Page 80 of The Twelve Dates of Christmas
The waiter came over and gave them each a cocktail menu, though Kate noted there were no Slippery Nipples on offer at Blexford Folly. Richard ordered a Blexford Hot Toddy and on his recommendation, Kate ordered the same.
“Have you been here before?” Kate asked.
“Once or twice,” Richard replied, but he didn’t elaborate.
Kate wondered if he’d brought other dates here, but then she supposed it didn’t really matter; it seemed unfair to penalize a perfectly lovely location simply because he’d been here with someone else.We’ve all got a past. And after all, she thought,it’s me he’s chosen to bring here tonight, and she was very pleased he had.
Their drinks arrived; the soothing liqueur slipped down her throat like warm silk, hot with cloves and lemon and bourbon. By the time she’d finished her second toddy, Kate was feeling as warm on the inside as she was without. Richard had switched to virgin toddies as he was driving, but he seemed keen to promote Kate’s consumption of their alcoholic counterparts.
He was playful and charming and Kate began to feel that if he had booked them a room, she might be tempted to partake, despite the unruly hedgerow in her pants.
“Okay, fine,” said Kate when he coyly suggested a game of firsts, knowing full well she’d been goaded into it. “I’ll play.”
Richard chuckled darkly. Kate took another sip of her drink to try to quash the fluttery feeling in her stomach.
“First kiss,” said Richard.
Kate’s brain fizzled and her heart picked up speed.
“You first,” she said.
“All right,” said Richard, grinning wickedly. “Naomi Hall. In an old bomb shelter in the park. She was nine, I was ten. We were in the same class at primary school. Our teacher used to take us to the recreation ground on nature trails; we were supposed to be looking for dandelions.”
He looked at Kate and raised his eyebrows. “Now you,” he said.
A memory swam, warm and sepia-toned through her mind.Strawberry-blond hair and freckles gone dark in the sun. Her breath caught as she remembered. The yearning took her by surprise and she squashed it quickly with another swig of hot bourbon. She tried to make her voice sound as removed as Richard’s had been.
“Matt Wells,” she said. “Behind a pear tree. We were both ten.”
“And?” said Richard.
“And what?” Kate asked.
Richard leaned closer to her, his mouth near hers. His breath brushed her lips.
“And how did you know this Matt Wells?” he asked. “And why were you kissing him behind a pear tree?”
Richard could have no idea of the effect these memories were having on her, or the effecthewas having on her. Kate was both confused and aroused, and she was unsure which sensation belonged to which effect. Memories of kissing Matt at another point in her history burst behind her eyes, and her heart hammered as though it wanted to be heard.
“He was my friend,” said Kate, suppressing the feeling in her chest. “The pear tree was in his garden. And I don’t know why we were kissing. You couldn’t really call itkissing. He kissed me on the lips and I let him.”
Richard leaned back, seemingly satisfied, and grinned. Kate let out a breath; Richard’s proximity was more intoxicating than the toddy. This conversation felt strangely illicit.
“I’m going to say my first kiss was probably more exciting than yours,” said Richard. “So that’s a point to me.”
“You’re probably right,” said Kate.
“Right then,” Richard went on. “This next one’s worth two points. First time you had sex!”
The memory of the boy with the strawberry-blond hair popped andwas replaced by a dark-haired spotty youth. She smiled, relieved. She was on safer ground here. Her muscles relaxed.
“Rory Parker,” she said triumphantly. “In the back of his car. I was seventeen, he was nineteen.”
“What kind of car?” Richard asked.
Kate laughed loudly.
“That is such amanthing to ask,” she said. “Not, was it tender? Was it romantic? Just what car was it?”
