by Lily Morton
“Maybe it’s a good thing,” he says softly. “I’d like to visit that barrow one sunny day.”
“It’s a date.” His smile widens, and my heart skips a beat. “Come on,” I say. “We have the first part of the date down. Now we need to get to the second part.”
He follows me like an impossibly hot shadow as I pay for the map, and we emerge onto the bustle of the street.
“This way,” I say, tugging his arm and feeling the muscles and heat of his skin. I pull him along the road past the small street market that is always here on a Friday. We walk past an old book stall, and we both automatically slow to examine the covers on the shelves. It makes me smile. I can’t walk past books, and it appears he can’t either.
Then he exclaims and darts over to the stall, plucking a book from the pile. “I’ll have this one,” he says to the woman behind the counter, and she smiles at his look of excitement.
“What did you get?” I ask as we move away.
“Here,” he says, pushing the paper bag at me. “It’s yours.”
“What is it?” I pull the book from the bag and stare down at it. “A Child’s Garden of Verses by Robert Louis Stevenson.” I look up at him. “Why?”
He shrugs. His eyes are very bright, and he’s actually blushing. “The point of this date so far is to get to know each other through a book. This was my favourite book of poetry when I was little. I had the version with these amazing pictures and I read it over and over again. I’m sorry. It’s silly.” He goes to take it back, and says “oof” as I elbow him in the ribs.
“Fuck off,” I say indignantly. “You just gave it to me.”
“It was a silly idea. The poems are very lame now.”
“It’s the best thing anyone has ever given me, and no poetry is ever lame.” I stare at him, clutching the book to my chest protectively. “Your present means so much more. It lets me see inside you. My travel book idea seems really silly now. They didn’t show you anything about me.”
“On the contrary, you’ve shown me so much more than you think.” I open my mouth to ask what that is, but he pushes his hands into my hair and brings me forward into a hard kiss. When he pulls back, I blink at him, and he smiles. “Jess, you didn’t need to show me much anyway. You’re an open book in yourself. I don’t need a contents list or a glossary for you. You’re just you, and it’s wonderful.”
I shake my head and put my book carefully back into the paper bag and then into my carrier bag. “Well, I have to say that I need some Cliffs Notes for you,” I mutter and he laughs, slinging his arm over my shoulders and turning us to start walking.
“I’ll buy you one,” he says. “But I need to see what’s next on this date of yours.”
I eye him. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
He smiles at me. “So much. This is the best date I’ve ever been on.”
I shrug. “Well, I am pretty epic.” His laughter fills my ears, and I smile because in the walk to the next part of the date his arm stays over me, warm and solid and somehow wonderful.
When we get to our destination, he looks up. “Lick the Bowl,” he reads. He turns to me with one eyebrow raised. “We’re going in here?”
I nod. “This is a restaurant that serves only two things.”
“And what are they?”
“Desserts,” I say, smiling at him. “We’re having dessert for dinner.” I wink. “We’re breaking all the rules here, Zebedee.”
He shakes his head. “What if I don’t like eating pudding?”
“I’m sure you’re not quite that strange,” I muse. He laughs, and I grin and tuck my hand into his arm and pull him towards the door. “If you don’t like desserts, I know you’ll like the other thing they serve here.”
“Which is?”
“Cocktails.” I smile happily. “They have over one hundred cocktails on the menu.”
“And I suppose you’ve sampled all of them,” he says, holding the door open for me.
I shake my head sadly. “Charlie, Eli, and I tried one night. I tried really hard, but it was no good.”
“What happened?”
“I fell off my stool and had to be helped to a taxi.” I look around and then sigh in relief. “Phew, the waiter isn’t on tonight. He wasn’t particularly happy when I threw up on his shoes.”
“What a strange person,” he drawls.
We give our name to the waitress who’s dressed like a schoolgirl. She zips off to get our table ready, and Zeb looks after her in confusion for a second and then leans back against the wall and stares at me. “So,” he says slowly. “Who’s Eli? Is he an old boyfriend?”
