The Art of Kissing Frogs

by Shéa R. MacLeod

  “Sure,” I said, starting toward the busy station coffee shop.

  “This way,” he said with a nod, moving us down one of the narrow side streets. “There is a lovely little cafe here. It will be much quieter. We can talk.”

  Talk? He wanted to talk? Oh, crap. My mind went blank.

  “Sounds good.” I gave him a cheery smile, pretending his proximity didn’t have my blood pressure through the roof and my imagination in overdrive. Cool. I had to play this cool. I was a sophisticated, cosmopolitan London woman now. Maybe if I told myself that enough, I’d actually believe it.

  Adam ushered me into the quirky little cafe. Despite having worked in the area for over a year, I’d had no idea it was here. It had a sort of Moroccan vibe with dark red walls and low hanging lamps, each one with different colored glass. A row of hookahs lined a shelf behind the counter, the polished brass gleaming beneath the low-light lamps.

  Adam turned to me, a wide smile on his face. I was struck momentarily dumb. “Trust me?” he asked as we made our way to a small table in the corner.

  “Uh, sure.”

  He pulled out a chair for me. “You wait here, I’ll go order.”

  I nodded as I sat. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he strode to the counter to place our order. Good lord, he had an amazing backside. Yeah, I admit it. I’d always kind of been a butt girl, and Adam’s was right up there in the top ten.

  He turned and caught me staring. His grin widened, turning downright cheeky, and I felt the hot flush rise in my cheeks. I could have died right then and there. Could I have been any more obvious?

  Adam returned to the table with two tiny little white cups on two little matching plates and set one in front of me before taking his seat. I stared at the cup. Inside was a thick, dark brown liquid. It smelled like heaven. Definitely coffee, but not like coffee I’d ever seen.

  “What is it?”

  “Turkish coffee. It’s amazing. Try it.”

  I liked my coffee dark and strong, but I was not a black coffee kind of girl. I was a dose-it-to-death-with-cream-and-sugar kind of girl. I didn’t know about sugar, but there was definitely no cream in that itty bitty cup.

  I glanced at him as he raised his cup to his lips. His lips were a little thin, but his mouth was wide and generous with the faintest lines on either side. The kind you only get from smiling a lot. I wondered what it would be like to kiss that mouth. Bet it would be a hell of a lot better than a wet slug.

  “Aren’t you going to try it?”

  His voice jarred me out of my daydream. Feeling another flush rising, I grabbed my cup. “Of course. Yes.” I took a delicate sip. It was strong, all right. And sweet. Really sweet with a hint of something exotic. “Is that...cardamom?”

  He grinned. The lines were definitely from smiling. “Delicious, isn’t it.” He took a sip that was almost delicate and let out a satisfied sigh. “Perfect.”

  “Yeah. I can’t believe it. No cream or anything.” I took another sip. I wanted to guzzle the whole thing down, it was that good, but then there would be no excuse to sit there with Adam, and I really wanted to sit there with Adam. All day, if possible. Screw work.

  “So. Kate,” he said, setting his cup down in that elegant way British people just seem to naturally have, “what brings you to London?”

  I should have been used to that question by now. Most people assumed I was British. I mean, I looked the part. Pale as a ghost, blue eyes, light brown hair edging on blonde but not quite. It made sense. I had plenty of English blood in my family going back a couple hundred years ago or so. Scottish, too, if family lore was correct. It was understandable people thought I belonged. Until I opened my mouth.

  But how to answer the question? I still hadn’t figured that out. I didn’t exactly want to spill my life story to a virtual stranger. It was sad and pathetic and so very painful. The last thing I wanted was for someone—especially someone like Adam—to feel sorry for me. It made me vulnerable in ways that were not comfortable. Not to mention, what with the visa situation, it was sort of complicated to explain. How did you tell someone that while, yes, your marriage was well and truly over, and your almost-ex-husband was shacked up with another woman, you couldn’t get divorced yet or you’d get thrown out of the country? And no, you weren’t doing anything illegal exactly, just more of a gray area, but you didn’t want the Home Office getting their knickers in a twist because you didn’t have the money to fight them if they decided to be assholes.

