Page 32 of An Unexpected Kind of Love

“A sandwich.”

“And on a bad night?” Blake leans in slightly. “If you’re naughty.”

Transfixed, I couldn’t look away if I wanted to. “A cheeky kebab. Or two. Eaten in the street. After a night out.”

“When was the last time you did that?”

“Haven’t the faintest clue. I don’t keep track of these things.”

“Interesting.”

“Busy running a shop and all that.”

Somehow, I break away from the intensity of his gaze to study the menu as the waiter approaches for our order.

Blake goes full-core vegan with said braised kale and collard greens nestled on a bed of wild rice and chickpeas. Not to be outdone, I go for the tempeh curry which calls itself a summer celebration of vegetables. My body’s about to come into a shock.

“How about you?” I dare ask. “Your last mad night out?”

He grins. “Saturday night, maybe?”

I shake my head. “See, different worlds, yours and mine.”

“Well, you know. I flew in from America and met up with friends here already in London. So I just didn’t go to bed to calibrate with London time. Figured it was the sensible thing to do. We went straight to a party.”

“Is that normal for you?”

“No, not exactly,” Blake admits. “But I’m not one to turn down an invite. You never know what might happen. So we had a night out. And just kept going the next day. I did need a couple cups of coffee to keep going but it was fine.”

My bravery ends at asking who the “we” might be, but I don’t think I want the answer to that. In case it’s not the answer I’m looking for.

“Have you been to London before?”

“Nope. First time.”

“And how do you like it?”

“It’s cool. A British New York.”

“Hmm. Does that mean New York’s American London?” I could get used to the way he looks at me, like I’m someone special. I’m hardly mysterious, I don’t think.

Blake laughs. “Sort of. I don’t know. Obviously, London’s older. But New York’s twice as big. Trade-off.”

I’ve never been to New York before to trade notes, aside from what I’ve seen in films and read in books.

“How long are you here?” I ask. “You can make more research happen.”

“About two weeks? Depends on how it goes with the filming. If we stay on schedule. With a couple of days off at the end to chill out.”

“Difficult in a heatwave.”

“Very.”

“You can’t even have ice cream.”

“But I can have vegan ice cream.”

We contemplate each other as the food arrives. And it’s surprisingly good, despite some of my deeply held suspicions about vegetables beyond potatoes in deep-fried form, the bloodletting of beets, and the slime of okra. The curry’s excellent. I’ll never confess to anyone else about the lentils. As for cooling down, it’s tough to imagine how that might happen, as the temperature steadily increases between us.

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