I stare at him, flabbergasted at the level of jealousy in his voice. I don’t know whether he’s aware of it or not, but it’s definitely there and it sends a thrill running through me.
“No,” I say. “Eli’s been my best friend since childhood.”
His expression clears. “The Welsh one you mentioned?”
“Yes. How did you remember that?” I ask, amazed.
He shrugs. “It helps that I listen to you.” He pauses. “Well, it doesn’t help my mental health, but c’est la vie.”
“You’re so cosmopolitan, Daddy,” I say, nudging him and listening to his throaty laughter with pleasure.
The waitress returns to guide us to the table, and it takes a few minutes to settle down. He looks around with interest. The restaurant is set up like a classroom with educational posters on the walls, a blackboard with the specials on it, and desks for tables.
We order our drinks and desserts. Zeb chooses a peach panna cotta while I go for the popsicle cheesecake and we both opt for Irish coffees. When the waitress leaves with a smile, he sits back and looks at me. “So, back to Eli?”
“What?” I say innocently and then laugh. “He’s my best friend. Never been anything else and I think his boyfriend would have something to say if there was.” I pause. “Although I’d pay to hear him say even horrible things.”
He looks at me quizzically and I smile. “Eli lives with Gideon Ramsay.”
He whistles. “The actor who came out last year? Eli is the nurse he was seeing?”
“Living with,” I say. “And I fully expect they’ll get married.”
He sits back as our drinks are delivered. “So, Eli is taken,” he says happily, and I grin. He shoots me a look. “Do you miss him?”
I take a sip of the hot drink, tasting the rich cream, and sigh contentedly. I nod. “A lot. I miss sharing the flat with him and so does Charlie. But he’s happy and that’s the most important thing. I can’t see that ever changing. He and Gideon go together like toast and marmalade.”
“Can you imagine doing that?”
I flick a look at him. “Of course,” I say simply. “I want that. Not all of it,” I add quickly. “I mean, Gideon and Eli want kids. That’s not me.”
“Really?” He sounds startled. “You don’t want children?”
I shudder. “Never. No, thank you. I grew up in a family with children seeming to come out of the fucking walls. My sisters spent five years dressing me up like a goblin and pushing me around in a fucking toy pram. My brothers meanwhile either sat on me, locked me in wardrobes to see if Narnia was real, or dobbed me in.”
“It’s like The Lord of the Flies,” he says wonderingly. “Do you still speak to each other as adults?”
“Of course. I speak to a member of my family every day. It’s a red-letter day when I manage five minutes on the loo without a phone call interrupting me and giving me bossy instructions about what to do with my life.” I shrug. “I’m the youngest. They all think they know better than me.”
He looks almost wistful and I remember that he was an only child. “Do you wish you’d had brothers or sisters?” I ask abruptly.
He shakes his head, looking thoughtful. “No, never. It would have just meant another person who…”
He trails off. “Who what?” I ask.
He smiles almost sadly. “Another person I’d have had to b
e responsible for,” he finally answers, tapping his fingers restlessly. I reach over and stay his fingers by squeezing his hand, and he looks surprised and grateful. It makes my throat tighten.
“So, do you want kids?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. Don’t get me wrong, if my partner has nieces and nephews, I’d love to spoil them. But I don’t want any myself.”
“What do you want?” I ask impulsively.
He smiles in a soft way. “I’d like to travel. Go to all the places I’ve heard about.” He pauses. “I’d like to do that with someone. Being on your own isn’t much fun when there’s so much to share.”
I nod enthusiastically. “That sounds amazing. That’s me too. I want to travel the world, not be tied by kids. The only person I want to be tied by is the man I end up with.” I pause. “Obviously by tied I don’t mean in a restrictive fashion,” I say quickly. “I’m not into that. I whinge if I get a paper cut.”
He bites his lip, the smile deep in his eyes. “You’d make a disgustingly bad sub anyway. Although the gag is a very appealing thought.”
