Page 28 of Best Man (Close Proximity #1)

“Okay, you dated Patrick for five years during which you no doubt alternated periods of being extremely bored with the odd bit of wanting to murder him.” His mouth twitches.

“You probably did lots of really boring stuff. While you were doing that, I didn’t so much date as just try to keep up with whatever criminal impulses my dates had towards my money.

” He straightens, looking cross, and I wave my hand.

“Never mind,” I say airily. “The point is that you and I are different.”

I sober quickly. Are we, though? Are we different or am I just an amusement and he’ll go back to what he knows?

“We are different,” he says quietly, his eyes steady on mine. “Don’t ask me how, but we are.”

I smile gratefully at him. “So, we’re each going to come up with dates that are different.

Something a bit quirky. Something that shows the other person something about us.

” I wave my hand at the bookshop, its windows shining in the sun.

“This is mine. I love travelling. I’ve been all over the world, usually on a very small budget.

This is always my first port of call.” I pause before looking hard at him. “But absolutely no sex tonight.”

He blinks and an old man huffs disapprovingly as he walks past us.

“Thank you for broadcasting that to the entire street,” Zeb says dryly. “You know I live to share my personal life with complete strangers.”

I smile somewhat nervously. “I don’t think we should have sex while doing these dates,” I say softly .

“Why?”

The bald question surprises me, and for a second I fumble with an answer.

“Because we know we’re good in bed together.

” I pause. “We’re actually epic in bed.” He smiles slowly with heat in his eyes, and I shake my head.

“But if we’re trying this, I don’t want to get waylaid by that.

Because otherwise that’s all we’ll ever be.

” I look at him nervously. “What do you think?”

He’s silent for a long second, his eyes examining my face as if he’s thinking of picking me out in a line-up. Then he smiles. “I agree.”

I sag. “You do?”

He nods. “I want to get to know you, not just your arsehole.”

There’s a horrified gasp behind him and he sighs and closes his eyes.

I laugh and grab his arm. “We’d better go inside, Zeb,” I say in a loud voice. “You really need to learn some discretion.”

I usher him into the bookshop, inhaling the scent of the books greedily and looking for the wall of globes which has always fascinated me. When I look at him, he’s doing the same thing. When he meets my eyes, we smile at each other in perfect accord.

“Okay,” I say. “We’re going to split up to make our choices. We’ll meet when we’ve chosen and discuss our books.”

“You’re so bossy,” he murmurs.

I wink at him. “And you like it.”

“Only in the way I like it when the tap stops dripping.”

I shake my head but can’t stop my laugh. It’s far too loud and a few people turn to look at us “Go on,” I say, pushing him gently. “You’re a bad influence on me.”

He grins, and I watch as he moves away. I can’t take my eyes off him, normally, but there’s something extra about him today.

I study him as he moves to a shelf, running one long finger along the spines of the books, and I suddenly realise what it is.

He’s open and welcoming. Usually, he’s sardonic and closed off, but today all that has softened.

His face is alive and engaged as he pulls a book down and leans against the shelf to flick though it.

Something in me twists because this man has the capacity to really hurt me.

The pain I felt when he binned me was just an early warning sign.

There have been other warnings too. The way he closes himself down like a hedgehog at the first sign of trouble, the fact that he seems to think he’s an OAP, and his conviction that I’m too young for him.

However, I’ve casually blitzed through all of these warning markers.

I could be heading straight for a lot of heartache, but somehow, as I look at his absorbed face, the tangle of his hair, and his beautiful face, I can’t bring myself to step back.

I watch him for a few precious seconds more and then, smiling, I wander along to make my choice of travel guide and then over to my favourite set of shelves that contain the maps.

Half an hour later, I’m happily ensconced in one of the very comfortable leather chairs when I smell oranges and sandalwood. When I look up, he’s leaning against the shelf watching me with a smile tugging on his lips.

“Did you get something?” I ask, grinning up at him.

He holds up a guide to Rome. “I’ve always wanted to go there,” he says. I start to laugh and he stares at me. “What on earth is so funny?” he asks, looking slightly upset.

I fumble with my carrier bag and then pull out the book I bought. A travel guide of Rome. “Snap,” I say, and he looks astonished.

