Something Blue - Emily Giffin [100]
Charlotte agreed. "I know! But it's so obvious now. Clearly you're perfect together."
Meg nodded. "He adores you… and you even look amazing together."
I had a second of uneasiness. "You look amazing together" was the kind of thing people always said to Dex and me, and look how we turned out. But I pushed the comparison out of my head and said with a chuckle, "Yeah. Well. Now I just have to find out whether he's good in bed. If so, this whole thing is a done deal!"
So a few nights later, I set about finding out. Our evening began at the Ivy, one of the most popular restaurants in London. The head chef was a friend of Geoffrey's, so we had a tasting menu prepared especially for us, followed by a magnificent slice of flourless chocolate cake for dessert, and some very expensive port for Geoffrey.
While we waited for the bill, Elle MacPherson and her husband sauntered in for a late reservation. They sat one table over from us. I caught Geoffrey inspecting her, and then glancing back at me as if comparing us feature by feature. When I asked him what he was thinking, he said, "You truly are prettier than she. I much prefer your eyes."
I smiled, and told him that he was more handsome than Elle's husband too. Handsome was the right word for Geoffrey's looks. He reached across the table and put his hand on mine. "What do you say we go back to my place?"
I leaned seductively across the table and said, "I thought you'd never ask."
We left the Ivy and returned to Geoffrey's flat, my first visit to his place. I pictured him living in a traditional town house, like Meg's, but instead it was a sleek, minimalist loft decorated with interesting sculptures, monochromatic paintings, and contemporary furniture. I thought of Marcus's sloppy apartment, relishing the absence of video games, fish tanks, dirty sneakers, and beer cans.
"I love your flat. It's exactly my taste," I said.
He looked pleased with the compliment, but confessed that he had used a decorator. "She's quite good. I don't have the patience for it."
I glanced around again, noticing a little red table and chairs covered with crayons, scraps of paper, and a half-assembled puzzle of a cartoon character I didn't recognize. "Max's play area?" I asked.
He nodded. "Although his stuff usually spreads from his bedroom to every corner of the flat."
I smiled.
"Could I see a picture of him?"
He pointed to his mantel. On it was a photo of Max walking along a pebbled beach, squinting up in the sunlight. "He's two and a half in that photo. It was taken at my cottage at St. Mawe's."
"What a beautiful little boy. He looks a bit like you," I said, glancing from the photo back to Geoffrey.
"He actually looks more like his mum," Geoffrey said. "But he got my nose. Poor chap."
I laughed and told him that I loved his nose. "It has character," I said, reminding myself of Rachel. She always talked of the character in someone's face, saying that small, pretty noses on men turned her off. I sort of knew what she meant. I liked the strong statement that Geoffrey's nose made.
He put his arms around me and kissed my nose. "And I love yours."
The exchange was one of those very early precursors to I love you. You know—when a couple goes around saying that they love certain things about each other. I love your eyes. I love spending time with you. I love the way you make me feel. And then out of the blue—a straight-up I love you.
Geoffrey offered me a drink. "Juice? Water? Tea?"
"Nothing, thank you," I said, shifting a Tic Tac from one side of my mouth to the other.
I watched him stride over to his wet bar and pour himself a glass of bourbon. Then he turned on his stereo. African music that reminded me of the background singers in Paul Simon's Graceland filled his fiat. We sat on his modern leather couch, he draped his arm around my shoulder, and we talked. As I listened to his charming accent, punctuated by the atmospheric clinking of ice in his rock-cut tumbler,