Half an hour later Johnny Jefferson comes downstairs and finds me tapping my fingers on one of the two big desks in the office. I’m still feeling nervy, despite the tequila, and I’m not quite sure what to do next.
‘Table all booked?’ he asks, hooking his thumb casually into his jeans pocket. They’re the same ones he was wearing earlier, but he’s changed into a fitted cream shirt with silver pinstripe.
‘Yes, and champagne chilling on ice. I didn’t know if you wanted the car so I called Davey just in case. He’s waiting on the driveway.’
‘Cool.’ He nods. ‘Thought I’d have to take the bike.’
At least I got that right.
He stays standing in the doorway for a moment, staring at me, his hair still damp from the shower.
‘Right then, I’m off.’ He pats the palm of his hand on the door with an air of finality.
I try to resist asking, but can’t. ‘When will you be back?’
‘Tomorrow,’ he answers. ‘Probably.’
And then he’s gone. And suddenly the house feels very empty indeed.
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