require much effort on the wardrobe front. Thanks to the fact that Jo and I were both skint most of the time, dinners out in London were limited to the pizza place round the corner; our local pub, the Nightingale Arms; and all-you-can-eat Indian buffets in Tooting with Ted, who fancied himself as something of a curry connoisseur. I got the feeling Leo wasn’t going to book a table at any of those locations, so I wasn’t feeling very confident about my usual jeans and a top.
Plus, it was still a business meeting. I’d prepared some color sketches of garden ideas—a white garden, a cottage garden, a neat little raised-bed complex—and was actually quite excited about creating something new. What did top gardening experts—who wanted to appear subtly sexy—wear?
In the end, since I couldn’t consult Jo herself for fear of getting into a whole can of worms, I fell back on the What Would Jo Do? reasoning, and went for my black dress. I rarely spent money on clothes, but Jo had virtually pried my debit card from my hands at a Harvey Nichols sale. She’d been right to make me buy it. My Reliable Black Dress scooped me in at the right places and skimmed over the wrong ones. It was one of those secret weapon dresses that you could literally go anywhere in, depending on whether you pulled on boots or killer heels.
I put my one pair of killer heels in my bag, just in case, and set off in my flats.
I arrived in Berkeley Square at seven thirty, as Leo had texted me earlier, and immediately saw him waiting exactly where he’d said he would be, on the park bench opposite the Bentley car showroom.
He looked smart. Really smart. Before he could see me, I ducked behind a postbox and pulled on the heels.
I straightened up, butterflies swarming in my stomach, and banked this moment in my mental scrapbook for later. On the bench a very,
very
attractive man was waiting for me, dressed in a proper navy coat, his tawny-blond hair shining in the streetlight. I thought he was checking his phone, but on closer inspection I realized he was reading a Kindle.
That just put the cherry on the cake. A man who read, when no one was even looking at him.
Unaware of the reaction he was creating just by sitting on a bench reading, Leo shot back his coat sleeve to check the time, and glanced hopefully in the direction of Green Park Tube station. I didn’t want someone else snapping him up, so I hurried across the square as quickly as I could in my unfamiliar heels, hoping he wouldn’t look up too soon and witness the giveaway wobbling.
Nerves hit me when I was nearly there. So far, the two times we’d met had been very much on my turf. Now we were on his, and I wasn’t even sure my shoes were totally on my side. But when he realized the irregular clacking noise heading his way was me, Leo’s face lit up with a smile that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes, and something warm pushed aside the nerves.
“Hello!” he said, putting one hand on my arm as he got up to kiss me on the cheek.
I nearly swooned at the sudden closeness of his skin, and his subtle cologne, and the roughness of his coat collar, all at the same time. Every single one of my senses felt as if it had been turned up to eleven, and then had a neon-lit brass band marched through.
“Yes, hello!” I started, but he’d gone for the other cheek in a Euro double kiss, and I mumbled awkwardly into his beautiful sharp cheekbone, “Oh, sorry, um, yes, hello!”
“Sorry, sorry!” he said, and for a moment we sort of held each other at arm’s length, bobbing heads.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said to fill the unsettling silence, “I never know how many kisses to do. One, or two—or none! We don’t do kisses back home. Our family doesn’t really do kisses, we’re more the hearty-slap-on-the-back type. Um, I don’t mean we don’t
kiss
each other
ever
,” I corrected myself, in case he thought I didn’t want to be kissed at all. “Just not all that, you
Plus, it was still a business meeting. I’d prepared some color sketches of garden ideas—a white garden, a cottage garden, a neat little raised-bed complex—and was actually quite excited about creating something new. What did top gardening experts—who wanted to appear subtly sexy—wear?
In the end, since I couldn’t consult Jo herself for fear of getting into a whole can of worms, I fell back on the What Would Jo Do? reasoning, and went for my black dress. I rarely spent money on clothes, but Jo had virtually pried my debit card from my hands at a Harvey Nichols sale. She’d been right to make me buy it. My Reliable Black Dress scooped me in at the right places and skimmed over the wrong ones. It was one of those secret weapon dresses that you could literally go anywhere in, depending on whether you pulled on boots or killer heels.
I put my one pair of killer heels in my bag, just in case, and set off in my flats.
I arrived in Berkeley Square at seven thirty, as Leo had texted me earlier, and immediately saw him waiting exactly where he’d said he would be, on the park bench opposite the Bentley car showroom.
He looked smart. Really smart. Before he could see me, I ducked behind a postbox and pulled on the heels.
I straightened up, butterflies swarming in my stomach, and banked this moment in my mental scrapbook for later. On the bench a very,
very
attractive man was waiting for me, dressed in a proper navy coat, his tawny-blond hair shining in the streetlight. I thought he was checking his phone, but on closer inspection I realized he was reading a Kindle.
That just put the cherry on the cake. A man who read, when no one was even looking at him.
Unaware of the reaction he was creating just by sitting on a bench reading, Leo shot back his coat sleeve to check the time, and glanced hopefully in the direction of Green Park Tube station. I didn’t want someone else snapping him up, so I hurried across the square as quickly as I could in my unfamiliar heels, hoping he wouldn’t look up too soon and witness the giveaway wobbling.
Nerves hit me when I was nearly there. So far, the two times we’d met had been very much on my turf. Now we were on his, and I wasn’t even sure my shoes were totally on my side. But when he realized the irregular clacking noise heading his way was me, Leo’s face lit up with a smile that crinkled the corners of his blue eyes, and something warm pushed aside the nerves.
“Hello!” he said, putting one hand on my arm as he got up to kiss me on the cheek.
I nearly swooned at the sudden closeness of his skin, and his subtle cologne, and the roughness of his coat collar, all at the same time. Every single one of my senses felt as if it had been turned up to eleven, and then had a neon-lit brass band marched through.
“Yes, hello!” I started, but he’d gone for the other cheek in a Euro double kiss, and I mumbled awkwardly into his beautiful sharp cheekbone, “Oh, sorry, um, yes, hello!”
“Sorry, sorry!” he said, and for a moment we sort of held each other at arm’s length, bobbing heads.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said to fill the unsettling silence, “I never know how many kisses to do. One, or two—or none! We don’t do kisses back home. Our family doesn’t really do kisses, we’re more the hearty-slap-on-the-back type. Um, I don’t mean we don’t
kiss
each other
ever
,” I corrected myself, in case he thought I didn’t want to be kissed at all. “Just not all that, you
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