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“WOW. YOU LOOK AMAZING.” The look in Geoff’s eyes confirmed the little red dress had been a brilliant idea. Best purchase ever. And if I had to eat beans on toast for a month, well, that was the price to pay for fabulous.
I smiled as I shut my apartment door behind me. “Thank you.”
“Let’s take a cab,” he suggested. “It’s a bit of a jaunt.”
“Really? Where are we going?”
He grinned, his teeth flashing white. “It’s a surprise.”
“Oh, I love a good surprise.”
He took my hand, and we hurried down the front steps to the waiting cab. My stomach fluttered with anticipation.
The surprise turned out to be Madison, a restaurant in Blackfriars. It was on the top floor, and nearly every wall was glass. The views overlooking St. Paul’s Cathedral were breathtaking, the dome glowing in the darkness like a beacon, lit by up lights cleverly placed for the best effect.
We were seated by a window offering what was possibly one of the best views of the city. I barely noticed the waitress arrive to take our drink order. Geoff ordered Veuve Clicquot, a ridiculously expensive champagne—the same one Kate had rejected for her wedding reception.
I caught him staring at the waitress’s backside as she walked away and frowned, irritated. I cleared my throat, and he immediately turned his attention back to me as if nothing had happened.
“See something you like?” I asked dryly.
He smoldered at me. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”
Maybe he hadn’t been staring at the waitress after all. Maybe I was overreacting. But I decided then and there I was going to keep a close eye on things. If Geoff was one of those ogling types, I was going to dump his ass, good job or not.
“Are we celebrating something?” I asked, changing the subject.
“What do you mean?”
“The champagne. Not a usual dinner drink. And we already celebrated your promotion.”
“Every day should be a celebration, don’t you think?”
I grinned. “I like your style.”
# # #
OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, Geoff and I went out regularly, although it drifted from Friday nights to Thursday nights, and I never saw him on weekends. Heck, I never heard from him on weekends and rarely on weeknights, come to that. At first I didn’t think much of it, being busy myself, but soon it started to gnaw at me.
“I was thinking,” I said, twirling spaghetti around the tines of my fork. It was about our fourth date. “There’s a festival on South Bank this weekend. We should go. I think it would be fun.”
He hesitated. “Uh, sure. That’d be great.”
I wondered at his hesitation. “Sunday, maybe?”
“I, uh, have a lot of work to do. Meeting Monday.”
“Saturday, then. Around eleven?”
“Sure. Eleven. I’ll meet you outside the station.”
I grinned, excited we were finally doing something different than just dinner before he dashed home. “It’s a date.”
“Yeah. Great.”
I hadn’t missed the fact he seemed less than enthusiastic. I knew he enjoyed seeing me, so it wasn’t that. And I hadn’t caught him staring at any more waitresses, which was a relief. Still, a little niggle of unease wormed its way into my brain. I pushed it to the back of my mind.
Saturday dawned cool, but bright, that kind of sunlight that happens early in the year when you half expect it to be cloudy and dumping rain but instead looks like a tropical afternoon, reminding you it really is spring after all. I pulled out my cutest, most comfortable black knee-high boots and paired them with leggings and a navy tunic with bright red and yellow flowers. Over that I donned my zebra striped coat and red newsboy cap. The slightly humid air tried to turn my hair frizzy, but I’ve always been the queen of product. I beat it into shape in no time.
I arrived at South Bank station precisely at ten minutes to eleven. Since I had plenty of time, I dashed across the street to grab a coffee and was back in time to meet Geoff. Except he wasn’t there. I found a quiet place against the tile wall and waited.
The second hand of the giant clock above the escalators mocked me as it slid around and around. Seconds turned into minutes. I checked my phone. Nothing. No calls, no texts. He was ten minutes late. I felt like an idiot standing there propping up the wall.
Another five minutes passed. I was having flashbacks of Derek. This time I called Geoff. No answer. It went straight to voicemail. Maybe he was still on the Tube. If he was underground, there’d be no reception. I sent a text, knowing he’d get it the moment he had a signal. And I waited.
The minute hand slowly moved around the face of the clock. Another ten minutes ticked by.
“Forget this,” I mumbled under my breath. I sent Geoff another text. You’re 20 minutes late. I’m going to look around. Text when you get here.
I was fuming as I stormed out of the station and down the road toward South Bank. What was it with men and standing me up? Were they just rude, or was there something more to it? Red flags were flying at full mast, but I just didn’t know what to make of it.