  So I did what I usually did. I lied. Sort of.

  “It was a man,” I said. “Isn’t it always?” I laughed a little, as if it were a joke. “It didn’t work out.”

  “I’m sorry.” He seemed genuinely sorry my relationship hadn’t worked.

  “Oh, it’s in the past,” I said airily. “But I fell in love with London and decided to stay. I’ve been obsessed with history since I was a kid. So, when I got the chance, it made sense. Unfortunately my job doesn’t allow me to travel as much as I’d like, but it does give me the opportunity to enjoy the city.” It was the truth, as far as it went, but I knew Adam would automatically assume the man in question was a former boyfriend, not husband, and I was here on a work visa rather than a spousal one. It was easier that way. My friends, like Kev and Chloe and even Deb, knew the truth, but there wasn’t any point telling anyone else.

  “That’s excellent. You like it then.”

  “Oh, yeah. Definitely. It is the most amazing city.” I couldn’t help gushing a bit. It was still kind of surreal to realize I lived in London. “What about you?”

  “I was born here,” Adam said, taking another sip of coffee.

  He was so freaking suave. Like those British bad guys in movies who always do everything in such a precise, elegant fashion right before doing something wicked, like having a henchman blow someone’s brains out. I really hoped Adam didn’t have any henchmen. That could be awkward.

  “I grew up near Harrow,” he continued.

  “My friend, Deb, lives near Harrow. It’s a nice place.” I’d been to her house a few times for dinner parties and such. “You live in town now, though, right?”

  “Right.” He smiled, flashing strong white teeth. “Near Hyde Park.”

  We chatted comfortably over our coffee about where we lived, our hobbies, the usual things. The owner brought us a second cup somewhere between our favorite films and our favorite restaurants. I’d lost all track of time when my phone ringing jarred me out of the conversation. It was Deb.

  “Where the bloody hell are you? It’s nine fifteen, and Boss Lady is on her way in.”

  “Oh, shit. Be right there,” I said, hanging up. “Sorry, I have to go. I am so late.” I stood up, nearly knocking over my chair in the process. Adam grabbed it before it hit the floor, and I held back a blush of embarrassment. “Thank you so much for the coffee.”

  “My pleasure.” He stood up like a gentleman and ushered me to the door. “I’d like to do this again. Perhaps lunch.”

  He was asking me to lunch? Had I fallen into an alternate universe? “Yeah, sure. I’d like that.”

  “If you give me your number, I’ll call later this week, and we can set something up.”

  “Okay,” I said, feeling more than a little flustered as he handed me his cell phone. I quickly punched in my name and number, adding it to his contact list. I tried not to read too much into it. He probably did this with lots of girls. I handed his phone back. “Sorry, I really have to go. But I did enjoy talking to you.” I stood on tiptoe and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, then took off down the street before he could respond.

  “I’ll call you,” I heard him say, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t expect he’d keep his word.

  The Brush Off

  WHEN I’D FIRST STARTED dating again after Gavin dumped me, I decided I needed to be more proactive. Online dating required me to be a little more aggressive than I would normally be if I wanted to stand out. One day, somewhere in between Open Relationship Man
(aka. Mr. Liar) and Mr. Options, I messaged a guy who was new to the site. As in, two days brand new. He was kind of cute, and from his profile, seemed at least marginally sane. Which, based on my recent dating experience, wasn’t as common as I’d originally thought.

  His response to my message:

  Hey there, lovely to hear from you and how flattering for a woman to make the first move! As chivalrous as I can be, at times it's totally refreshing. I really admire that spirit. I love what you've written in your profile. I'm especially impressed with your honesty, seemingly an increasingly rare quality these days!

  I'm actually going to have to say something which forty-eight hours ago I never imagined myself being in a position to say, and it's this: since joining this dating site Friday evening, I've had quite a few contacts and hence some dates lined up over the coming days. It's reached a point where I have to draw a line, and it doesn't feel fair to commit to dating further. If I'm available in a couple of weeks though, then things will be different, but just now it doesn't feel fair if you're "one of many.” I hope that makes sense?