“Really? You’ve never been?”

I shake my head. “It’s the sort of place you want to go with a partner. Someone who you can really share things with. Not with a group of lads more interested in finding a bar.”

He stares at me for a long beat, and I wonder whether he too is hoping that we’ll go there together because I can imagine Zeb and myself in Rome, wandering the streets, holding hands and eating in little street cafes.

He straightens up and predictably changes the subject. “I was standing here for a few minutes. You were very absorbed,” he says and pauses. “In the ordnance survey map.” He shakes his head. “Jesse, you’re a never-ending source of surprises to me.”

I grin at him. “Is it the map? Did you expect me to be dancing around a glitter ball in my go-go shorts?”

He snorts. “Not in the place where Florence bought her maps,” he says in an outraged tone which is spoilt by the laughter in his voice. He edges closer. “Why are you reading that?” he asks, lively interest in his eyes.

I stand up and move next to him, unfolding the map. “I love these things,” I say, feeling almost embarrassed. I’ve never shown this geeky side of myself to anyone before.

“Why?” he asks, his eyes intent on my face, which I’m sure is slightly flushed.

“It’s like finding treasure,” I say slowly. “Most people only look at a road atlas, if they look at all, because now the first instinct is to check your phone.” I shrug. “A road atlas is fine, but it doesn’t tell you anything interesting.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, genuine interest in his voice.

I give him the edge of the map to hold and move my finger along the lines.

“Look. A road atlas would tell you that this road in Yorkshire leads to this town. But our map tells you so much more. It tells you that there’s also a footpath that leads you to a small war memorial and then, further along, the remnants of an ancient barrow.

If we move west, we’ll also find some abbey ruins.

” I shrug. “Treasure. There’s something wonderful about walking along one of the ancient roads in the sunshine, tracing the path of people who walked there thousands of years before. ”

I look up and go still at the intent look on his face.

“What?” I start to say, but he shuts me up with the simple act of leaning forward and kissing me.

It’s an innocent kiss with no tongues and no touching anywhere apart from our lips.

But his lips are soft and plush, and even though there’s an inch or two of space between our bodies it feels like he’s surrounding me.

When he pulls back, I blink, and he smiles.

It’s wide and so warm that it makes my heart beat faster.

He looks down and a smug expression crosses his face. He taps my hand. “I think you’ll need to buy that map now,” he says happily.

I look down and see that it’s now creased in my hands. “Gah,” I mutter, and he grins, looking impossibly young somehow.

“Maybe it’s a good thing,” he says softly. “I’d like to visit that barrow one sunny day.”

“It’s a date.” His smile widens, and my heart skips a beat. “Come on,” I say. “We have the first part of the date down. Now we need to get to the second part.”

He follows me like an impossibly hot shadow as I pay for the map, and we emerge onto the bustle of the street.

“This way,” I say, tugging his arm and feeling the muscles and heat of his skin.

I pull him along the road past the small street market that is always here on a Friday.

We walk past an old book stall, and we both automatically slow to examine the covers on the shelves.

It makes me smile. I can’t walk past books, and it appears he can’t either.

Then he exclaims and darts over to the stall, plucking a book from the pile. “I’ll have this one,” he says to the woman behind the counter, and she smiles at his look of excitement.

“What did you get?” I ask as we move away.

“Here,” he says, pushing the paper bag at me. “It’s yours.”

“What is it?” I pull the book from the bag and stare down at it. “ A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.” I look up at him. “Why?”

He shrugs. His eyes are very bright, and he’s actually blushing.

“The point of this date so far is to get to know each other through a book. This was my favourite book of poetry when I was little. I had the version with these amazing pictures and I read it over and over again. I’m sorry.

It’s silly.” He goes to take it back, and says “ oof ” as I elbow him in the ribs.

“Fuck off,” I say indignantly. “You just gave it to me.”

“It was a silly idea. The poems are very lame now.”

“It’s the best thing anyone has ever given me, and no poetry is ever lame.” I stare at him, clutching the book to my chest protectively. “Your present means so much more. It lets me see inside you. My travel book idea seems really silly now. They didn’t show you anything about me.”