South Bank was an area that wound along the south side of the River Thames. The expansive sidewalks allowed hordes of tourists and locals to easily wander along the river without the hassle of dealing with traffic. Park benches peppered the walk, inviting one to sit and enjoy the view of the river as boats chugged along on its choppy surface. Shops and restaurants lined the other side of the walk, tempting one to stop and spend money on anything from a cold alcoholic beverage at a pub to a new novel from Foyles. About halfway between Waterloo Station and London Bridge—which was a little over a mile and a half, give or take—stood Shakespeare’s Globe Theater, a modern replica of the theater where the Bard himself once trod the boards. In the opposite direction, a short walk from Waterloo Station, the London Eye loomed against the sky, turning in its eternal dance.
I wandered for a while, enjoying the sunshine, the sight of the river, and the color and chaos and live music of the festival. Vendors had set up simple booths topped with white canvas tents, plying their wares for sale. The sweet scent of caramel corn made my stomach rumble, but the flash of bling caught my eye. I hurried over to a booth to see what was on offer. Rows of silver and crystal necklaces and bracelets glittered in the sun. Chandelier earrings dangled from jewelry trees. A large amethyst pendant caught my eye. The price was exorbitant, but I grabbed a business card for later.
The next booth held journals with hand-tooled leather covers and homemade paper. I picked up a green-covered journal and ran my finger across the leather. It would make a perfect replacement for when my day planner was full. I couldn’t help myself. I handed the vendor my credit card and tucked my new treasure in my bag.
I browsed booths of goods from around the world, making a mental list of ideas for Christmas gifts, even though the holiday was months away. I bought a box of rose and lemon Turkish Delights, the wonderfully sticky sweet treats dusted in powdered sugar, for later.
Along the way I stopped to watch a quartet playing swing music. Next to them a couple, dressed in forties clothing, danced away, their limbs flashing as they whirled and twirled. The man grabbed the woman, swung her out and back. The audience clapped wildly. I dropped a couple pound coins in the open trumpet case.
My stomach rumbled again, so I bought a boar sausage on a bun and topped it with spicy mustard before making my way to an empty bench. I took a bite, the rich meat juices bursting in my mouth. I nearly moaned at the deliciousness.
As I ate, I watched people walking by, enjoying a day in the sun. A young couple barely out of their teens strolled past, arms twined around each other. They looked ridiculously in love and kind of gooey around the edges. Give them time. He’d cheat or she’d get bored, and all that love would turn sour.
Another couple walked by, seventy if they were a day. The man used a cane and the woman was slightly hunched over, her orthopedic shoes squeaking slightly against the pavement. The wind tossed their white hair like nimbus clouds. They held hands, their wrinkled fingers laced. She said something I couldn’t quite catch, and he looked down at her with such adoration, it made my heart ache. Maybe those kids would make it after all. There was such a thing as happily ever after. You just had to look for it.
All in all it was a lovely day, even though I was alone. After all, there were worse things.
# # #
I PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE ignored Geoff’s call. He was clearly a flake. Short of having been in the hospital with an exploding appendix, I couldn’t imagine any scenario in which he couldn’t have at least sent me a text letting me know he was canceling. But I admit I was curious. I hadn’t expected him to be a flake. Up until then, he’d always been more or less on time, and he’d always taken me to nice restaurants for which he paid, even though I’d offered to cover my share. Everything about him said stable and dependable.
“I’m so sorry, Chloe,” he said, his voice sexy and low with just the right amount of pleading in it. “Something came up, and I couldn’t make it Saturday.”
“And you didn’t think, I don’t know, maybe I should text her and let her know? Or even possibly answer the text and emails I sent?”
He heaved a sigh that carried the weight of the world. “It’s my grandmother. She’s dying. We thought this was it, so I spent all weekend at the hospital. No phone service.”
“I’m really sorry to hear about your grandmother.” I was. Losing a grandparent sucked. “But you could have stepped outside. Or sent a text the minute you knew that’s where you were going.”
“Listen, I said I was sorry. How was I supposed to know my grandmother was going to be dying?” He was defensive now, which was a little odd seeing as how most people with dying grandparents told their friends straight away, never mind their girlfriends. Although maybe “girlfriend” was going too far. We’d only been on four dates.
“I’m just saying the polite thing to do would have been to let me know what was happening. Let me know about your grandmother. I would have understood. I’ve lost grandparents, too.”
“Whatever. Look, I am sorry. I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
“Fine. How is your grandmother?”
He hesitated. “She’s fine. I mean, dying, you know, but fine, all things considered.”
For someone who’d been at his dying grandmother’s bedside all weekend, it sure was a weird response. A little red flag waved wildly, but people handled grief in different ways. Maybe his was to be pragmatic. “I’m glad. That she’s okay, I mean.” I wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Let me make it up to you, okay? This weekend. You and me. We’ll go to the theater, dinner. Sound good?”
“Sounds amazing.” We’d finally do something fun on the weekend, like a normal couple. “What show were you thinking?”
