Royal Holiday (The Wedding Date, #4)(26)

“Do you need another pint, ma’am? Sir?”

They both shook their heads and picked up their forks.

“Well, I’m right here if you do. Just give me a wave.”

Vivian took a bite of her shepherd’s pie. She finally looked in his direction again, though she didn’t quite make eye contact.

“She’s right. This was just what I needed today.”

Was it just what she had needed right at that moment, though? That’s not what he had needed right at that moment.

Instead of saying that, he took a bite of his chicken pie.

“I’m glad you like it,” he said. “If you want to try my chicken pie—not chicken pot pie, mind you—you’re welcome to take a bite.”

She cast her eyes over his plate and then looked up at him with pursed lips.

“I do have to admit that doesn’t look like chicken pot pie, though I will say I’ve only ever had chicken pot pie once and didn’t enjoy the experience, so I’m not an expert. But if those are the famous mushy peas . . . they look exactly like peas that got cooked for way too long and then mashed up.”

He scooped some of the peas onto his fork and held them out to her.

“That is as may be, but you still have to try them. You can’t leave England without sampling mushy peas; I think they hold you back at customs if you don’t answer that question in the affirmative. Come on, taste them. I promise, they’re better than they look.”

She rolled her eyes at him but obediently opened her mouth. He smiled at her and slipped his fork inside her lips. Her lips closed over the peas, and she closed her eyes. He watched her face as she chewed, a smile dancing around her lips the whole time. After a few seconds, she opened her eyes and finally looked straight at him.

“That was disgusting,” she said.

“Absolutely foul,” he said. “But aren’t you glad you experienced it?”

She laughed, then he laughed, then they were both laughing so hard they had to put their forks down.

Vivian finally picked her fork up and took her second bite of shepherd’s pie.

“This, in contrast, is delicious, but now my stomach hurts so much from laughing I can barely eat,” she said.

And she was still flustered by that moment right before the food had come. He had definitely been just about to kiss her, right here in the restaurant at lunchtime. She’d experienced men leaning over to kiss her plenty of times, and she’d even been pleased about it most of those times, so why did this not-even-a-kiss-but-almost-a-kiss have such lasting effects on her?

Maybe because up until now, she’d pretended to herself that this flirtation was just that—something light and easy and relaxed—and that the attraction she felt building for Malcolm was something neither of them would ever act on.

And now it seemed like it was a matter of when, not if, they would.

He was still sitting just as close to her, though they weren’t quite touching anymore. She wanted to scoot her chair over just a tiny bit, so that her leg in her practical black pants was just against his leg, in his very nice gray wool pants. Instead, she kept eating her shepherd’s pie.

He reached over with his fork and raised an eyebrow at her. She didn’t like to share food, but she nodded anyway. He took a forkful of shepherd’s pie.

“Yeah, that’s just like I remembered it,” he said. “I haven’t had it here for years—usually when I’m up here I eat either on the estate or at my hotel, but it’s nice to know this place is still as good as I thought.”

She glanced at the clock over the fireplace when they were almost done eating.

“Did you say you had to get back for a call at two thirty? Because it’s almost two.”

He looked at his watch and sighed.

“One of the benefits of working over the holidays is there’s never an issue when I take long lunches, but one of the downsides is I always wish they were longer.” He waved at the waitress and asked for the bill.

He took her arm again when they left the pub as they walked back to the car. It felt so natural to walk with him like this. The way their arms fit together, the way their strides matched each other’s, the way her shoulder rubbed against his arm; it all felt so easy and familiar.

She’d only known this man for three days—what was she even thinking? How was it possible for her to be this relaxed when she was this close to him? She had no idea, but she was.

He opened her car door for her, and she shivered when she got into the car. He smiled at her.

“Don’t worry, the heater in this car works quickly.”

He started the car to drive the short distance back to the estate. She watched him as he drove with one hand lightly on the wheel, one on the gear shift, his warm brown eyes straight ahead. He had such a kind face. An attractive one, too, obviously, but part of the reason she’d been so immediately drawn to him had been the way his eyes smiled at her, the way the lines on his face crinkled when he laughed, the way he could share a joke with her without saying a word.

“I’m sorry,” he said, without looking at her. “I just have to do this.” He pulled over suddenly, right after a big row of trees.

She looked behind them, expecting to see a police car or something, but there was no one.

“What is it?” She turned back toward him.