  Take care.

  You cannot make this stuff up. I was completely flabbergasted. It was obviously a total brush-off, but it kind of amused me. It was the first time anyone had ever told me I was on the “back burner,” so to speak. The “just in case” file. Even more amusing was the “I’m so busy and popular” line. After forty-eight hours? Really? He wasn’t that cute.

  I’d never had anyone respond in such a way before. Usually they either answered in the positive or ignored me. I wondered if it was some weird British thing I wasn’t aware of. Naturally, I had to email a copy of this delightful missive directly to Chloe. Her hilarious response:

  Fuck him.

  1. How could he be inundated with "dates" in a couple of days?

  2. We all know that the first rush of people are assholes waiting to pounce on newbies.

  3. Who makes actual dates so quick? How do you know what the person is like without e-mailing for a while? (Apparently she’d forgotten about Mr. Options.)

  4. Like you are really going to wait around in case he has an opening in his diary.

  5. Fuck him.

  6. And did I say fuck him?

  You had to love Chloe. She really got to the heart of things.

  Chapter 6

  “OH, MY LORD, KATE. You have got to see this,” Kev called from the living room.

  I was still buzzed from my date with Adam that morning as I wandered into the room, head firmly stuck in the clouds. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look down.” He moved aside so I could peer through the window.

  Standing on the pavement below was a young girl with bleached blond hair teased a mile high and jean shorts that were short enough to show off her cervix. Another one of 10b’s girls, no doubt.

  “What do you want to bet she’s Eastern European?” Kev asked, pressing his face close to mine so he could get another look. “Illegals, that’s what I bet. Strippers, maybe.”

  “Why on earth would 10b have strippers coming to his house in broad daylight?”

  He shrugged, sinking down on the couch. “Maybe it’s a black market organ ring. I saw an episode about it on CSI.”

  I snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure that’s it.” My phone vibrated. I pulled it out of my pocket, checking the screen. “Oh, my god!”

  “What is it?” Kev sprang from the couch. “Is it 10b? Is he murdering that poor girl?” He shoved in next to me to try and see what I’d squealed about.

  “No,” I said, taking his place on the couch. “It’s Adam. He just sent me a text.” I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. I honestly couldn’t believe it. I’d only seen him a few hours ago, but there it was in big letters on my phone with the name “Adam Wentworth” about the text.

  Thanks for meeting me this morning.

  “Already? Good for you.”

  “I can’t believe he actually did it. He actually sent me a text.”

  “He told you he would, luv.” Kev peered at me over the top of his glasses. He looked cute and geeky, and I wondered, not for the first time, why he didn’t have a boyfriend.

  “Oh, come on, Kev. Guys say stuff all the time they don’t mean.”

  “But he asked you out.”

  “To coffee,” I said. “And it wasn’t a date. It was just...”

  “A date?”

  “Oh, shut up.” I went back to studying Adam’s text. What to say? What to say?

  Thanks for the coffee. Had fun chatting.

  I winced even as I pressed the send button. Was that stupid? It was stupid. I sounded pathetic and needy. My phone chimed almost immediately.

  I had fun too. Would like to do it again.

  Holy shit. He wanted to get coffee again? With me? “Kev, he wants to go out again. What do I say?”

  Kev rolled his eyes. “Yes would be the appropriate answer.”

  With a nervous giggle, I sent Adam another text.

  Would love to do it again.

  Now I was panicky. I was pretty sure I was having heart palpitations or something. My forehead was clammy, and my hands were shaking. I was probably a split second from passing out when my phone chimed.

  Have a lot of work stuff the rest of the week. How about dinner this Friday?

  “OHMYGOD!”

  “What?” Kev spun around so fast, he almost fell over his own feet. “Kate, what’s wrong?”

  I stared at him, opening and closing my mouth a few times. “He wants to take me to dinner Friday.”

