Page 32 of Just for December

He’s assembled a small round table and two chairs. There’s a dark red tablecloth, a small poinsettia in the middle, and tinsel wrapped around the backs of the seats. Light comes from hundreds of fairy lights, looped in varying levels of tightness around exposed beams above, so that some bits hang lower than others. On a bench fixed into the wall is beer, water, some sort of cold meats selection, bread, and cheese. Duke finds the lighter he’s been hiding in his trouser pocket to light a single red candle.

‘I didn’t want to leave an open flame unattended,’ he explains, waiting for Evie to say something.

‘What the …?’ she comes out with slowly. He thinks it’s a good what the … ‘Are you serious? Duke!’

She scooches around to take a seat, her eyes wide and jaw slack as she takes it all in. ‘This is very cute.’

Duke takes a seat as well in their grotto for two. ‘Well,’ he says. ‘I heard you. I know the showmance stuff has been …’

‘Not great,’ she supplies, holding out a glass for him to fill it.

‘Not great, yes,’ he echoes, and once she’s got her beer, he fills his own glass with a taste too. ‘But I figured here, in this very bizarre German service station, in the middle of the night, when everyone is asleep, we might just get enough undocumented alone time for us to try normal. As an apology, maybe? It’s all a lot. I know.’

‘Cheers to that, Duke Carlisle,’ Evie says, and they clink glasses.

‘Just call me Duke,’ he says. ‘Or Derrick, if you want my real name.’

‘OMG.’ Evie laughs. ‘Duke isn’t your real name? You’re calledDerrick?!’

‘Derrick Jones,’ Duke admits. ‘Derrick James Jones.’

She cocks her head at him, appraising this new information. ‘How many people know that?’ she asks him.

‘Not many.’

She nods, like she understands the significance of his revelation to her.

‘For the purposes of transparency, you should know that my name really is Evie. Evelyn, actually, like my mom. No middle name, just Evie Bird.’

‘It suits you,’ Duke says. ‘Classic, with a twist.’

She pats her hair like an old-time starlet. ‘Why, thank you very much,’ she says, in a silly accent. ‘I absolutely did not choose it myself.’

They laugh.

‘Do you date much?’ Duke asks her, bracing himself for the answer. She might have said she’s single but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have a friend with benefits, perhaps, or something on the back burner.

‘Who, me?’ she retorts. ‘Unabashed starry-eyed, silly, playful me?’ She raises her eyebrows like he’s just asked her if she likes to poop on the front lawn as her preference or the back. ‘No,’ she says. ‘Not anymore. What’s the thing Einstein said? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result is the definition of insanity? Well, yes, hi, hello. That was me until I was thirty-two.’

‘How old are you now?’

‘How about you don’t ask a lady her age?’

‘I wasn’t, I was asking you.’

‘Ha, ha.’

They drink.

Duke decides to keep the conversation going. ‘You know I have to ask what happened at thirty-two, don’t you?’

‘Ask all you want.’ Evie grins, finishing her beer. ‘But if you think ex-lovers is good first non-fake-date chat, I can see why you’re still single.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Somebody has to help you out, buddy.’

More staring. More smiling. More loaded, heavy air.

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