Sophie's Run (22 page)

“We are?” Confusion was written all over Steve’s face. It was evident in the way he scrunched his eyebrows and wrinkled his nose; I was getting to know my man fast.

“Definitely. Look, here we are,
almost
like we’re living together, preparing a meal for some close friends of ours.” I continued chopping onions for the stock of our paella.

“And?”

I giggled. “I’m not explaining this very well, am I? Normally, when people date, they are on their best behavior for weeks and weeks, taking great care to hide all the bad bits. But we’ve been inseparable for almost two weeks. We know everything about each other. You’ve helped me bathe. You’ve seen me naked even if we haven’t…” I didn’t continue the thought, moving onto safer ground instead. “We’ve discovered each other’s unsavory habits…”

“What
are
you talking about?” Steve interrupted. “I have no unpleasant habits.”

“You snore.”

“Do not.”

“You do
so
.”

Steve threw celery and tomatoes into the pot and gave the stock a vigorous stir. “How would you know? I sleep on the sofa in the lounge.”

“I can hear you,” I commented flatly. And it was true, Steve did snore. Not very badly, but loud enough to stop me from falling asleep. I didn’t mind terribly, but I
had
noted the fact.

Steve looked at me and surrendered. “Okay. I
might
snore. Occasionally. But you are anally obsessive with your feet.”

I didn’t even fight him on that one. I
was
anally obsessive about feet. I hated feet. I found them gross. Therefore, I used a separate foot towel, and I couldn’t bear the thought of a duvet being turned head-to-toe and me sleeping with my face where somebody else’s feet…ugh. It didn’t bear thinking about.

“See!” I pounced. “That’s what I mean. We’re reverse-dating. We’re finding out all the bad bits about each other and the best bits are still to come. Therefore, we’re destined for great things.” I blushed furiously. For obvious reasons, we still hadn’t made out, let alone contemplated sex. Steve made to speak, but I raised my spoon to indicate I wasn’t finished.

“And speaking of feet…you, my dear, have a bit of a toenail issue going on.”

Steve’s mouth hung open. Very slowly, he dropped his gaze to examine his bare feet. I didn’t follow. I knew what they looked like and I tried to avoid thinking about them.

“I do?” Steve uttered incredulously for the second time in five minutes. “What do you mean?”

I added my onions to the stock and started chopping chorizo. “They’re too long.”

“They’re too long?” Steve echoed.

“They are. They’re like…hornbills.” I gave an involuntary shudder.

“Hornbills
?”

“Birds with very big, curved beaks. Fine on the bird, not so great on your toes. But the point I’m trying to make is”—I turned to face Steve and wrapped my arms around his neck—“I don’t mind. I’ve duly noted the fact and considered it and dismissed it. It doesn’t matter. I can’t explain why it doesn’t matter—it should matter, it grosses me out, but I don’t care. They’re part of you and…” I ground to a halt. This wasn’t the right moment to spout the
L
word. Steve refused to let me off the hook. Merriment was dancing in his eyes as he pulled me closer still.

“…
and? And what?”

I swallowed hard. “And nothing. It’s just who you are and that’s fine.”

“Disregarding the fact that my toenails are severely umbraged by your harsh and quite unfair assessment of their visual appearance…” He pulled back and smiled at me, his radiant face belying the purported umbrage on the part of his toenails. “I can see what you’re saying and I agree.”

“You agree?” My eyes lit up with hope. Maybe he
would
cut them after all.

“I think you’re right. We’re reverse-dating.”

He bent his head forward, and I could feel his warm breath on my face. His arms held me tight and he ran his right hand up my back until it alighted on the nape of my neck. My heart beat wildly and my eyes struggled to focus, so I closed them and surrendered myself to the moment.

Very gently, Steve’s lips touched mine, probing, exploring, connecting lightly. They felt warm and smooth and inviting. He tilted his head and pressed against me harder. His tongue appeared, pushing against my lips, my teeth, finding my tongue and dancing with it. I had goosebumps all over my body as I returned the kiss, wishing it would last forever. Steve ran both hands through my hair, mussing it up, cupping my face. I placed my arms around his neck and half-wrapped a leg around his bottom so I could squeeze myself closer to him still. We swayed with the motion of our kiss and toppled against the work surface.

“Whoa.” Steve was as breathless as I when we came up for air. His brown eyes looked more than melted chocolate than ever, and a deep glow shone from deeply within. He stroked my face gently with his fingers, then tried to straighten my hair. I lightly touched his nose and smiled my biggest smile.

“I suppose I better run a brush through that,” I suggested as I could feel his straightening efforts turning my hair into even more of a bird’s nest.

“I like this look,” Steve disagreed. “It’s messy and very sexy.”

The neglected stock came to a boil right at this moment and sprayed all over the hob. Steve and I shrank yet further apart and stepped away from the work surface to save ourselves from getting splattered.

“You go and brush your hair and I’ll take care of that,” Steve returned his mind to practical matters. “We really must get on with the cooking otherwise our guests will go hungry. And sometime soon…we’ll have to get properly dating.” He gave me a very meaningful look indeed, and I blushed.

Rachel and Dan arrived together, sweeping in like a hurricane of good mood.

“Kiss, kiss, kiss,” Rachel shouted and followed through with hearty pecks on my cheek. This was only the second time I had seen her since her return to London, the first time having been very shortly after I got home. She regarded me critically.

“You look much better, sweetie,” was her verdict. Dan muscled in energetically.

“My turn,” he demanded, and also planted a peck on my cheek. I blushed, not at his kiss, but at the recollection of the first kiss I had shared with Steve just half an hour before. Dan was oblivious to my burning face and busied himself putting the wine in the fridge.