I laugh and drain my drink, motioning to his. “Come on. We’re going to order some more drinks. We might even order another dessert just to be really decadent. And for each cocktail we drink, we have to share an embarrassing story from our past.”
He groans but the twinkle in his eyes gives him away. So that’s what we do. We eat and drink and laugh until the waitresses are yawning and putting up chairs on tables. And I’m never once bored. The thought scares me because my feelings are already so strong for this man. Although looking at his face full of laughter, those kind eyes, and his hot body, I know I’m going to go full steam ahead anyway.
Chapter Eleven
Zeb
The knock on the door makes my stomach fill with butterflies but it doesn’t make me slow down in my rush to answer it. Just the knowledge that Jesse is on the other side makes my pace pick up.
I fling open the door and grin at him. “Somehow I thought that when I specified thirties dress you’d still come in that Sesame Street T-shirt.”
He grins at me, his smile wide and white. “Sesame Street wasn’t around in the thirties.” He pauses. “Or was it? You’d know, being a child of that era.”
He saunters past me, squawking when I grab and kiss him. He relaxes against me and for a few minutes I lose track of time. When I put him away from me, his eyes are heavy-lidded, and I can feel my lips tingling. “Hello,” I whisper.
He steps closer and hugs me. “Hello,” he says with a smile. It’s powerful at such close range, and I swallow hard before stepping back.
“You look great,” I say hoarsely. He’s wearing a white shirt with a dickie bow, grey flannel trousers, and braces. His hair is pulled back loosely in a high topknot.
He grins. “Do you like the shoes? Charlie and I found them in a vintage shop in Islington.”
I smile down at the two-tone brogues. “They’re fantastic.”
“Never mind me,” he says slowly. “Look at you.”
I shrug, feeling suddenly awkward. “You like?”
He nods, slowly walking round me, examining the pinstripe suit, white shirt, and black tie.
“You look gorgeous,” he says and unselfconsciously rearranges the bulge in his trousers. “Tell me you’ve got a hat.”
I grin and reach for the black fedora on the side table and put it on, tilting it at a rakish angle.
“If I hadn’t instituted a no-sex ban, I would so fuck you right at this moment,” he breathes.
I grin at him. Somehow it’s become second nature to smile at him. He brings them out of me like the sun brings out the daisies.
“I could always alter the stupid parameters,” he suggests. “Fit in a blowjob.”
“I am not fitting in a blowjob,” I say indignantly. “They should be slow.” I wink at him. “And savoured.” He swallows hard, staring at me as if hypnotised, and I laugh. “As much as I hate to say it, there’s no time for sex, Jesse Reed. We’ve got a secret date to go to.”
He grins at me and then cocks his head, listening to the music drifting through the flat on the speakers. “What’s this song you’re playing?”
“Tim Booth and Angelo Badalamenti. It’s called ‘Fall in Love with Me’.” I swallow hard, hearing the words fall into the air between us.
He listens for a few seconds. “I like it.”
“My life is complete.” I laugh and edge out of his way as he pinches me. “Okay, are we ready?” I pick up my phone. “I’ve given the secret code, and they’ve sent me a location.”
“Are you intending to sell me or my organs?” he asks, and I choke on my spit.
“Not really,” I say mock apologetically. “I don’t think I’d get much cash for you, and I’m pretty sure you should maybe look at paying money for other people’s organs given your drinking history.”
He laughs. “Okay, not that. How about a secret sex den?”
I make a buzzer noise. “It’s not very often you’re right, but you’re wrong again.” I hold out my hand. “Come on. I’ll tell you in the taxi. He’ll bugger off if we don’t go down soon.”
Once we’re in the taxi, I hold out my phone. “That’s where we’re going.”
He looks at the address. “That doesn’t tell me much.”
“Well, to be honest, you know as much as I do. I only get the address and a secret word to share to get in.”
“Is this like one of those films where foolish teenagers go somewhere to play a game and get picked off one by one? In which case I’m done for. I’m pretty, and I’ve had sex with you. I obviously therefore deserve to be struck through with a ship’s anchor.”
