‘Thank you.’
With rapidly warming cheeks, she scooted into the kitchen and began to wash up last night’s dirty plate and the mug and bowl she’d used for breakfast.
However, dishwashing was hard to focus on when there was a strange guy stripping off his top in her sitting room. Was it wrong that she kept imagining what Ruan looked like under the shirt? Hmm. Pretty good, she’d imagine.
The plate slipped from her hands and clattered into the metal sink.
‘Shit.’
Tammy retrieved it, slotted it into the draining rack and picked up a tea towel, willing herself to calm down.
She’d never been this nervous when she’d had other men in the flat, not that there’d been many. The previous one had been Sean and look how that had turned out …
‘It fits fine.’ Ruan poked his head around the door. Tammy realised she’d twisted the towel into knots.
‘Oh …’ She let out the word on a sigh. ‘You, er – It – looks very smart,’ she gabbled, focusing on the expert knot in his tie instead of the way the slim-fit shirt skimmed his toned chest and flat stomach. For an office-based geek, he was in good shape and every bit as ripped as many of the surfers who rode the big waves that thundered into Porthmellow in the winter.
‘Like you say, it’s way better than turning up with pink goo on my clothes. I’m very grateful. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. My dad would be pleased.’
‘Will he mind? Should you ask him?’
She smiled. ‘I wish I could. I’m afraid he’s dead.’
His face fell. ‘Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Look, are you sure this is OK to borrow?’
‘I’ve been meaning to chuck it out, but never got round to it. It would go to the charity shop otherwise. It’s time. Dad’s been gone five years this month.’ She avoided saying that the anniversary was that very day because Ruan really would have been freaked out.
‘I’m very sorry for your loss,’ he said solemnly, yet she saw the awkward shift of his shoulders and his glance down at his front. She could hardly blame him for being uncomfortable with wearing a dead man’s shirt.
‘I didn’t say anything before because I knew you’d feela bit weird in taking the shirt, but honestly, I feel way better about it going to a good home.’
‘I’m touched,’ he said gravely. ‘I’ll look after it, I promise, and I’ll wash it and return it.’
‘No, please don’t!’ she said hastily.
His brow creased and he looked terribly serious again. ‘OK. If you’re absolutely sure …’
Tammy cursed herself inwardly. Was Ruan looking for an excuse to come back to see her? If that was the case, then she’d just scuppered her chances. Sometimes, she was her own worst enemy.
The sound of the clock on the institute chiming through the open window startled them both.
Ruan raised his wrist to reveal the black leather strap of a wristwatch with a gold-rimmed dial. ‘Jeez, is that the time? I’m sorry, I really have to go.’
‘Me too. I need to help Davey in the gallery,’ Tammy said, even though it was her afternoon off. She felt the need to insist she too had a purpose and wasn’t going to spend the day moping around. She’d piled on enough doom and gloom already.
He gathered up his laptop bag and jacket from the sofa. ‘Thanks again,’ he said. ‘For the shirt.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said, her spirits nosediving at the realisation she’d probably never see him again. She had to do something, say something, yet the only words she could think of were ‘Take care’.
‘You too.’
He stopped in the doorway for a second, as though tryingto gather courage before he said earnestly, ‘Later, after my meeting, do you fancy some dinner at the pub?’
Tammy’s pulse rate ratcheted up several notches. She’d been about to blurt out something desperate like ‘Hold on!’ – if only to give herself time to ask him the same thing.
‘That sounds – good,’ she said, and then grinned stupidly to let him know she was more enthusiastic than she sounded. ‘Very good, but I can’t tonight because I’m going out with some mates for a divorce party.’
