confidence about her early days with Richard, had explained there were rules about this sort of thing. How many days’ notice you were supposed to give. How busy you were supposed to look. She made negotiating dates sound like haggling over a knockoff Prada handbag in a Turkish street market, but not as much fun.
What would Jo do? She’d say …
“Thursday? That’s Zumba.”
I closed my eyes in horror. Where had that come from?
“Zumba? Is that some kind of religious … event?” Leo asked politely. “Forgive my ignorance.”
I considered lying for a split second, but decided there was no point. I’d only make it worse. “No, no, Zumba’s a class that Jo makes me go to with her at our gym,” I confessed. “You’re meant to look like Shakira while you’re doing it, but I’ve seen us in the mirror, and we look like two pensioners with hip problems trying to take off a pair of trousers without undoing the fly.”
Leo laughed. “Well, I don’t want you to miss that.”
Why did you just give Leo a mental image of a dancing pensioner? Even if his laugh was making my chest feel ticklish?
“Wednesday’s fine, though,” I said quickly. “If you’re free? Wednesday’s the new Thursday in our house.”
“I can definitely be free on Wednesday,” said Leo. “It’s a date.”
Date. He’d said
date
.
“What sort of garden do you have?” I didn’t know why I’d dragged the conversation back to business—maybe because I was desperately trying to displace the dancing pensioner with a knowledgeable horticultural-expert woman. “So I can sketch out some plans?”
“Oh, it’s just a small one,” said Leo, and I thought I detected a tiny note of embarrassment. “You know, city garden.”
“I do know—I’m really good at making the most of small spaces.” I could already see it in my mind’s eye, the pretty mini-garden in the sky. Maybe some potted figs in containers, or tumbling climbers pinned to brick walls. He had no need to feel embarrassed—any garden in London was a luxury. “I’ve done a few rooftop vegetable patches recently—they can be low- maintenance , and some people find it therapeutic, watching things grow. If you make a sketch of your garden and bring it, we can talk about light and shade and soil.”
“Sounds great. So, is half seven good for you? We can have a drink and grab some dinner, if you have time.”
“That would be lovely.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Leo paused, then added, as if he wanted to prolong the conversation, “How did the apology gift go? I suggested that actions might speak louder than words.”
“Um, not great.” I wasn’t sure how much I could say without being rude about Rolf. “The action being suggested was a bit … adult-oriented. Flowers might be nicer? I can recommend a book on the language of flowers, if it’d help.”
“I like that. What’s the international flower language for ‘I’m sorry for being a loudmouthed idiot’?”
“A Venus flytrap.”
Leo let out a loud, slightly guilty snort. There was some office -type noise at his end, and I heard someone speaking. “Okay, listen , I have to dash, but we’ll firm up details closer to the time. Have a great weekend!”
“And you!”
And that was it. Simple. Date arranged, nice chat, no embarrassing moments apart from the Zumba thing, but he’d laughed at that.
Heat was spreading through my chest, in direct contrast to the numbness in my nose and ears.
Badger stared at me, and I realized I was grinning like a loon at a dead wisteria.
Seven
O bviously, I spent the next four days agonizing about what to wear, with only brief pauses to agonize over what to say—all about a million times harder because I was too embarrassed to tell Jo I was off on a date with the friend of the idiot who was now filling our flat with orchids. I didn’t want to give Rolf the faintest chance of making it a double date, for one thing.
My social life didn’t usually
What would Jo do? She’d say …
“Thursday? That’s Zumba.”
I closed my eyes in horror. Where had that come from?
“Zumba? Is that some kind of religious … event?” Leo asked politely. “Forgive my ignorance.”
I considered lying for a split second, but decided there was no point. I’d only make it worse. “No, no, Zumba’s a class that Jo makes me go to with her at our gym,” I confessed. “You’re meant to look like Shakira while you’re doing it, but I’ve seen us in the mirror, and we look like two pensioners with hip problems trying to take off a pair of trousers without undoing the fly.”
Leo laughed. “Well, I don’t want you to miss that.”
Why did you just give Leo a mental image of a dancing pensioner? Even if his laugh was making my chest feel ticklish?
“Wednesday’s fine, though,” I said quickly. “If you’re free? Wednesday’s the new Thursday in our house.”
“I can definitely be free on Wednesday,” said Leo. “It’s a date.”
Date. He’d said
date
.
“What sort of garden do you have?” I didn’t know why I’d dragged the conversation back to business—maybe because I was desperately trying to displace the dancing pensioner with a knowledgeable horticultural-expert woman. “So I can sketch out some plans?”
“Oh, it’s just a small one,” said Leo, and I thought I detected a tiny note of embarrassment. “You know, city garden.”
“I do know—I’m really good at making the most of small spaces.” I could already see it in my mind’s eye, the pretty mini-garden in the sky. Maybe some potted figs in containers, or tumbling climbers pinned to brick walls. He had no need to feel embarrassed—any garden in London was a luxury. “I’ve done a few rooftop vegetable patches recently—they can be low- maintenance , and some people find it therapeutic, watching things grow. If you make a sketch of your garden and bring it, we can talk about light and shade and soil.”
“Sounds great. So, is half seven good for you? We can have a drink and grab some dinner, if you have time.”
“That would be lovely.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” Leo paused, then added, as if he wanted to prolong the conversation, “How did the apology gift go? I suggested that actions might speak louder than words.”
“Um, not great.” I wasn’t sure how much I could say without being rude about Rolf. “The action being suggested was a bit … adult-oriented. Flowers might be nicer? I can recommend a book on the language of flowers, if it’d help.”
“I like that. What’s the international flower language for ‘I’m sorry for being a loudmouthed idiot’?”
“A Venus flytrap.”
Leo let out a loud, slightly guilty snort. There was some office -type noise at his end, and I heard someone speaking. “Okay, listen , I have to dash, but we’ll firm up details closer to the time. Have a great weekend!”
“And you!”
And that was it. Simple. Date arranged, nice chat, no embarrassing moments apart from the Zumba thing, but he’d laughed at that.
Heat was spreading through my chest, in direct contrast to the numbness in my nose and ears.
Badger stared at me, and I realized I was grinning like a loon at a dead wisteria.
Seven
O bviously, I spent the next four days agonizing about what to wear, with only brief pauses to agonize over what to say—all about a million times harder because I was too embarrassed to tell Jo I was off on a date with the friend of the idiot who was now filling our flat with orchids. I didn’t want to give Rolf the faintest chance of making it a double date, for one thing.
My social life didn’t usually
Similar Books
