Confetti Hearts (Confetti Hitched, #1)(16)

He gives me a sly look. “I’m starving. I could eat an A4 envelope.”

I stand up and stretch, enjoying his gaze on my naked body. I wink at him. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“Dinner.”

“It’s ten thirty at night. Restaurants will be closed. Are we having takeout?”

“No. Let’s go out. I know somewhere.”

“Should I be nervous?”

“No. Of course not.”

I eye him appreciatively as he gets dressed, mourning the moment when that world-class arse will vanish into his trousers.

He straightens up, his dark hair falling endearingly over his forehead. “You’re in jeans. Am I going to be dressed appropriately?”

“Oh yes,” I say airily. “You’re perfect for where we’re going. You’ll fit right in.”

Half an hour later, he offers me a look. “People are staring.”

I snort. “That’s because they’ve never seen anyone eating marshmallows while wearing a three-piece suit and sitting behind a takeaway truck.” I nudge him. “Don’t be sad. It’s their narrow world view that’s at fault.”

“I have to confess that I’ve always had a sneaking weakness for things being someone else’s fault rather than my own.”

I sneak a glance at him. He doesn’t look discomposed. I don’t think there’s much that ruffles his air of worldly calm. It’s one of his biggest attractions for me. I’m far too impulsive by nature and live a life of happy and barely managed chaos. He seems unattainably cool.

He looks up and before he can catch me staring at him, I direct my attention to the huge firepit and the marshmallows we’re roasting.

“Careful,” I say, nudging his stick. “You’re burning yours.”

“Maybe I like it burned.”

I eye him. “Or maybe you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“How lovely. You promise a boy dinner, and he ends up cooking his own by the bins while you criticise his efforts.”

I laugh. “We’re nowhere near the bins, and you know it.”

Following his gaze, I take in the scene through his eyes. Phil, the stall owner, has had this pitch along the river for years. The area between his truck and the water is paved in ancient-looking flagstones. We sit on an old sofa that’s been tucked under the overhang, the river slapping against the wall near our feet. Overhead bistro lights splash the water with colour, and music from the swing night at a nearby bar drifts on the air, sounding somehow sweet.

“Are you really okay with being here?” I ask, holding my breath in case he ruins everything by sneering. Instead, he offers me a sweet smile. It’s warm and unguarded, and I relax.

“I like it here,” he says.

“Me too.”

Phil comes around the corner. “I’m going now, Joe,” he says.

I grin and stand up to hug him. “Thanks, Phil.”

“I’ll see you on Wednesday for the Summers-Hardy tasting.”

“She’s bringing her grandma.”

“And will she be losing her teeth in the food again? I need to alert the staff.”

“It’ll be fun.”

“You’re a strange man, Joe.”

“You have no idea,” Lachlan says solemnly as he nibbles on his marshmallow.

How can one man look so sexy doing that? It’s a mystery to me.

Phil pats me on the shoulder. “Switch the lights off when you go.” He nods at Lachlan. “Good to meet you, Lachlan.”

“And you,” Lachlan says, his charm very much apparent. “Thank you for the marshmallows and the hot chocolate.”

Within seconds he’s gone, and I smile at Lachlan. “It seems an innocent sort of meal for you.”

“Innocent? You make it sound like I’d have been dining from a virgin’s thighs.”

“You’re on to a loser with me, then.” I shake my head. “Sorry. I derailed us with a shag and then only ponied up for marshmallows and hot chocolate. You’ll be thinking you’re back in the Boy Scouts.”

“Unlikely, with you. I was a high achiever within that organisation, while you have all the hallmarks of a scruffy anarchist.”

I laugh and lean back against the old sofa. “You wouldn’t be too wrong. I was always a bit disorganised for the group activities, and they finally sacked me off when I was supposed to tidy the flags away and hid them in a bush instead.” I hand him another marshmallow. “There you are. Careful,” I warn as he raises it to his mouth. “You’ll burn yourself.” I wink. “And I have very detailed plans for that tongue later on.”

He smiles at me. “So why did you bring me here?”

I cock my head to one side. “I fancied something sweet, and Phil is always open at this time.”

“How do you know him?”

“He does the pastries for a lot of my weddings.”

“Makes you sound like Elizabeth Taylor.”

I hand him the paper bag at my side. “Try one.”

He pulls out a cinnamon whirl with delicate snowflake icing on it and takes a bite. “Jesus,” he immediately groans, and I shift position at the erotic sound. “That’s gorgeous.”