“You pick,” he said. “Whatever you like. Let me know. I’ll get one of those package deals.” They had websites where you could buy a package deal for a West End show and dinner at a nearby restaurant. It was a good value, and I admired him for not being a total spendthrift.
“Perfect.”
“Gotta go. Text me.” And with that he hung up. I stared at the phone for a moment. Part of me was still a little annoyed. I’d get over it, though. Eventually. At least he knew he’d messed up, and he planned on making it up to me. That meant something, right?
I dialed another number.
“Hullo?”
“Hi, Kev. It’s me, Chloe.”
“Hey, girlfriend. Long time, no see. What’s happening?”
“Have you got any plans this Thursday?”
I could almost see his wicked grin. “What are you up to, you minx?”
“Kate told me about a place where you and she used to go dancing. Something Latin.”
“Guanabara, baby. You’re on. Meet you there at seven on Thursday.” And he was gone before I could agree.
# # #
GUANABARA WAS HEAVING, so packed with people, you could hardly turn around.
“Chloe, this is my friend, Lena,” Kev shouted above the noise. “Lena, this is Chloe. She’s Kate’s best friend.”
“Lovely to meet you.” The tiny, dark haired woman in her fifties grabbed my hand, yanked me toward her, and planted a kiss on my left cheek, then on my right, European style. She was wearing hot pink leggings and a black and white checked tunic. Her ballet flats were covered in silver sequins. She could give me a run for my money in the “bright and funky” wardrobe department. “This your first time here?” She had a heavy accent I couldn’t quite place.
“Yes,” I shouted back. “Kev insisted it was fun.” It did look like fun, the couples twisting and twirling on the dance floor, smiles plastered on their faces. The music was amazing, primal. I could feel it down to my bones. I wanted to be out there laughing and dancing with the rest of them.
“You have fun. You see.” She patted my shoulder and disappeared into the crowd, reappearing on the dance floor with a hottie half her age.
“You go, girl,” Kev mumbled as he stared at the couple. “I swear that woman has more luck with men than anyone I’ve ever seen. I really should learn her tricks.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Gotta mingle. Have fun.”
“Kev, wait....” But he was already gone. I shrugged. I’d make my own fun.
Somebody groped my butt. Another somebody grabbed my arm and hauled me toward the dance floor.
“I’m not that good a dancer,” I apologized as the guy pulled me closer.
My new dance partner grinned at me, clearly not understanding a word I’d said. He commenced pushing me back and forth, twirling me around until I thought I’d die of heart palpitations. I found myself grinning like a loon, just like everyone else.
He held me tight, and I could smell the heady musk of his sweat and feel the warmth of his body as it pressed against mine. I responded to the sensuality of the dance, the thrum of the drums, the heat of the moment. My brain superimposed a pair of blue eyes on my dance partner. I shook my head slightly. What was with me, obsessing over the sax player?
As the song wound to an end, somebody else seized my hand. I started to protest—I desperately needed to catch my breath—when I realized it was Kev. He dragged me to the edge of the dance floor, took a drink from a smiling and very handsome Brazilian man, and thrust it into my hand.
“Here, sweetie. Looks like you need it.”
“Thanks,” I said, taking a big gulp. It was no Cosmo, but it had a nice kick to it. Lime and mint and something exotic. “Who’s your friend?”
“Roberto,” Kev said with a leer. “Isn’t he dreamy?”
Roberto gave him cow eyes. I grinned. “Very.” The man was totally ripped and had coffee-colored skin and eyes rimmed with thick, curly lashes. Gosh, I’d kill for those lashes.
“He doesn’t speak a word of English, either.”
“How lucky for you,” I said with a wink before downing the rest of whatever beverage he’d given me. Alcoholic, definitely. A little on the tart side with a kick of sweet. It could be about twice as strong. Maybe I should try another.
“This isn’t where you want to be, is it?”
I glanced up, startled. “What makes you say that?” I was having a blast. How did he know my thoughts were somewhere else entirely?
“Kate told me you were more of a jazz girl.”
I shrugged. “I love Latin music too. Besides, I needed to work out my frustrations.” I hadn’t told him about Geoff. I figured I knew exactly what he’d say.
Kev lifted a brow. “Well, okay then. How’d that work out for you?”
“Not quite as I imagined.” Instead I’d gotten frustrated in a different way, thanks to the memory of a pair of blue eyes. “I think I need... something else.”
“Why don’t you go, then?” he asked. His eyes told me he knew I was looking for something I couldn’t find in this place.
“You’re sure?”
He glanced at Roberto. A wide grin spread slowly across his face. “Absolutely.”
I glanced at my watch. Still early. “All right.” I slid off the table and grabbed my coat. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
“Oh, sweetie, please. You know me.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I said with a laugh. I gave him a peck on the cheek and exited the club as quickly as my legs would take me.