And she really, kinda desperately, needed to stop thinking about Callum.
Andy crossed the area that tomorrow would be lawn and pointed up to the next level. ‘Don’t forget the pool before you go.’
‘Pardon?’ Ava asked, completely lost in her head.
‘The pool. We’ve had the hose on since yesterday so it should be almost full by now.’
Ava saluted. ‘Right.’
*
When Ava arrived at the restaurant the following evening, wearing a new and extremely uncomfortable tight-fitting red dress and high red heels, she scanned the crowd looking for a man who fit Paul’s description.
‘He’s Italian looking, maybe he is Italian,’ Andy had told her earlier that afternoon on the phone when she’d called him in a last-minute panic. ‘He’s the same height as me, which makes him six foot four. Okay, five foot eleven. But he might be wearing a shoe with a heel so he might look more like six feet. His hair is black and cut short all over. I think he might be a cop. Or a secret agent. Or maybe in the military. God, I so wish he played for my team. Anyway, he’s tall and lean and he has smallish feet.’
‘You noticed his feet?’ Ava laughed.
‘Of course I did. He was wearing nice shoes, if that helps. But yes, his feet are not quite in proportion to the rest of him.’
Ava skimmed the crowded restaurant and clenched her clutch purse under her arm. She was at the doorway. One step, she told herself. In you go. This might even end up with sex tonight and what better way to erase all thoughts of ever having sex with Callum than by having sex with someone else? An orgasm eraser, that’s what she needed. She needed to come so fiercely that the man taking her there, to that place where her limbs melted and her head throbbed, would be The Best Sex She’d Ever Had, which, surely, would have to wipe out her intuition that Callum would be The Best Sex She’d Ever Had.
More like The Best Sex She’d Never Had.
‘Good evening. Do you have a booking?’
‘I do. In the name of Ava Gibson.’
The waitress, all Mediterranean skin and huge brown eyes, checked the bookings and smiled. ‘Right this way, signora.’
Ava bristled. She was definitely still a signorina, thank you very much. As she followed, she tried to keep that fake smile in place in case Paul saw her before she saw him. First impressions counted, she knew that better than anyone. The waitress turned a corner into a separate side room and she stopped so suddenly that Ava almost ran into the back of her.
‘Here you are. I’ll be back in a moment with the menus.’
And when Ava looked across the table, there he was. Paul stood abruptly and held out a hand.
‘You must be Ava.’ His eyes met hers and they were warm and brown. And kudos to him, he hadn’t even checked her out. There had not been a sleazy tip-to-toe evaluation of her legs or her breasts or her too-tight dress.
He was handsome. The sleeves of his navy shirt was turned up to mid-forearm—which were tanned and muscular—and he wore dark denim jeans. His smile seemed warm and he had a set of perfect choppers.
She tried really hard to feel it, she really did. Here she was, out on a date for the first time in what felt like a million years. She’d made an effort, had frocked up, and the handsome Paul was smiling warmly at her as his handshake lingered.
Nothing.
She felt nothing.
And then she knew that this had been a gigantic and foolish mistake.
‘Nice to meet you, Paul,’ she lied.
‘I suppose we have Andy to thank for this,’ Paul said with a grin as they released hands. He waited for her to sit first and then he followed.
‘I suppose we do. The food here is great.’
‘I’m glad you chose it. It’s had great reviews. I love Italian food, do you?’
‘I do.’
He nodded at her, his confident chin held high. ‘I’m Italian.’
‘You look it,’ Ava said, trying to find a smile.
When the waiter arrived with the wine list, Ava quickly chose a crisp Sauvignon Blanc and it didn’t take long for the bottle to arrive and their drinks to be poured.
‘Ava,’ Paul said, leaning in close, his arms crossed on the table. The little candle in the middle of the table cast a flickering light in his face. ‘That’s a beautiful name.’
‘Thank you.’ Ten out of ten for polite flirting, Ava thought. Too bad it registered a zero on her personal Richter scale.
‘I don’t know what Andy has told you about me.’
‘Not much. Only that you’re neighbours.’
‘What do you do, Ava?’
‘I’m a landscape designer and Andy and I do some of the best work in Sydney. What about you, Paul?’