  “Well, tell him yes, for God’s sake,” Kev snapped. “What are you waiting for? The Second Coming?”

  My hands were shaking so bad, I could hardly type the message.

  Kate Miller: I’d like that.

  Adam Wentworth: Great. I’ll make a reservation and let you know details later this week.

  Kate Miller: Look forward to it.

  Adam Wentworth: Have to go. Have a good evening.

  Kate Miller: Thanks. You too.

  I sank back on the couch with a whimper. Kev shot me a glare. “Stop looking at me like that.”

  “I will when you stop being an idiot.” He crossed his arms, stretching the pale green fabric of his shirt. “Tell Auntie Kev.”

  I sighed. “You don’t get it, Kev. This man is gorgeous. And funny. And really, really sweet.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’m not seeing a problem here.”

  “The problem is me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m not exactly thin.”

  Kev burst out laughing. “Do you honestly think men care about that?”

  “Yes.”

  He shook his head. “I admit there are some men who do, but most don’t. Honestly, Kate. Most of us just want someone who is fun to be with, laughs at our jokes, and is smart, nice, and damn good in bed.” He laughed when I threw a pillow at his head.

  “This guy isn’t just cute. He’s movie star gorgeous. He’s not the kind of guy who dates curvy women.”

  “Listen to me carefully, Kate. You have got to get past this idea that your size defines you. You are a beautiful woman, not just inside where it truly counts, but on the outside, too. You’re funny, smart, you care about people. You know what your biggest problem is?” He gave me a long look.

  I nodded. I knew what was coming, and he wasn’t wrong. “Me.”

  “That’s right.” He gave me a warm smile. “But at least you know it, so work on that. This Adam guy has no idea how very lucky he is to be going out with you. You’ve got to show him.”

  “You’re the best.”

  “I know.” He shot me a wink before peering out the window again. “Damn. She’s gone. And no blood to speak of.”

  The rest of the week passed far too slowly for my liking. Adam and I texted several times, each time making me feel giddier than the last. Work was the usual hectic rat race, interspersed with pub lunches and mind-numbing meetings. Evenings were spent alone in th
e World’s Smallest Room or with Kev, lounging in front of the telly. On the one hand, my life wasn’t exactly anything to write home about, other than the upcoming date with Adam. On the other, it had changed dramatically over the past few weeks, since finding the ad online and moving in with Kev and the guys.

  I still remembered how it had felt as I stood in front of the cream-painted row house, clutching a crumpled bit of paper on which I’d written the address. Nerves had made it damp, blurring the blue ink just a little. I could still read the directions fine. In fact, I was pretty sure I had them memorized.

  I stepped up to the bright blue door and pressed the black intercom button on the wall. Static crackled and a disembodied voice wavered through the vintage speaker, “Yes?”

  “This is Kate Miller. I’ve come to look at the flat?” As usual my tone had been hesitant. Afraid to assert myself. To ask for what I wanted.

  “Right. Come on up. Second floor.”

  The static clicked off, and there was a faint buzz of the door unlocking. I pushed my way into the vestibule of the London row house and into my future.

  “WHAT ARE YOU WEARING for your date tomorrow?” Kev asked as he slung an arm around my shoulders. He’d met me at work so we could have a drink at the nearest cocktail bar before we went home. Now we were walking down Oxford Street toward the Tube station. We passed Selfridges, its enormous windows filled with designer goods styled to make even the most hardcore anti-shopper drool. I thought about asking Kev to duck inside with me so I could buy a jar of Marshmallow Fluff from the American section but decided against it. Kev thought my Fluff obsession was weird.

  “Well, it’s either the black jersey wrap or the sundress,” I said with little enthusiasm. “They’re all I’ve got.”

  “Oh, girlfriend, no.” He shook his head. “I mean, they’re fine for your average date, but this is a second date. Plus you said he was hot.”

  “Insanely hot.” Just remembering those green eyes staring into mine sent a round of shivers down my spine. Hot didn’t cover it. I really liked him, and I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the fact that he might actually like me, too.