“Sorry I have been out of touch,” he chattered away. “We’ve been in studio. The label has set a date for the next album and we’ve got to finish producing by January. Beer?”

He turned to Steve brandishing a couple of bottles, and Steve nodded his agreement. “Yes please, a beer would be lovely.”

Dan popped the tops and handed a bottle to Steve. He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat down, and Rachel joined him instantly. Steve was at the stove looking after the paella and I laid the table.

“January,” I prompted Dan. “That seems an odd time. You’ll miss the Christmas sales.”

“But we’ll be the first launch of the year, which gives us more time to get into the ‘best album of the year’ charts. Plus we’ll be touring from February, and the label has also booked a promo gig for New Year’s Eve. Tickets to go on sale soon, not that you’ll need any.” He grinned meaningfully.

“I should hope so, too!” I teased.

“It’s good to see you,” Dan changed the subject abruptly. “And you, Steve.”

Steve raised his bottle in salute. “Likewise. Sophie’s been looking forward to tonight for days. I think she’s been bored out of her mind, stuck at home all day.”

“Rick’s aching for you to come back to work,” Rachel supplied on cue. “He’s like a bear with a sore head without his star deputy-editor.”

“Only a few more days…” I said hopefully. “I really
am
bored. And I miss seeing you and being out and about.” I settled myself at the table between Rachel and Dan, who were facing each other. Steve would be opposite me. It was a regular little grown-up dinner party.

Steve added a touch more pepper to the paella, then turned the hob off and declared that dinner was done. He set the pan on the table and started serving. Soon, the kitchen was full of the happy chatter of four people having a fabulous meal and a lovely time. I hugged the feeling to myself.
This
was what life was all about. Cooking with your man, feeding friends, entertaining, being together. A real Kodak moment.

When the evening drew to a close, Dan gave me one his bear hugs before bounding down the stairs. “Gotta fly,” he said regretfully. “The guys will be waiting for me in studio, we have a couple more hours’ work to do.”

I shook my head. “You work weird hours.”

He merely grinned. “We work
creative
hours,” he retorted with a wink. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

I nodded and waved him off. “Go on, don’t be late!”

Rachel, too, made her apologies. “Thank you for a fabulous meal,” she whispered in my ear. “I’m glad you look so happy. And your Steve…he’s definitely a keeper!” She nudged me gently in the side, and I gave her a hug.

“You take care now.”

“You, too!” And she was gone.

Steve and I looked at the debris of a good time and tossed a coin as to whether we would tidy up then, or in the morning. Head said we should do it right away, so we stacked the plates in the dishwasher and put the pan into soapy water for a soak. “Job done,” Steve grinned.

He went in the lounge to set himself up with pillows and blankets on the sofa as usual. I looked on with dismay. Steve sleeping on the sofa didn’t seem right anymore. We had shared our first kiss, we had entertained as a couple, we had talked about dating…

“Would you like to sleep in my bed tonight?” I blurted out.
Oops
. That didn’t quite sound as casual nor innocent as intended.

Steve lowered the blanket he had been shaking out. He considered my question silently, and the moment assumed an unexpected significance.

“In your bed…with you in it as well?” he confirmed before making a decision.

“Yes, please. It’s just… It’s so stupid, you sleeping here on this uncomfortable sofa.”

“It’s not uncomfortable,” Steve hastened to reassure me. “It’s actually quite nice.”

I sat down on the sofa in question, obstructing his avenue for further bed-making endeavors.

“That’s not what I mean. But it feels wrong making you sleep over here when—”

“When what?”

“When…well, when we’re so obviously together. Aren’t we?” Now I was looking for reassurance. “I mean, we don’t need to
do
anything. That’s not what I’m asking. I only want you to be in a proper bed and—”

Oh God, I hated being the one to make the first move, but it was my flat, my bed, my responsibility.

“—
and,” I continued a little coyly, “it might be quite nice to have a cuddle. You know, a cuddle. Not anything more.”

Steve burst out laughing uproariously, but calmed down at seeing my discomfort. “I’m not laughing at you, Soph,” he declared quickly.

There, he was using my shortened name, and I liked it. It was good. It said,
I Love You
every time he pronounced it. We hadn’t actually got round to declaring our love outright yet, the time simply hadn’t presented itself although we had got close.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he repeated. “But it was very sweet and funny, the way that came out. And yes, I would love to share your bed tonight, and every night. We’ll leave the…”—significant pause—“something more for when you’re all better,” he added quickly, “no rush.”

I was blushing even more furiously now. This was the second time the matter had come up today; it was obviously playing on his mind as much as it was on mine. However, on the matter of sharing my bed, we were now committed. Steve solemnly abandoned his blankets and we marched to my bedroom. Then we stood in front of the bed, which suddenly looked a lot smaller than I remembered.

“Which side?” Steve asked solicitously.

“That side.” I pointed to the far side of the bed.

“Shall I go in first?” he asked politely. I nodded. So he jumped in and, like a modern-day Romeo, stretched out both arms toward me, beckoning me with a cheesy grin.

“Come on in,” he invited, now taking over the space as though it was his.

“Okay,” I said, and uncertainly climbed in beside him.

There, we had done it. In bed together. I lay in Steve’s arms and he pulled the duvet over us.

It was new and unfamiliar, but it was nice. He only wore pajama bottoms and my head rested on his chest.

Okay, okay, I wasn’t supposed to make comparisons, but I couldn’t help it. Who would? His chest was a nice and smooth one, not at all hairy. Dan, I recalled somewhat inappropriately, had a small spattering of curly hair at the top of his chest, but Steve was smooth and muscular. He put his arms around me and we held each other in a long embrace, breathing deeply. He smelled good, like that first time I had caught his scent in the hospital. I hoped I smelled nice, too, not of illness anymore, but of me.