‘No,’ he said unconvincingly.
‘I’m going to open it,’ she smiled, her eyes taunting him.
There was no card, and once she had ripped off the gift wrap, a cassette tape sat in her hand.
‘A mix tape?’
It was a question, because she wasn’t sure. It was of the blank cassette variety, but it could have been a recording of the sounds of Savannah, or a soundtrack for her documentary, for all she knew.
‘I prefer the English vernacular. A compilation tape. I think it gives it the gravitas it deserves.’
A piece of file paper folded into quarters accompanied the tape. She opened it, and recognised Jim’s bold capital letters.
‘Twenty-one songs,’ she said out loud.
Jim’s cheeks coloured a little. ‘There’s some good stuff on there,’ he shrugged. ‘Stuff I thought you might like. Songs to make you happy, songs to make you feel sad, songs to make you feel like you can conquer the world.’
‘Music can do that,’ she said quietly.
‘You’re learning.’
Her eyes trailed down to read the playlist, but Jim touched the paper awkwardly.
‘Don’t look at it now. Not when there’s free champagne to drink.’
He didn’t meet her gaze, and suddenly she felt a jolt of excitement, a suggestion that the mix tape contained something that was perhaps of significance. Thoughts that he didn’t want to share, not yet, not in public. The idea was so exciting, she felt butterflies in her belly.
‘When are you leaving?’ she asked quickly.
‘Tomorrow night. We’re flying to New York. Dad’s got a meeting with his agent. We’re flying home the day after.’
‘Maybe we can do something,’ she said tentatively.
‘We leave for the airport at six.’
She wasn’t sure if he was rebuffing her or subtly suggesting a time.
She steeled herself and opened her mouth.
‘I need to tell you something, and then I need to ask you something.’ A voice in her head spoke the words she wanted to say first. Connor has proposed to me. But I am in love with you, Jim Johnson, and I need to know if I am feeling all these things b
y myself.
A deep baritone interrupted her thoughts.
‘And here’s the birthday girl,’ said a voice she recognised, accompanied by a heavy hand on her shoulder.
She turned and saw Bryn Johnson. In her highest heels she was almost as tall as him, and inches away from his purple claret-stained lips.
‘Wonderful party, Jennifer. I’ve just met a senator.’
He took a canapé from a passing tray.
‘Are you going to miss us, then?’ he asked mischievously.
She could smell the alcohol on his breath and wished that he would leave.
‘I just want to put this gift somewhere safe,’ she said, interrupting him. ‘I won’t be a minute,’ she added, fixing her attention on Jim.