My Year of Saying No - Maxine Morrey Page 0,32

notches. Not at all ideal, but also not much I could do about that now.

‘How was the drive?’ he asked, leading us out towards the road and the brighter lights of the town centre.

‘OK, thanks. Yours?’

‘Good.’

‘Have you been here long?’

‘No. I hadn’t long pulled up when I called you.’

‘OK. So, looking forward to the play?’

‘Can’t wait. It’ll be a real trip down memory lane. Is this place all right?’ he said, slowing down by a small restaurant with a bay window, the bottom half of which was steamed up and above which was written ‘Luca’s’ in a script font. ‘I know you like Italian.’ Seb winked and I whacked him on the arm with my clutch bag.

‘Funny. And yes, it looks good.’

‘Great.’ He pushed open the door for me, and we both gave an involuntary shiver as the warmth of the restaurant contrasted with the chill of the evening we’d stepped in from.

A waiter headed over to us, took our coats and showed us to a table by the window, complete with single red rose and candles. Seb didn’t seem to have noticed, so I took my cue from him and continued the casual chat. The romantic set-up was harder to ignore when the waiter returned, took our drinks orders and lit the candles with a flourish before disappearing again.

‘OK, do we need to talk about the candles?’ Seb asked, laughing.

‘Candles?’ I asked in what I hoped was a vague manner.

He shook his head. ‘Just ignore them if they bother you.’

I shifted in my seat. ‘They don’t bother me. I like candles, but it’s a bit… awkward, isn’t it?’

‘Why? Because it’s a romantic table for two? Don’t worry about it. I’m not.’

That’s reassuring then. I think.

‘Honestly, Lots. They’d be doing the same if I came in here with my brother, or Dad, or my ugliest, biggest mate. Don’t get hung up on things that don’t matter.’ He reached over and physically unballed the fist I hadn’t realised I’d even clenched.

‘I just don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.’ I shrugged.

He shook his head. ‘I don’t. I’m out to dinner with a good friend who happens to be very attractive. If anyone thinks I could pull you, I’m not about to disavow them of that belief. It’s not in my best interest.’

I couldn’t help laughing. ‘Pull me?’ I asked. ‘Charming.’

‘Sorry. You can take the boy out of the Army…’

I smiled, shaking my head.

‘OK?’ he asked, his voice soft, the concern in it obvious.

‘Yes,’ I answered, honestly. ‘Yes. I am.’

His smile was his only reply, but it was more than enough.

11

‘So, what was the last play you went to see?’ I asked, settling in to my seat and flicking through the programme Seb had insisted on buying me as a souvenir of our first official meeting in person – which still definitely wasn’t a date.

‘And Then There Were None.’

‘No! Seriously? Agatha Christie again?’

‘Yep. I know. Like I said, trip down memory lane.’

I tilted my head. ‘Is that a good lane?’

His expression was soft as he looked back at me. ‘Very. My mum used to take us to the theatre. It was really her thing. When Dad was away on exercise, but especially on deployment, she’d book us tickets to see all sorts of things. Christie was her favourite. I guess I’d forgotten that until we had the conversation ages ago about how much you like her work. It was a good memory to rediscover, so thank you for that.’

I smiled in reply.

‘I think she’d have liked a lot about you.’

It was obvious by how he spoke just how much his mum had meant to him and I flushed a little at the generous compliment. ‘Thank you.’

It was his turn to smile.

‘You’ve never thought about going with your dad? Or your brother?’ I asked.

‘It never even occurred to me. But Dad was never a theatre buff. More of an outside man. Even now he spends a good part of his day in his garden or up on his allotment.’

‘Oh, he and my parents would get on well then. They like nothing better than chatting about new varieties they’re going to try and concocting recipes with some weird new veggie they’ve discovered.’

‘Exactly! I got given some purple potatoes last year. Purple!’ he shook his head. ‘So weird.’

‘What did they taste like?’

‘Just like normal potatoes, actually, which was oddly disappointing.’ His smile broke into a laugh and I loved the sound of it, its deep rumble washing over and relaxing me even more. There was something about