Kismet (Happy Endings 3) - Page 29
I’m dying to know, but asking would be prying, and I won’t do that.
Instead, I pick up a dart and fling it at the board.
Bull’s-eye.
The game heats up and conversation swings away from Heath.
As it should.
That night, after I flop, exhausted, into bed, I grab my phone and text my New York friends a photo of a cute hat shop I passed on the way home.
Jo: This is a spot from the book you gave me! I plan on working my way through every Instagrammable location in London.
TJ is the first to reply.
TJ: We knew it would motivate you. I bet it’s your new challenge—visiting all the places in the book.
Jo: Oh my God, you gave it to me as a test?
Easton: And it’s working. You’re already checking off items, you list-maker. You item-checker-offer.
Jo: Yes, I am. So there.
TJ: Called it.
Emerson jumps in next.
Emerson: So, does this mean you’ve fallen in love with London?
Jo: I’m not that easy.
Emerson: How was your first day at work? I miss you terribly and I’m pretending you’re in your cute apartment on West 73rd.
Jo: I’m pretending I’m there too. Hey, let’s go meet for a lemon drop at The Lucky Spot!
Emerson: Be there in fifteen. Le sigh. Anyway, you’ll like London eventually. Tell me about work.
I jump to a thread directly with her, since it’s time for girl talk, not group talk with the guys.
Jo: Ah, there is so much to tell. For starters, you won’t believe who Heath is.
I send all the details on the just my luck one-night stand. She replies with shocked face gifs and then a note.
Emerson: That’s like fate slapping you with a salami. Ouch.
I crack up. I love her weirdo analogies.
Jo: I hate salami.
Emerson: So, the metaphor worked. What about the date Friday night??
Jo: We nixed it, obviously.
Emerson: Right. Of course. Dating a co-worker is a recipe for trouble.
Jo: Exactly. And it was just a date.
Only, my plan to see Heath felt like more than a date. It felt like the start of something, beyond just testing to see if we liked each other. We know we do. Friday would have been the first of more dates. I’m sure of it.
Especially when my phone lights up with an incoming call from the man I’m thinking of.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hello. Did you win at darts?”
I swear, I could be curling my fingers around the coily cord of some fancy Breakfast at Tiffany’s phone, the way I feel chatting with him. “I’m a mistress of the dartboard.”
He laughs softly, knowingly. “I’m not surprised.”
“Why is that?” I ask, my pulse beating a little faster just from hearing his voice. This is ridiculous, my reaction to this man.
“You seem . . . very good at very many things.”
I clutch the phone closer, my skin warming from the compliment. “And you? Did you win at chess?”
“Alas, I was checkmated by Griffin in a game in Battersea Park,” he says on a wistful note. “So it goes.”
“You played chess in Battersea Park? That’s so very British.”
“And you played darts at a pub. Same to you.”
“You have me there,” I say.
He’s quiet at first, maybe measuring his words. Then he answers, “I wish I did.”
My chest flutters. It’s going to be impossible to resist flirting with him. But I try. “Do you play darts? I noticed you never answered when I asked.”
“Observant. And yes, I play. Quite well. But I didn’t want to let on because it’d make it harder to avoid the dart outings at the office.”
I snap back to Riya’s words. He has his reasons. Sometime, maybe soon, he’ll tell me why. “Then I shall keep your dart prowess a secret.”
“I appreciate that.” Like last night, neither of us seems in a rush to get off the phone. I know he didn’t call just to inquire about the final score at darts.
He confirms that when he asks about my flat and if I like it.
“It’s everything I could ever want. A room with a view,” I say.
He laughs, and I don’t know why I should be surprised he caught the E.M. Forster reference.
“Not much better than that—a good view. Except maybe a room of one’s own.”
I chuckle at him one-upping me with Virginia Woolf. “Aren’t we a pair?”
“We are indeed.”
“So where do you live?” I ask.
“Covent Garden. I always liked it when I was younger. Had my sights set on living here ever since my parents would take my brother and me into the city. They live just outside the city still, Mum and Dad.”
Those details, freely shared, warm my heart. I didn’t ask for them; he offered, and that matters to me. It’s like him sharing the secret of his dart prowess.
Before long, the conversation winds down, and he clears his throat. “Well, I just wanted to check in, I suppose. See how your night was. How you’re getting on.”
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