Free Recipes for Melissa by Teresa Driscoll Page A

you to the cafe, but Alexandros and his mother shook their heads and so she took a business card from the counter, thinking of an online review at the very least, as volunteers helped Sam back out to the car.
    He had been given painkillers plus a little local anaesthetic and temporary butterfly stitches but was still pale and clearly pretty uncomfortable.
    She drove very slowly – Sam silent with his eyes closed now.
    ‘Hang in there. Should only be about an hour.’
    And then she was embarrassed as she made it back onto the main route and had to fight hard to keep it in: the wave of delayed shock which had not yet evolved into relief. Reaching into her pocket for a tissue. Feeling it all over again – that terrifying split second in which she was sure of a different outcome.
    Melissa had to let out little puffs of air, making a strange noise. Her breathing all over the place. In the end she had to pull into a layby.
    ‘I’m sorry, Sam. I just need a minute.’

11
MAX – 2011
    The lurch again.
    Max tried very hard not to even look at Anna who was entirely oblivious and utterly professional, shuffling papers, her reading glasses on the top of her head like sunglasses. He glanced at the phone in his hand and put it quickly in his pocket. Still no return text from Melissa. Why was it she couldn’t just acknowledge a text? One second it would take …
    He looked back up. Could actually not fathom it at all – this ridiculous reaction every time Anna walked into the room. She was not the kind of woman who dressed for attention and Max was, ordinarily, no kind of flirt at work – most especially since the debacle that was Deborah – his one relationship at the university.
    So why the hell was he sitting here right this moment, fighting the urge to examine, again, the little dip at the base of Anna’s throat? Did other women not have precisely the same biology? Why this neck? Why now?
    No, Max.
    He was ashamed to find his gaze darting to her hand. No wedding ring.
    Stop this.
    ‘Is this a bad time again?’
    ‘No. No. Absolutely not. Fire away, Anna.’ He lifted his jug of coffee by way of invitation and began fussing with the milk as she began to discuss her seminar group. By the time he had swung back around with a second mug, she looked for a moment startled. Max had very deliberately not offered her coffee on any of their previous weekly encounters.
    No wedding ring.
    And then – as he was pouring the coffee, she was suddenly both smiling and apparently, for the first time, actually relaxing. It was a broad and full-on smile of genuine relief with absolutely perfect teeth.
    ‘Do you have any plans for lunch, Anna?’
    ‘I’m sorry?’
    Shut up, Max.
    ‘It’s just I was planning to grab a sandwich at the Panier Cafe and if you wanted to join me, we could talk some more then?’
    Jesus Christ, Max... Do you learn nothing? He was remembering Melissa’s face when he shared with her the debacle over Deborah.
    Anna was meantime now looking at her watch. ‘Well. It’s just – I normally do a run this lunchtime actually.’
    ‘Oh right. You run, Anna?’
    ‘Well. More walking with bounce – but I’m in training for a half marathon with my son. In danger of rank humiliation.’
    ‘Oh right. Well. Good for you – for giving it a go, I mean. That’s excellent. Really. Jolly good.’
    A son? Of course she’s spoken for. Just because she doesn’t wear a bloody ring, Max, doesn’t mean that…
    ‘Though – the sandwich was a nice offer. Thank you.’
    ‘No problem. We’ll finish up here then.’
    ‘Right.’
    ‘Good. Excellent.’
----
    That evening Max put in an extra run of three kilometres before supper. He pushed himself really hard, bending down for rather longer than usual to catch his breath before facing the steps up to his front door.
    And then, as soon as he was inside, he couldn’t help himself – standing sweaty and still out of breath as he dialled.
    ‘Hi. It’s me.’
    ‘As in Max