a deep breath and look out the window as my chest tightens painfully.

“I… uh…”

Marcus squeezes my hand reassuringly. “It’s okay.”

I drop my head, breathing deep, the warmth of his hand radiating a sense of calm through my soul.

Looking up at him, his eyes are glowing in a way that moves something within me. It’s as if he’s silently telling me he’s here for me.

“He died when I was sixteen.”

Marcus closes his eyes but doesn’t let go of my hand. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

I shake my head, blinking back tears. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”

He says nothing, just holds my hand warmly in both of his .

“I’ve got my grandma Cassie though,” I say, slightly more upbeat as I push the memories back. “She took me in after Dad died, and I stayed with her until I finished school. She’s amazing. I still see her at least once a month.”

Marcus smiles so tenderly, my heart melts. “That’s good.”

“Yea. She makes the best Greek keftedes. You’ll have to try them sometime,” I blurt, then instantly panic as I hear the words come out of my mouth.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck is wrong with me? I just basically said I want him to meet my grandma! He’ll think I’m completely insane. Fuck, fuck, fu-”

“I’d love that,” he says, interrupting my thought spiral with a squeeze of my hand.

I blink.

Did he really just say that?