Page 135 of In Sheets of Rain

53

I Did

It was the fourth restaurant Michael had taken me to this week. He refused to let me pay for a single meal. I was beginning to think he might be super-rich.

He held my hand, or touched my hair, or rested his palm on my lower back; guiding me. One time, he rested our joined hands on his thigh in the car.

I’d put on weight; how could I not with all that eating out? I wondered whether I was a particularly challenging sale to him. And he was wining and dining me in order to close the deal.

And then he’d look at me as if no one else existed in the restaurant, in the world, and I could see this wasn’t a game to him. That this was real.

I just wasn’t sure if I could trust my judgement. I’d been known to make such poor choices in the past, after all.

“Good salad?” he asked.

“Mmm,” I said around a mouthful.

He stared at my lips. I stopped chewing. His attention went back to his pasta.

“The Cat has settled in,” he said. He always called Whisper ‘The Cat.’ “I put a kitty door in the ranch slider off the garage for him. He comes and goes without setting off the alarm.”

“You put a door in for my cat?” How much did that cost?

He shrugged his shoulder. “Seemed like a good idea.”

His eyes met mine.

“Good idea?” I said softly.

“Insurance,” he said. “Forward planning.”

I shook my head at him. He smiled.

“When are you coming ‘round to visit him?” he asked.

“This weekend?”

“How about tonight?”

My fork stilled halfway to my mouth. I couldn’t stop smiling — sneaky, clever man.

He was holding his breath, watching me with an intensity that should have alarmed. His plate of linguini forgotten. His eyes only for my mouth and the reply it would give him.

“Sure,” I said.

He let a breath of air out in a rush.

“Great,” he said, picking up his fork again and taking another bite.

I smiled into my salad.

* * *

Michael’s house was only a couple of streets away from mine. Which in Auckland was quite an accomplishment. It had a cream brick siding, conifer trees edging the border, and a cobbled drive. It also had a small apartment attached on the other side. He said he rented it out.

It was relatively new, and when we walked inside, I felt like I might have been in an Italian villa. The terracotta and cream checkered tiles in the entryway were stunning. The huge gilt-framed painting of a stylised horse above the hall table made it all seem like a show home, somehow.

It was immaculate.