‘Good,’ I answer eventually, letting Gregory lead the way to his van.
‘If he’s said he’s emotionally unavailable, Livy, it can’t be a good sign. You’ve made the right decision not to see him again.’
‘I know,’ I agree. ‘So why can’t I stop thinking about him?’
‘Because we always fall for the wrong men.’ He leans in and kisses my forehead. ‘The ones who will mess us around and stamp all over our heart. I’ve been there, done that, and I’m glad you’ve held back before falling too far. I’m proud of you. You deserve better.’
I smile, remembering many times when I’ve held Gregory’s hand after he’s fallen victim to a man’s charm, except Miller isn’t charming – not in the least bit. It’s difficult to nail exactly what it is about him, except for his spectacular looks, but that feeling . . . oh God that feeling. And what Gregory has just said is perfectly accurate. There’s a lack of a mother in my life because of her poor decisions when it came to men. That alone should have me running in the other direction from him, but instead I’m being drawn in. His lips are still soft on mine, my flesh is still warm from his touch and I’ve lain in bed every night replaying that kiss. Nothing will ever measure up to those feelings.
I let us in the house and head with Gregory to the back kitchen. I can hear Nan and George chatting and the sounds of a wooden spoon colliding with the side of a huge metal pot – a stewpot. It’s stew and dumplings tonight. I screw my face up and contemplate escaping to the local chippy. I can’t stand my grandmother’s stew, but it’s George’s favourite and George is here for supper, so it looks like I’m having stew.
‘Gregory!’ Nan dives on my gay friend and smothers his face with her marshmallow lips. ‘You must stay for supper.’ She points to a chair before moving on to me, assaulting me with her squidgy lips too, and then placing me on a chair next to George. ‘I do love it when we’re all here,’ she declares happily. ‘Stew?’
Everyone raises their hands, including me even though I don’t want stew.
‘Sit down, Gregory,’ Nan orders.
Gregory wisely sits, looking at me and George with pursed lips when he sees us both smirking at his wary move. ‘You say no to her,’ he whispers.
‘Pardon?’ Nan swings round, and we all straighten our faces and backs, like good little children.
‘Nothing,’ we chant in unison, earning each one of us a few seconds of narrowed eyes from my dear grandmother.
‘Hmm.’ She places the stewpot on the table. ‘Tuck in.’
George virtually dives into the pot, while I just pick at some bread, breaking off tiny bits and chewing quietly while everyone chats happily.
Miller flashes into my mind, making me blink my eyes shut. I smell him, making me hold my breath. I feel his heated touch, making me shift in my chair. I’m having a mental row with myself as I try to bat away images of him, memories of him and the sound of his smooth voice.
I’m failing on every level. Falling for this man could be a disaster. Everything suggests it will be, and that should be good enough, but it’s not. I feel weak and vulnerable, and I hate it. Nor do I like the thought of not seeing him again.
‘Livy, you’ve hardly touched your supper.’ Nan snaps me from my daydream, tapping her spoon on the side of my bowl.
‘I’m not hungry.’ I push the bowl away and stand. ‘Excuse me. I’m going to bed.’ I feel three sets of concerned eyes on me as I leave the kitchen, but I’m past caring. Yes, Livy I-don’t-ever-need-a-man Taylor has fallen, and she’s fallen stupidly hard. And worst of all, she’s fallen for someone she can’t, and probably shouldn’t, have.
I drag my heavy body up the stairs and flop into bed, not bothering to undress and not bothering to remove my make-up. It’s not even dark, but burying myself under my thick quilt soon remedies that. I want silence and darkness so I can torture myself some more.
Friday drags painfully. I avoided Nan, choosing to skip breakfast and face the worried call that I knew I’d get on my way to work. She wasn’t happy but she can’t shove cornflakes down my throat from a mile away. Del, Paul and Sylvie have all tried and failed to coax a genuine smile from me, and Luke dropped in for a coffee again, just to see if I’ve changed my mind on my relationship status. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that, and he is cute and quite funny, too, but I’m still not interested.
I’ve been thinking of something all day long, and I keep going to ask, but then I bottle it, knowing what reaction I’ll get. And I can hardly blame her. But Sylvie has his number, and I want it. We’re closing up the bistro and I’m running out of time. ‘Sylvie?’ I say slowly, twirling my cloth innocently. It’s a silly attempt to look sweet, given what I’m about to ask.