Читать книгу An Unforgettable Proposal: A Love…Maybe Valentine eShort - Beth Thomas, Beth Thomas - Страница 5

When I get to the restaurant, the maître d’ shows me to our usual table. It’s empty but that’s OK; I don’t mind getting here first. I had expected to anyway, and to be honest I am ten minutes early. But I’ve been looking forward to this all week and couldn’t wait any longer. I don’t even mind that I’m sitting at a restaurant table on my own on Valentine’s Day. I know Sam is going to be here soon, so no one has to feel sorry for me.

Our table is by the window so I can watch the street. Look out for him. The traffic comes and goes but none of it interests me. In a few moments, I’ll see him and finally it’ll feel like the day has started. I glance at my watch. Almost seven-thirty. He’s generally only slightly late, so probably only another five or six minutes to wait.

I order us both a drink so Sam’s will be here waiting for him (all right, maybe it was mostly to let everyone else in the restaurant know that I am expecting someone to join me) and sip mine as I wait. I think about making a rushed trip to the loo to check my hair, but then I hear his motorbike on the street and a second or two later it comes into sight. As I watch, he slows it right down and expertly bumps up onto the pavement right outside the window. One of the advantages of riding a motorbike: being able to park anywhere. Another one: legitimately turning up everywhere fully clad in leather.

I start smiling as I watch him flick down the stand, dismount, then take off his helmet and turn. I am, as usual, caught off guard by his beauty; his long blonde hair messy from the ride, his broad shoulders, his leather-clad thighs. How is it possible that this guy, this amazing, sexy, funny, charming guy, is my guy? A couple of girls walking past on the pavement clock him and sway a bit, trying to get his attention, but he doesn’t even glance at them. He’s scanning the restaurant window looking for me, and when he sees me a big grin appears instantly on his face. My own poor heart thumps like a dog’s tail as we lock eyes, then he tucks his helmet under his arm and starts walking towards the door.

Just before he gets there, he stops abruptly. He scratches his head and exaggeratedly looks down at his hands, apparently just noticing that the only thing he’s carrying is his crash helmet. He appears to think for a second, then pantomimes suddenly remembering something by snapping his fingers and jerking his head back. He turns dramatically round to face his bike and walks back across the pavement towards it. He knows he’s got my undivided attention as, with giant movements, he unlocks the box on the back of the bike and reaches inside, then turns to face me again. I’m laughing a little now, sat alone at my table watching this lovely man gesturing something to me. He points at me, then puts his hand over his eyes. Then points at me again. I nod and smile – he can’t see whether I’ve closed my eyes or not from there. But he cocks his head and puts his hands on his hips. I nod again, feeling foolish, trying to chuckle silently, then raise my own hand and cover my eyes. I spread my fingers a little, though, so I can still see him. Sure enough, he turns back to the box and reaches in, then turns suddenly back round to check on me. A fat laugh escapes me, and he points at me accusingly, knowing I can still see him. He taps his foot and mimes looking at his watch, glances around the street, up at the sky, whistles, folds his arms. So I put both hands over my eyes and block him out altogether. Next time I look, the bike is alone.

*

Two years ago today we were both at the same party. A Valentine’s Day event for singles, I’m sorry to say, but that’s how it’s done these days. He walked straight over to me, beer bottle in hand, and said, ‘Do you come here often?’ Then he took a swig as I tried to collect myself and think of a witty and urbane reply.

‘I refuse to answer that on the grounds that I might incriminate myself. You?’

He laughed, pleased, and nodded. ‘Ha. Well I wouldn’t say I was here often exactly, unless you count once a year for five years often.’ I snorted out a subtle laugh. There was absolutely no way he had spent the last five Valentine’s Days at an event for singles like this one. He was probably only about twenty-one, for a start. And completely gorgeous, in a stubbly, long-haired, leather-clad kind of way. The best kind of way. He watched me closely. ‘Try not to feel too sorry for me.’

‘It’s too late, I’m afraid, my heart’s already bleeding.’

‘Oh dammit. And there was I hoping to make a great first impression.’ He was still looking at me intensely. ‘You make me nervous.’

I liked that, to make him nervous. I liked that a lot. ‘Well you could always start again if you want?’

He nodded. ‘That’s awfully good of you. Would you mind?’

‘Not at all. I’ll just be here.’

‘Great, thanks.’ He started to walk away, then came back suddenly. ‘I really do appreciate this, you know.’ He looked me right in the eyes and moved his face closer to mine. ‘I won’t forget it.’

‘Neither will I.’ We held each other’s eyes for a few extra moments and I felt a thrill of anticipation, the spark of something about to happen. Then I smiled and said, ‘It’s promising to be the most interesting second first impression I’ve had for weeks.’

He grinned back. ‘Don’t count your chickens. It could end up being worse than the first first.’

I took a breath. ‘Well that one was actually pretty good.’ Embarrassed, I lifted my own bottle to my lips.

He grinned, turned, and walked away, into the group of people at the bar, beyond it, and I lost sight of him. Seconds later, he reappeared, an exaggerated casual air about him as he lolloped across the room, confident I was watching his every move. He pretended to spot me standing there and stopped in his tracks, smacking his palm to his chest. Then he gave a coy smile. I smiled back encouragingly, and he pointed at himself: who, me? I nodded, trying to look uber-cool, and jerked my head a little to beckon him over. Eventually he arrived at my side and said, ‘Hi, my name’s Sam. I just saw you from over there and had to come and talk to you. What’s your name?’

‘Hi Sam,’ I laughed, ‘it’s lovely to meet you for the very first time. My name’s William.’

We had been inseparable ever since.

*

‘I could tell you were still looking, you toad,’ he says now as he arrives at the table. ‘Happy anniversary.’

‘You go around looking like Thor in leather trousers and expect me not to look? Happy anniversary to you too. I got you a drink.’

He pulls out the chair with such easy grace, as if every molecule of every article in the universe is vibrating to his instruction. He regards me closely across the table, smiling as he appraises what he sees. ‘You look bloody great,’ he says quietly, then bends down with a creak of leather and puts his helmet on the floor. My insides are instantly churning with pleasure and I feel heat creep into my cheeks. For God’s sake, I’m nearly thirty and this guy makes me feel like a teenager. Sam’s head comes up again, and in one fluid motion he’s got both hands on the table and is leaning right across to kiss me. I close my eyes and put my hands on his stubbly cheeks, wrapping my fingers around the back of his neck. When we separate he stays there a moment or two longer, our noses almost touching, and smiles broadly. ‘God I love you,’ he breathes, then sits back down.

As usual, one or two people at nearby tables are staring at us. Good God, two men kissing in public, how disgusting, so I return their stares belligerently. But Sam is oblivious to it all, busy as he is getting something out of his helmet. He never notices anyway. Or at least he doesn’t let on that he’s noticed. And being with him has started to help me not notice too.

Well, I still notice. But I don’t want to punch anyone any more.

‘So, do you want your present now, or shall we wait ’til dessert?’ he says playfully. He’s holding something under the table, out of sight.

‘Um, well I was thinking, let’s leave it ’til a week on Wednesday. Then we can really do it justice.’

He frowns a little. ‘Are you serious?’

‘No, you idiot! I want it now! Obviously.’

His frown is replaced instantly by that heart-stopping grin, and he pushes out his lips. ‘You bastard. OK, here you go.’ And he holds a small silver wrapped parcel across the table.