Page 14 of Where There's A Will
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“The best sushi restaurant I’ve been to in London. They do this fantastic lunch menu, four dishes for thirty-five pounds…” I mentally did the calculations. “Or around forty five dollars. They have St. Austell mussels and tiger prawns to die for.” Even talking about it was making my mouth water.
“What’s St. Austell?”
“Oh, it’s a town in Cornwall in the South West of England. Good for fishing.”Yes, Will, you’re really selling it to her. Talk more about fishing—you’ve got this.
“Fishing?” Something on Montana’s phone was already more interesting than fishing. I had to get her attention back.
“Or Sticks’N’Sushi in Covent Garden. That’s pretty cool too.”
Her head snapped up. “Covent Garden is one of the places I’d love to go to.”
And I had her back.
I reached into my pocket for my phone and switched it back on. Ignoring the messages from Roman, I opened the photos folder and swiped through until I found the pictures of my leaving do at Sticks’N’Sushi. It was a lovely little place, previously an Australian pub, nestled between a French restaurant and The Ivy Market Grill.
Montana’s eyes were wide as she flicked through the pictures, commenting on the rustic walls and impeccable wood decor. I noted she lingered on the pictures I was in, shooting little sideways looks at me.
Taking the initiative, I leaned toward her, gently placing a couple of fingers under her chin, drawing her to me. I expected her to push me away, to joke she hadn’t drunk that last glass of wine yet and wasn’t ready to seduce me. She didn’t, and her eyes closed as she moved closer. As my lips were about to taste hers, the intercom buzzed and we jumped apart.
Montana leaped up and half ran to the intercom, confirming it was the delivery guy before letting him in. I slumped against the sofa, trying to regulate my breathing.
Fantastic timing, mate, absolutely perfect.I silently cursed the delivery driver.
Once the sushi arrived, Montana switched into hostess mode, even setting the table and placing the dishes in the centre for us to share. It was a tiny, round table and although we sat opposite, it was as if we were sitting next to each other.
The sushi smelled delicious and the aroma made my stomach rumble again. I reached for one of the California rolls at the same time as Montana and our chopsticks clashed.
I gestured with mine. “You can have that one.”
“Are you sure?” Her own chopsticks hovered over it, as if not wanting to deprive me.
In response, I grabbed one of the nigiri and popped it into my mouth.
“Thank you.” Montana smiled and tried to pick up the roll, taking several attempts to do so. After a couple of moments, she threw the chopsticks down on the table. “I don’t know why I bother; I can’t use the damn things. Everything ends up being cold before I even get a chance to eat it.” Instead, she picked it up with her fingers. “I’m trying to impress you with my chopstick skills because I don’t want you to think I’m an idiot.”
She was anything other than an idiot. I thought she was amazing. From the way she dealt with her dick of a boyfriend, to how she’d invited me in that evening. I had already been drawn to her beauty, but the more I got to know her, the more I thought she was wildly attractive, intelligent, driven.
“I don’t really care if you can use chopsticks or not,” I said. “In fact, let’s make this a chopstick-free zone and we can eat with our fingers.” I threw mine down on the table in solidarity with her.
Montana laughed. “You don’t have to do that. It could get messy; you know what sushi can be like.” She stood up. “I’ll get us some forks instead.”
I grabbed her arm. “Don’t bother, we’ll be fine.” I grinned. “Messy is more fun.”
Defeated, she sat down again and shrugged. “Whatever you say.”
It was exactly as I’d said—the rice from the nigiri spilled on to the table and the crabmeat from the California rolls squished out and fell onto the placemats. We made allowances for the ramen, forking out mouthfuls of the noodles and trying not to get the sauce all over our chins. Montana found paper napkins to clean us up after we’d eaten, and poured a couple of sodas. I tried to hide my disappointment that it wasn’t more wine, particularly after her earlier comment. But it was Sunday evening and she would have work in the morning.
“Tell me more about London,” she said, settling back into her chair once we’d finished as much of the sushi feast as we could. “And Europe. Where have you been?”
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I hadn’t been to many places around Europe. And where I had been was for football reasons. Like doing a tour of the Santiago Bernabéu where Real Madrid play rather than going to the Museo Nacional del Prado or the Royal Palace of Madrid. Or catching a game at the Camp Nou instead of checking out Gaudi’s architecture in Barcelona. I doubted she would appreciate the artistry of Bale or Messi.
Instead, I told her about Windsor Castle and the long walk. And how my friends and I used to go there during the summer, picnicking in the park, kicking a ball about or playing cricket.
“Oh, I thought that looked amazing when I saw it on Meghan and Harry’s wedding.” She wiped away an impromptu tear which slipped down her cheek. “That was such a lovely day. Even Hugo said so.”
The Royal family weren’t my favourite topic of conversation. Somewhat controversially, I hated the fact they were paid for by public money, yet seemingly did little in return. Although I guessed that recently they had brought a lot of tourism and interest to the UK, particularly London, so I shouldn’t complain so much. Plus if Montana was interested in them, right now, they were my favourite people in the world. Anything to prolong this evening.
