His eyes hold mine.
I swallow and grab my coat and bag. The thing is, I know I liked Mark from all the texting, and we did have a long distance chat thing going on, but the insta-love isn’t happening for me just yet. I need a bit of time, and Brielle is right, I’m not here to fall in love. I’m here to have fun with good friends but I know from when he tried to kiss me last night that he has other ideas. I kind of hope he grows on me.
* * *
The day has been action packed, we have been to Big Ben, The Library and Westminster Abby. We’ve driven past Buckingham Palace and Mark has promised to take me back there. We have just arrived at a pub for lunch.
“This way.” The waitress shows us to our seats.
“Thank you.” I smile as she pulls my chair out for me and hands us both menus. The pub is old and rustic with an open fire burning in the corner. It is so good to finally be here.
“What would you like to drink?” Mark asks as he peruses the food choices.
I would kill for a wine. No, I have stuff to do this afternoon, wait until tonight, I remind myself. “I will just have a diet coke, please.”
“I will have a lager, thanks,” he replies.
The waitress nods and disappears to the bar.
Marks eyes drop to my hands and I quickly pick up my menu, my heart sinking at the same time. I have been doing this all day, making sure my hands are full so he doesn’t try and hold my hand. What’s wrong with me? He’s nice and we have been chatting online for over a year and gotten on famously. I’m just not feeling it in the flesh. Damn it.
“Have you been here before?” I ask.
“Yeah, I come here often.”
“What are you having?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes as his eyes stay fixed on the menu. “Spaghetti marinara.”
I nod. “Good choice. Hmm, I’m going for the chicken schnitzel.”
The waitress comes back with our drinks.
“We are ready to order,” he tells her abruptly.
I drop my head. Jeez, he doesn’t have to snap at her.
“I will have the spaghetti marinara. But I would like my prawns double deveined.”
She looks up from her pad. “All of our prawns are deveined.”
“Well, I want mine double deveined, and I would like extra chili and half the garlic. I don’t want any muscles, but put in extra calamari,” he instructs sternly. “But make sure the calamari is not overcooked.”
The waitress looks at him blankly. “Yes, sir.”
“I don’t want any onion at all,” he adds.
“The onion is in the sauce already, sir, you know this.” She scribbles on her order pad, and I swear she’s writing the words pain in my fucking ass.
“Yes. I do know that. I want the chef to make me a new sauce. I am paying for a freshly cooked meal, you know.” He lifts his chin as if proud of himself.
The waitress looks up at the ceiling and I drop my head to hide my horror. Oh my God.
He’s always a pain in the ass—it’s obvious she knows him. How embarrassing?
“Anything else… sir,” she asks begrudgingly.
“Yeah, I want it hot. Last time it came out not as hot as it should. I won’t be paying unless it’s at the right temperature.”
Oh, I just want the earth to swallow me up.
She turns to me. “What would you like?”
“I will have the chicken schnitzel please,” I say meekly.
Her eyes hold mine and she raises an eyebrow. “Any special instructions?”
I shake my head quickly. “Nope. Just as it comes is great.” I hand my menu over and she fakes a smile as she takes it.
“How long is the wait, please?” Mark asks. “We are on a tight time schedule.” He taps his watch.
The poor waitress looks at me and I want to slide under the table.
Shut up, asshole.
“We will be as quick as we can,” she mutters and then disappears into the kitchen.
I look at Mark in horror. What was that? Another waitress walks past us. “Excuse me.”
“Yes.” She smiles.
“Can I please have two glasses of Sav Blanc?”
“Sure.” She heads to the bar.
I look at Mark.
He smiles and raises an eyebrow in question. “What?”
I shrug because if he doesn’t know what I’m thinking then more fool him.
“I’m assertive because I hate bad service.”
“Oh,” I reply, dumbfounded.
“And it’s my killer instinct that got me to the head of marketing. I don’t put up with shit.”
The waitress brings my two glasses of wine back and I gratefully take them from her. I need these babies.
“Yep. I clawed my way to the top. And I had to step on some heads to get there but aggression is needed in the workplace.
God, help me. I drain my glass in one gulp.
He frowns. “Thirsty?”
I nod as I pick up me second glass and widen my eyes. “Really. Really thirsty.”
“So, tell me about more about you?” He smirks as he sits back in his chair.
Stop being so judgmental, Emerson, I remind myself. Maybe this is an English thing?