Page 41 of An Enchanted Moment on Ever After Street
‘I’ve heard this little shop had such a thing as friendships dates, but I missed the chance, but better late than never, so I’ve come formyfriendship date.’ His eyes run up and down mybody, making me feel objectified. ‘Friendship and maybe more, eh?’
‘Friendship dates can only be provided if you’ve filled in the questionnaire and been matched with a potential bookish friend. As someone who doesn’t read, I can’t imagine it would suit you very well.’
He clicks the table legs into place and goes to retrieve the chairs. ‘I do have one specific friend in mind. Maybe you know her? She likes… um…’ He has to stop and think about what I like. ‘Books! She likes books. And… dogs?’
‘Cats!’ I suppose I should be grateful he got the books bit right.
‘Yes, yes, it was one of those two, and she’s a big fan of…’ His face contorts as he tries to think of it. ‘…Cinderella?’
‘My shop is called A Tale As Old As Time and you think Cinderella is what it’s named after?’
‘Ahh, I knew I’d got it right.’
I roll my eyes and don’t bother dignifying his comment with a response.
He unfolds both chairs and sets them opposite each other at the tiny table. ‘Your dinner awaits, madame.’
‘I’m not hungry and you’re not welcome.’ My stomach betrays me with a loud growl of hunger. I’m starving but was saving myself for the tea and biscuits I was about to have with Darcy. ‘We’ve broken up, Rick, why are you doing this?’
‘Well, you like Cinderella, and she had to go to balls and stuff to meet Prince Charming, didn’t she? I thought I’d save you the trouble and Prince Charming could come to Cinderella.’ He opens the picnic basket and starts whisking things out of it. He lays the table with two plates, a selection of forks and knives, and two fluted wine glasses, then he gets out a covered salad bowl and places it in the middle of the table, followed by a fancy-looking covered stand. When he removes the cloche witha flourish, I look in horror at the contents, which would’ve been better off staying hidden.
‘For madame, the finestescargots au vin blanc de, er, aphrodisiacand for monsieur,le enjoyment de la aphrodisiaclater.’ He says it in what is probably supposed to be a seductive accent.
I fold my arms. ‘I’m vegetarian.’
‘Oh, well, they’re snails. They eat plants, they’re practically plants themselves, aren’t they?’
‘Not quite how it works, Rick.’
He looks decidedly put-out. ‘You need to tell people about these whims of yours, Marn. How else am I supposed to know?’
‘I’ve been a vegetarian for over ten years! We dated for one of those years. You cooked for me often. You knew.’
‘Ten years?’ He claps his hands together. ‘Well, you’re long overdue a night off then.’
‘Again, not quite how it works, Rick.’
He makes a sound of annoyance like it’s somehow my fault. ‘Well, there’s a nice Parisian salad for you to enjoy.’
‘Salad? Urgh. Who the heck brings a salad to a romantic meal?’ If he knew me at all, he’d know there are a lot more Parisian food groups that I’d have been more impressed with, like croissants or patisserie.
‘Never mind, you’ll enjoy this.’ He bends down to the picnic basket again and returns with a bottle of posh wine, which he shows off like a prize on a gameshow. ‘Only the finest for my beloved. Imported fromPar-ee. Not cheap.’
‘I don’t want wine, Rick! It’s five o’clock at the end of a long day. I want to…’ Spend time with Darcy. ‘…go home and put my feet up with a big mug of tea,’ I say instead, because Rick knowing anything about Darcy will only lead to trouble.
‘What could be more comforting than salad and wine?’ He pulls out the chair and bows. ‘Vous êtes… um…chaise, madame.’
Even I know enough French to know he just called me a chair rather than invited me to sit in one. ‘No, thank you. I’m not sitting down with you.’
‘Your mum would’ve thought this was really romantic. She loved this garden, didn’t she?’ He’s deliberately baiting me as he sits down, uncorks the wine and fills up both glasses and then piles salad onto his plate.
He’s got another thing coming if he thinks bringing up my mum will get him the reaction he wants. ‘Rick, this is not okay. You cannot just invite yourself to dinner on someone else’s property. Please leave.’
‘I didn’t invite myself to dinner – I invited you. It’s not my fault if you’re going to be a stick-in-the-mud. I’m here for my friendship date with my pre-chosenfriend.’ He waggles both eyebrows. ‘What’s your problem, eh? Do I need to be a customer to participate in your friendship dates or something? Go and get me one of those silly books so I can buy it off you and then we can enjoy ourselves.’
I often wonder how I ever liked this man, but Rick wasn’t always like this. He was romantic and charming, once. But then he got into a social media spat with a minor celebrity and internet fame came a-calling. He became known as a ‘chef with attitude’ who wasn’t going to stand for a celeb trying to get something for nothing. Suddenly he had millions of followers and sponsorship deals, and the attitude he purveyed online spilled over into real-life too. He started throwing money around and thought big, flashy grand gestures that he could post photos of on his Instagram account were the way to sweep me off my feet, when what I really would’ve liked was a quiet evening at home without his phone beeping every two seconds.
‘You’re trespassing. I want you to leave.’
