The Pretend Boyfriend novel Chapter 67

"You look awful," she says.

"Thanks."

She gently strokes the skin of his face. "You're getting worry creases. At your age."

"Thanks again. Remind me to always come to you whenever I need a motivational pep talk."

She laughs. "Come and have some dinner. You'll feel better."

She has arranged the table artfully with two placemats and a bowl of roses. Two candles flicker on their stands. He immediately feels at ease as he shrugs off his jacket and lays it on the back of her couch. He didn't even berate her for the obvious romance of the tableau. She doesn't mean it to be romance - she respects his ideals too much for that. But the fact she would go through all this effort for him is nothing short of remarkable.

Sam serves them both pot roast and black bread - real comfort food. Brian begins to relax as all the tension of today leaves his body. He wonders when he has come to think of Sam's apartment as 'home'. Then again, he's equally at home in his own new apartment. When she's around.

A fleeting pang in his chest makes him wince. He puts down his fork.

"What's the matter?" She observes him. "Pot roast giving you gas?"

He masks it by smiling up at her. "Nah, Fitness Worx is giving me gas."

As is the beauteous Thor, who has become the most sought-after trainer in 'Shape' for obvious reasons.

He continues, "Shape's rolled in a hefty revenue this fortnight. If we keep doing the way we're doing, we'll be in the black before the year is up. But we can't rest on our laurels. Fitness Worx is mounting a defense campaign even as we speak."

She pours them both some red wine and raises him a toast. "To 'Shape'."

"To 'Shape'," he repeats. "May all the six-packs be flattened and steam-ironed into eights."

They both take a sip.

"To our partnership," she adds, flushing slightly.

"Amen." He finds himself thinking that unbidden thought - that they are partners in more ways than one.

And all this might go away in another fortnight or so.

His heart heavy, he reaches for the little box inside his jeans pocket. In the candlelight, the box is rich purple velvet, simultaneously absorbing and gleaming in the light. A frog comes to his throat, and he makes an attempt to clear it. But his voice still comes out funny. A strangled kind of funny.

Sam glances at him, her eyes shining. "Brian, I can't accept this. You can't afford it right now."

"Of course I can. Take it." He holds up his palms in refusal when she tries to give him back the box. "Didn't your mother teach you manners? It's rude not to accept a gift from the condemned."

"You're not condemned."

"I will be soon. Fuck it, Sam, just let me do this for you, OK? Don't nag."

"I'm not nagging, and you're not condemned." Determination makes her thrust her chin out.

"Well, you've got more faith in the jury than my lawyer does." Hell, and Karen has more faith in the system to treat him leniently than he does himself.

She comes over to him and strokes his rich chestnut hair. "Hey, it ain't over till the fat lady sings."

She leans over to settle her lips softly upon his. It's a butterfly kiss - so light and gentle that it takes his breath away. He feels his groin tightening.

He murmurs against her softly breathing mouth, "In my case, it's till the ball-crushing Assistant DA sings."