Revelation

Part 2

I was really hoping I hadn't overstepped a line with Jo by appearing at her house while she was officially on holiday. Sure, I'd met Adele and Jack before - many times, in fact, over the years - and we got on very well, but I'd never been included in any family celebration and I didn't want Jo to think I was intruding.

It was just, for some strange reason, I'd found myself missing her more than usual. When we had our breaks I always missed her crazy good organisational skills - I mean, truly, I don't know how the hell I coped before she came to work for me. The woman can do absolutely anything, I'm pretty sure, and she gets as stubborn as a mule if somebody is foolish enough to tell her 'no'. Yeah, learned that lesson early on. And I miss our banter, of course, though if I'm home with my family and the friends I've known since childhood, I get much the same treatment. But somehow, this time, it was...different...and I had no way of describing why or how, I just knew instinctively that it was.

So a few days ago, when I'd felt an overwhelming urge to hear her voice and have her razz me, I'd given her a call, only to have Adele answer and say Jo was in the shower. We chatted for a few minutes and then she'd invited me to Beth's wedding and without thinking I heard myself saying yes. And here I am, in her family kitchen, helping peel the vegetables for our roast dinner.

"Jo, get Gerry an apron, love. It'll keep that lovely suit clean."

I looked up in time to catch the expression on Jo's face - the edges of her mouth were twitching in the beginnings of a grin, eyes sparkling with what I knew was mischief. She picked something up from the counter and came toward me, practically dancing in delight, and when I saw the item in her hand I knew why. The apron she'd picked for me was pink and frilly.

"Oh God." Giggles were barely restrained once she saw the full effect on me and suddenly her iPhone was in her hands, the tell-tale click of the camera unmistakeable.

I threatened her with the vegetable peeler in my hand. "If that ends up on social media, I'll..."

An eyebrow lifted high into her forehead, her shit-eating grin covering most of her face. "Audition for a remake of Mrs Doubtfire? Enter The Great British Bake-Off?"

I laughed and shook my head, though I wasn't prepared to verbally acknowledge she'd gotten the better of me. "You'll keep, Josephine Baker."

Undeterred, she muttered, "Whatever, Euphegenia," and we both carried on helping Adele prepare the dinner, Jo still giggling under her breath. I was having difficulty keeping my own laughter inside - and keeping my eyes off Jo. In worn jeans with holes in the knees and an equally well loved Madonna tee hugging her slender curves and emphasizing her petite frame, her honey-blonde hair loose and falling in frolicking waves down her back, she was more relaxed and laid back than I'd seen her before. But it wasn't just that that kept my gaze drifting back to her as we peeled and chopped; there was something different about her, something I couldn't put my finger on, and trying to work out what was driving me a little crazy.

She glanced up and caught me looking at her, merely giving me a wink before continuing with her task, but my visceral reaction to that small gesture set alarm bells ringing.

Holy fuck! I'm attracted to Jo. This is not good, Gerry.

---

Dinner was torture.

The food, the conversation and the company were all great. The torture had sat next to me, her scent teasing my nostrils, the brush of her hair on my arm or shoulder when she moved tantalising me, the sound of her laughter making me feel almost feverish. Every second of training as an actor was drawn on to present a normal front while my mind whirled with questions about how I'd developed these feelings and why they were so different to any I'd ever had. I wasn't a monk, I'd dated plenty of beautiful women, but now my stomach fluttered when this one so much as glanced my way, oxygen was repeatedly forced from my lungs each time our shoulders or thighs touched in the close quarters. Once when she put her hand on my forearm to encourage me to tell an anecdote from a trip to Tokyo, my fingers lost their grip on my knife and the resulting clang resonated loudly as it hit the table.