“I don’t think there are many of those in South West London,” I say dubiously.
He edges closer, and I feel my arm go up so he can lean into me. I hug him tight and marvel at the fact that he smells so wonderful and that my body is also operating completely independently of my brain nowadays.
“Tell me,” he whispers.
“I joined this club. It’s huge. Each month they hire a location and you have to put in your code to get the address. They send it to you and you have an hour to get there.”
“This is like being spies,” he marvels, and I kiss the top of his head, inhaling the faint scent of eucalyptus that clings to the shiny locks. “So, what happens when we get there?”
“I’m sorry,” I say smugly. “You don’t have the code. I can’t tell you. You’ll have to guess.”
His guesses get wilder and wilder, and I’m laughing as we get out of the taxi. “No to naked camel racing. Jesus Christ.”
He looks around. We’re standing outside what was obviously once a huge ballroom. Its Art Deco exterior is still beautiful despite the faint air of neglect clinging to it. His eyes sharpen as he looks at the queue of people waiting to get into the building. They’re dressed in thirties costumes, the women glittering in the evening light in their pretty dresses, their hair arranged into jaunty bobs.
“Oh my God, this is already the best date I’ve ever been on,” he breathes, and I squeeze his hand.
“Me too,” I say softly. But it’s not because of the costumes or the air of excitement. It’s to do with him and the thought that I’d be happy walking round Sainsbury’s if I was with him. Nobody makes me laugh like him or challenges my brain so much.
I push the thought away and pull him over to the queue, which is moving quickly now that the doors have opened. Within five minutes, I’ve given the code to the bouncer dressed in a black suit with a white silk scarf thrown jauntily around his neck, and we’re inside.
Jesse looks around avidly as we move past people giving their coats to hat-check girls dressed in tight, black silk dresses. The huge double doors are thrown open, and I hear his gasp.
The inside of the Art Deco ballroom is huge. A wide wooden dance floor is already half full of people dancing to the live jazz band that are playing, and the long bar is busy with people orderin
g cocktails. But what makes it most magical is the fact that there are no overhead lights on. Instead, it’s softly lit by huge lanterns and the candles that are everywhere, sending shadows dancing up the walls as if the ghosts of old partygoers are still around.
“Oh my God, this is like a film on prohibition I watched the other day,” Jesse shouts in my ear.
I smile and pull him close. “That’s what they’re emulating. They’ve taken over all sorts of venues, apparently. They set up and then pull it all down the next day and move on to another venue.” I look around. “I must say this is a good place, though. Very atmospheric.”
I pull him through the crowd to the bar, and after consulting him, I buy us each an Old Fashioned. We move off to a gilt table tucked in the corner with a view over the dance floor. A lively tune is playing, and for a few minutes we sip our drinks and watch people dancing. It reminds me of an old newsreel film, watching the almost courtly movements. Very different from a nightclub.
Jesse edges close to me, throwing his arm around my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. “I love it,” he says fervently. “This is amazing.”
I shoot him a look. He’s so beautiful this close up. “You really like it?”
He nods. “I’ve never done anything like this before. Thank you, sweetheart.”
“I thought we vetoed the endearments,” I say hoarsely, ignoring the thrill that went through me at hearing it.
He kisses me quickly and pulls back, leaving the faint taste of his cocktail on my lips. I lick over the taste.
“You vetoed it. I didn’t,” he says calmly and takes a sip of his drink. “Okay, why this for a date?”
“I wanted to do something different. I’d heard about this club where you pay membership, and they organise this, and thought you’d get a kick out of it.”
“I do,” he assures me, his eyes dark and shiny in the candlelight. “I really do.”
“And I like this era,” I say slowly. “It’s fun to dress up like this and be a part of this.”
“Why this era?”
I hum contemplatively. “It was a very glamorous time,” I finally say. “It reminds me of my grandfather. He used to sing in the clubs. He was offered a recording contract at one point. They wanted to set him up to rival Frank Sinatra.”