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“Maybe we should keep it professional,” I said. “For both our sakes. Otherwise it gets complicated. Gemma, Christmas, all of it.”
Tess nodded slowly. “That’s sensible.” She didn’t sound like she thought it was sensible. She sounded a tiny bit hurt, and was hiding it, and doing a very good job.
“Not because I don’t like you,” I added quickly. “Because I do.”
“Ben. Stop talking.” But she was smiling. She stood up, smoothed down her dress, and became somebody slightly different: straighter, more confident, the version of her I imagined other men got. “Right. Professional. Then here’s how professional works.”
She walked to the kitchen counter, picked up the envelope and weighed it in her palm. Then she put it down again without opening it.
“I’ll tell you what I’m comfortable with,” she said, “and you tell me what you’d like, and we meet in the middle. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“I’m comfortable with most things. Not kissing on the mouth, because that’s personal, and we’ve just agreed this isn’t.” Her eyes flicked to my lips and away. “Anything else, you can ask.”
My mouth was very dry.
The envelope sat between us on the counter like a third person in the room. I realised I had no idea whether she was going to take it.