The Lunchtime Special

Chapter 3 - I'm No Renoir

I send out silent thanks for the courage given me by the margarita I'd managed to down before Laila's family arrived; at least I was managing to make intelligent conversation like a normal human being instead of being tongue tied as I was in the shop. The initial shock of seeing the hunk from the salad bar here – and Laila's brother – had almost made my knees buckle, but I'd grabbed a chair and held on for dear life while I recovered.

And holy crap, he looks just as amazing in a suit as he did earlier in casual wear, and now that he's sitting beside me I can smell him too – a subtle oceanic scent that makes me visualise the two of us in each others arms on the shore while waves crest around us, soaking our half-naked bodies like a scene in From Here to Eternity.

Will clears his throat loudly and gives me a 'Look', making me realise someone had spoken to me and I hadn't heard.

"Pardon? I'm sorry, I was...thinking about something else."

Mrs Harrington – Anthea – makes a small noise and spares me a scathing glance while Will frowns slightly at my preoccupation. "Laila asked about my bachelor party."

Part of my official duties as Will's Best Friend – I'd steadfastly refused to be called the Best Man or even Best Maid – was to organise his stag night. I hadn't finalised plans yet but the snide vibe I was getting from his mother-in-law-to-be was enough to devil me into a provocative response. Or maybe it was the margaritas.

"We're going to a strip club in Sydney."

Beside me, Jake chokes on his glass of pinot and I helpfully thump him on the back, admiring the firm muscles I feel beneath his suit. Will and Laila, meanwhile, are busy assuring Anthea that I'm only joking. I look at the disapproving tilt to her expertly sculpted eyebrows and the thin narrow line of her coral lipstick – even her perfectly coiffured blonde hair manages to look unamused - and smile inwardly to myself.

"Sorry, that was my terrible sense of humour. Of course there will be no naked women at all – Will's not into that." Once the words are out of my mouth I realise how they sound and swallow a giggle, earning another frown from my BFF and what sounds suspiciously like a gurgle from Jake.

"What Mia means to say," Will gives me a glare as he reassures the two Harrington women, "is that it will be a very quiet, subdued, dignified evening." I bite my bottom lip firmly to stop any sounds of disbelief or amusement from escaping, knowing I've probably already done my dash as far as Will is concerned. Swallowing the last of my second margarita, I catch the eye of a passing waiter and open my mouth to order when Jake beats me to it.

"Another margarita for the lady please and I'll have another pinot. Mother, Laila – would you care for another glass?"

"Actually," I interrupt, "I'll have a lemon, lime and bitters please."

The others all order and conversation resumes as Anthea asks Will about work. Under cover of their chatter Jake murmurs to me, "Too scared to have another?" I catch a gentle uplift at the corner of his mouth and something clenches in my lower body. Is he flirting with me?

"I've already had two," I whisper back, "and besides, I have to drive home." I'm already wondering if I'll be fit to get behind the wheel; his nearness was having as much of an intoxicating effect on me as was the alcohol.

"I would happily take you home," his fingers brush my arm fleetingly and I feel a warm blush spreading from there to my scalp, accompanied by more clenching as I wonder if he means his words to have a double meaning or if I've just left my mind in the gutter.

Holy crap.

The arrival of our waiter with dessert saves me having to answer and I tuck into my chocolate Baileys cheesecake with enthusiasm, answering questions Laila has about bushwalks in the local area and listening to Anthea rave on about Melbourne and culture, assuming what she's actually saying is she doesn't think we have any here. It's a commonly held view of life in small communities like ours, so we're used to the snobbery of city slickers like her. Sighing to myself, I wish she wasn't who she is so that I could tell her where I think she can shove her Serious Money and elitist attitude.