Page 38 of Is She Really Going Out with Him?
“This is not a date. This is two colleagues consuming food inthe vicinity of each other,” I say. He pretends to look disappointed and taps his fist against the table. “Besides, my kids didn’t pick you and you didn’t find me online, so it wouldn’t count for either of our columns.”
“Your kids have met me now. I’m sure they’ll suggest me once they run out of waiters.” He fixes his gaze on me, then raises both eyebrows. I shake my head and drop my eyes to the menu. I hate this about Will. While I know he couldn’t be less interested in me, he still turns on this flirtatious charm, he can’t help himself, and I’m nauseated with myself for responding to it. It’s like when the musical score in a movie makes you cry, and you know you’re being manipulated by the sound edit, but you still can’t stop the swell of emotion.
“Is that why you made a point of coming to my house early?” I ask.
“Sure, let’s go with that,” he says, eyes back on his menu.
“Are you going to tell me why you turned down Henrietta’s job offer?”
“I couldn’t move to London at the time,” he says. “Do you like red or white?”
“She said matters of the heart were keeping you in Bath.”
“You are nosy, aren’t you, Appleby?” he says, shooting me a rakish frown.
“Just making conversation,” I say with an innocent shrug.
“If I tell you, then by Monday the whole office will know.”
“They won’t. What’s said in Hay stays in Hay, I promise.”
The waiter comes over with a basket of prawn crackers and then asks if he can take our drinks order. Will opts for a bottle of red. Once the waiter’s gone I say, “You didn’t wait to hear if I even wanted wine.”
“I ordered your favorite.”
“How do you know my favorite wine?”
“You told me at the work Christmas party, a light pinot noir.”
I don’t even remember talking to Will at the Christmas party. Now we’re getting off topic. “Well remembered. Come on, tell me about the great love of your life, the reason you gave up the job of a lifetime,” I say, leaning forward, resting my elbows on the table.
“This is your interview style, is it?” he asks, holding my gaze with unabashed directness. “No foreplay, just beat it out of me.”
My cheeks heat. “Intense eye contact and innuendo doesn’t work on me, Havers. It’s pretty unsophisticated, actually.”
“It’s working a bit though, isn’t it?” he says, biting his bottom lip. He takes his glasses off, lays them on the table by his plate, then fixes me with overblown, smoldering “come to bed” eyes. I laugh out loud.
“I can assure you, it is not. I am immune to your charms and you’re prevaricating on answering me.” A frown line appears between his eyebrows, and I sense I’ve won a minor victory, because now he blinks and leans back in his chair.
“Fine. If you must know, her name was Maeve. I met her in Mr. B’s bookshop,” Will says, fiddling with his napkin. “We both reached for the last copy ofThe Remains of the Day.”
“Nice,” I say.
“I let her have it,” he tells me.
“How chivalrous. So Maeve is why you turned down the London job?”
“Yes.” He takes a breath, then runs a hand through his hair. “It was complicated.”
The waiter returns and Will pauses his story while the man pours the wine and takes our food order. Will orders a prawn pad Thai and I ask for the same. “How spicy would you like it?” the waiter asks.
“However it comes,” I tell him.
“Medium, but with chilis on the side for mine, thanks,” says Will, handing back the menus. I take a sip of the wine; it’s delicious.
“How do you like it?” he asks.
“I’ve had better.” I pause, and he grins, knowing I’m lying. “You were saying?”
