Saving Kitty - completed

Chapter 6

Phoebe felt nothing but dread about that evening's coming meal, she and James had only exchanged a few words but none of them had been pleasant so far. Still, there was something about him which, she was ashamed to admit to herself that actually did want to see him again. Phoebe made her way to the kitchen where her aunt had already laid the table with lit candles no less, in the middle, Phoebe was beginning to feel she was being set up for a date. "You are staying for dinner, aren't you?" Phoebe asked as she noticed only two place settings.

"Ahhh there you are, actually I can't I had quite forgotten that it's my bridge night and I can't miss it."

How convenient... Phoebe thought as a sudden terror welled up inside her, she didn't quite think she was ready to be alone with him. This was bound to end in disaster or awkward silence, or possibly both. "But he hates me, we don't even know each other, I really don't think this is a great idea," Phoebe backed away from the table and had the urge to bolt for the door.

"He doesn't hate you dear, you both just got off on the wrong foot, and this will be a good opportunity for you to get to know each other. What's the worst that could happen?" Aunt Martha took out a steaming Lasagna from the oven, now I've made you a nice salad to go with it, and there's an apple pie on the side over there."

Phoebe's heart sank, this really was a terrible idea. Just as Phoebe was about to plead a headache James entered through the back door. He was dressed in khaki-coloured jeans with a white shirt, unbuttoned at the top, his hair was loose and he looked... breathtakingly handsome, how annoying is that!. He was clean shaven, his eyes were dark brown pools with flecks of amber, and his strong eyebrows were nicely shaped (damn he had better eyebrows that she did). He was almost too well manicured, Phoebe wondered just how long he spent on his own appearance, or more to the point how long did he take looking in the mirror. "Hi mum... Phoebe." James nodded in Phoebe's direction, her heart fluttered much to her irritation, it was obvious he felt just as uncomfortable as she did. "Hello son, right, well, I forgot that it's bridge night and I can't let the other ladies down, so there's a lasagna on the side and a salad on the table to go with it, you'll do the honours won't you dear and serve, now remember to be on your best behaviour or there'll be trouble." Phoebe watched in horror as her aunt waved a fist at her son.

Without waiting to hear any protests, aunt Martha grabbed her black hand bag and dashed out the door, surprisingly she was quick as lightning. And ...there it was... that terrible awkward silence, Phoebe stood one side of the kitchen while James stood the other. "Right, so, this is ... ummm ever so slightly awkward," he said aloud what they were both thinking. "Are you hungry?"

Phoebe nodded.

"Take a seat then and I'll serve." James turned and picked up the hot cheesy, lasagna from the side and placed it down on the heat plate in the middle of the table. Phoebe sat, she didn't know what to say, or what to talk about, however there was something still irritating her, and she just had to get it off her chest, "just what was the other night all about?" Who on earth did you think I was?"

James momentarily hesitated, "I thought you were a restaurant critic. I thought you were another one of those bloody food writers. Some magazine editors have been bugging me for months wanting to feature me in their glossy crap."

"That's surely not a bad thing, is it?"

"Yes and no, I don't want my cooking being judged by someone that may have had a bad day, or a bee in their bonnet about something that has nothing to do with me or my food, there's a lot of competition round here, more than you realise, and things can turn nasty."

"Oh..." Phoebe wasn't sure what else to say, James was obviously very passionate about his food, and in a way she could see his point of view.

"One bad comment or word, and it can all go down the pan, no pun intended, it's not that I'm frightened of being judged I believe what I create is good, better than good, but I want it judged on my terms and when I'm ready, not by some sneaky back door tactic." James was mad, and was seemingly getting angrier just talking about it, he took a deep steadying breath, closed his eyes for a second before taking a bottle of red out of a cupboard, "would you like some wine?" He asked, obviously not really intending it to be a question that needed answering as he poured the wine before sitting opposite her.