Page 38

“Nah, I did. She gave me the recipe, though.”

Shit. He went to the effort of preparing something special, and I didn’t even show up on time to eat it. Guilt gnaws at me.

“You should have called.” No sooner do I say it than I remember I put my phone in my bag before my workout and then stuffed my bag in my locker. I haven’t taken it out to check it since. “Ah, you did, didn’t you? But I didn’t have my phone on me.” I give him a sheepish grin. “What am I like?”

He gives a wee smile, and this time there’s a little more warmth behind it. “Really, it’s fine. Anyway, I’m sorry I didn’t wait for you, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, and I got hungry. I’ll heat up your plate for you. I don’t know if it’ll taste as good, but hopefully it’s okay.” He stands.

“I can—”

“I’ve got this. You sit.”

I do and he picks up my plate and starts towards the kitchen, but then—turning back—he leans in and plants a quick kiss on my cheek.

“It’s good to see you. I feel I’ve barely spent any time with you the last few days.”

That’s been by deliberate design, of course, but now I just feel even more guilty. I am touched by his gesture of preparing dinner, and with his face so close to mine, my gaze lowers to his mouth and I wonder . . .

Gently I cup his jaw and guide him closer, our lips meeting in a soft kiss. I wait for the spark, the flutter of excitement, but nothing comes. Nothing at all.

I pull back and force a smile. “It’s good to see you too.”

He flashes me a grin then straightens. “You must be hungry. I’ll be right back.” He disappears into the kitchen, and the beep of buttons is soon followed by the soft hum of the microwave. A few minutes later, it pings and Richard returns, laying the plate in front of me once more.

“Bon appétit. I hope it tastes all right reheated.”

He joins me at the table, watching me, and so I duly lift my knife and fork and tuck in. The chicken is still flavourful, but it’s dry in places and slightly tough to chew, while the haggis isn’t as rich as it should be. The mash isn’t bad—it retains some of its creaminess—but the vegetables are a write-off. They’re soggy and bland.

“It’s delicious,” I say. A white lie, but I’m sure the dish would have been delicious had I eaten it when I was supposed to.

He’s pleased by the compliment.

“So . . .” I promised Maisie I’d have an honest and open discussion with Richard about how I’ve been feeling. With Maw away, this is a good time to do it, but how to begin?

Richard broaches the subject before I can. “You were at the gym on Monday evening, out for drinks yesterday, and then at the gym again today. Should I be worried you’re trying to avoid me?”

I take my time chewing on a piece of chicken before swallowing. “I’ve . . . maybe been finding it a little much, living here with you and Maw seven days a week,” I admit eventually.

“Right. Except your mum is at the restaurant tonight, so is it really just me you’re having a hard time living with?”

It’d be so easy to deflect this question. I could argue that a lot of boyfriends would approve of their women going to the gym and keeping healthy, or else that couples don’t have to spend every minute of their evenings and weekends together. But I’m not trying to win an argument. No, the aim is to be honest with Richard about some of the doubts that have been going through my head.

“Well, it has been a bit of an . . . adjustment, going from spending a few nights with you when we were in Glasgow to living with you full time like this.”

He nods diplomatically. “Fair enough.” Then he adds, “Was Lewis at the gym tonight?”

The question takes me by surprise. “No. He helps Maw in the restaurant on Wednesdays.”

“Okay. It’s just by all accounts you and him got on well at the Pheasant yesterday, at your girls’ night.”

I chew my bottom lip. So he’s heard about that. I should have realised he would: word travels fast around this town, always has. With hindsight, getting up with Lewis and singing “Comin’ thro’ the Rye” wasn’t my greatest idea. I blame the wine.

“It really was a girls’ night,” I assure him. “I wasn’t expecting Lewis to show up, and we didn’t chat for long. But . . .” If I’m going to be honest with Richard, there’s something I should confess. “Lewis was at the gym on Monday. Trust me, that was a complete coincidence, and I wasn’t happy to see him when I spotted him.”

“Wow.” Richard drums his fingers on the table. “So you’ve barely seen me the last few days, but you’ve seen your ex twice? I actually went to the hotel earlier to have a chat with him. I wanted to get his take on what the deal is between the pair of you. And do you know what he told me? He said he still has feelings for you, Iona. The last thing I want is to be some awful overbearing boyfriend, but can you understand why it’s pretty difficult for me to hear you’ve been spending time with someone you have a sexual history with and who still has feelings for you?”

A lump forms in my throat. “Aye, I do get that can’t be easy.” I could argue that I didn’t plan to meet Lewis at the gym or the Pheasant, and that would be true. Then again, I could—should—have done more to shoo him away.

“And bloody hell, the guy literally couldn’t live any closer. We can see into his bedroom from your window.”