Page 84 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
“Scout’s honor,” he said.
Kate felt a little twinge of guilt about locking lips with Phil so soon after kissing Richard. She had to admit, it made life a lot simpler now that Phil had gone back to Australia; if he’d stayed, she wasn’t sure she’d have been up to the task of choosing between them.
“Who’s your date tonight?” Kate asked.
Richard was signed up for Bond Night at a casino. He’d sent her pictures of himself in his tux; he looked delicious and she’d made no bones about telling him so.
“Gerda,” said Richard. “She works in accounts and plays netball and hockey.”
“She sounds like your cup of tea,” said Kate.
“I’ve found my cup of tea,” said Richard. His voice was deep and smooth and Kate’s stomach flipped.
Kate and Richard had spoken on the phone daily since their perfect date at the Smugglers Inn, sometimes more than once. They often texted several times a day: funny things they’d seen or heard, silly videos, thoughtful little texts that showed one was thinking of the other.
She’d woken to a text from him at five a.m. this morning, saying how much he’d enjoyed last night. It was, Kate had to admit, very romantic. Sometimes Kate had to remind herself that she’d only actually seen Richard three times in the flesh and one of those times wastechnically a rescue mission. It was easy to feel she knew him better than she actually did.
“It’s like in the old days when people would fall in love with their pen pals,” said Laura, swooning. “They fell in love over their letters without ever having met in real life.”
“What? Like those women who write to men on death row?” Kate laughed.
“Exactly like that,” said Laura. “But with less murder.”
“It’s moving so quickly,” Kate mused. “I mean, it’s fun and it’s flirty, but sometimes it feels like we’re beyond where we should be at. As if we’ve skipped a whole chapter.”
“Well,” said Laura, “just make sure you keep things at a pace you’re happy with. A few saucy texts doesn’t entitle him to the keys to your knickers—unless of course you want him to have them.”
“It’s been so long,” said Kate. “I don’t remember where the keys are!”
Though after last night’s close call, she’d vowed to keep all her hairy bits shaved and trimmed, just in case the need for knicker keys should arise unexpectedly. However, she didn’t expect to be needing them for tonight’s date.
She had more or less decided that the dates from here on were just honoring her financial commitment to Lightning Strikes. The thrill in her chest every time she thought of Richard seemed to confirm that she had already found what she’d been searching for. She almost felt sorry for Jim, her dinner date for the evening.
•••••
The restaurant was situated in a side road just off Leicester Square. It was low-lit and warm and smelled deeply of garlic and fresh bread. The walls were lined with dark oak boiserie paneling and the ceiling was ornatelyplastered to match the wood detail. Each table had a tea light in a burgundy-and-gold-patterned votive candle holder and a long-necked table lamp, with a smoked glass shade in the shape of a bluebell, which cast a warm glow over the table and kept its occupants in soft focus.
The building was narrow but went back a long way. A third of the tables were on the flat as you walked into the restaurant and the rest were up four steps, with a typical French bar to the right and the door to the kitchens at the far end. The sounds of Django Reinhardt’s jazz guitar drifted around the restaurant and reminded Kate of summer evenings spent on the Left Bank in Paris.
Kate recognized the rep from her ill-fated cocktail-making date with Oliver and headed over.
“Hi, Kate!” said the rep. “Eighth date in. How’s it going?” She ran her finger down a list of names on her clipboard, stopping at Kate’s and drawing a line through it.
“It’s going well,” said Kate. “I’ve met some really nice people.”
“Oh good,” said the rep with a sigh of relief. “We’ve had a few teething problems,” she went on. “But this is the first time we’ve ever offered something on such a large scale. We’ll know better next time.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kate.
“Well...” The rep bit her lip. “Not everyone has been completely honest about who they are, or their relationship status.”
“Oh dear.” Kate laughed. “I’ll bet that’s led to some awkward conversations.”
“You have no idea.” The rep’s eyes were wide as if trying to communicate information she wasn’t allowed to divulge. “We’re going to have to improve our vetting process for next time.”
“I’ve heard it referred to as ‘the Twelve Shags of Christmas,’” said Kate.
“Yes,” said the rep. She pursed her lips. “That’s not been ideal either.”
