Page 19 of Date Knight (Roll for Romance #2)

Then our first Saturday night as a couple came around, and with Anil still on the break from his course, I told her I wanted to take her out.

It only felt right for our first date night, especially knowing most in the future would be spent at home with Ethel.

And whilst this wasn’t a real relationship, I had an apparently quite posh predecessor to outdo, so I made a booking at the most Michelin-esque restaurant in town.

AMY

When you say “out out”, what does that mean in terms of wardrobe?

PHIL

I’m wearing something other than jeans and a T-shirt.

AMY

Well shit. I’ll bust out my ballgown then.

She wasn’t wearing a ballgown when she knocked on my door, but she was in a purple satin dress that barely hung from the dainty shoulder straps, low enough at the top and sides that I could very clearly see she wasn’t wearing a bra.

“You look great,” I said once I’d cleared my throat, and she smiled in a way that told me the effect had been intentional. I didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Thanks,” she said, swaying slightly so her dress flicked out to the sides, and I noticed she was in sandals.

“I hope you’re not wearing flats on my account,” I said. I’d never seen her in heels, but given how nice her dress was– I could tell it was bias cut from where I stood– I wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d busted some out.

“Absolutely not,” she said, pushing past me into the hallway. “The biggest benefit of dating a short king is that it’s socially acceptable to not wear heels with a fancy outfit.”

“Short king? Really? I’m five eleven. And a half.”

“Sure, big boy.”

I laughed. “You need the bathroom or something? I’m ready if you are.”

She frowned at me as if I’d spoken in Klingon. “If you think I will ever walk into this house and not say hello to Ethel, think again.”

“Fair enough,” I said, standing aside for her. It was always nice to be reminded how much the Evanses loved Ethel, especially when I was so in the weeds caring for her.

I followed Amy into the lounge, where she bent over to hug Ethel, and yep, she was definitely braless under there. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, reminding myself that I only had that image because she was hugging my grandmother .

We walked just a few minutes to the restaurant I’d picked out, discussing the fantasy festival, which she was also now slated to attend.

Despite my existing workload, I couldn’t help but insist on making her outfits, too.

She agreed, as long as I made her other outfit “way better than everyone else’s”.

When we got to the restaurant, Amy stopped out front before I could open the door for her.

“Phil, this place is really fancy,” she said, frowning.

“Don’t worry,” I tried to reassure her, “you look amazing.”

“It’s not that,” she said, waving me off. “Have you been here before? It looks a bit dead.”

I looked through the front window at the white tablecloths and the million and one utensils at each place setting.

The food was really well reviewed, and I had been looking forward to the consommé.

But I had to admit the atmosphere was non-existent, and I’d already had to prepare myself for the fact that it would cost us a week’s worth of my data entry work.

“No,” I said honestly. “Not usually my scene.”

“Then why did you bring me here?”

I shrugged, but I could feel my face going red, and I knew I’d missed the mark. Yet again, I was grateful for the beard to hide the flush.

“Because it’s our first date.”

“Of a fake relationship.”

That stung for some reason I couldn’t quite place, regardless of how true it was. Could I not put effort into hanging out with her just because she wasn’t actually my girlfriend?

“And plus,” Amy continued, “you’re not dating Blair Waldorf. You’re dating me. When have you ever seen me in a place like this?”

“I hate that I understand that Gossip Girl reference. That’s years of my life I’ll never get back.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just mad it wasn’t Dorota. Now focus. Does this feel like what I would like?”

I considered that for a moment– I hadn’t actually been thinking about Amy at all when I’d chosen the restaurant.

I’d been thinking about Chris, and his stupid slicked-back hair, and the fancy wedding stationery.

If I’d been thinking about Amy, I might have thought about the quad biking and swimming and day drinking we’d done together over the years.

But then again, I wouldn’t have picked Chris for that version of her, so what did I know?

“I don’t know what you like anymore,” I admitted, shrugging as I ran my hand over my beard. “Based on who you dated last, I suspect you got accustomed to a much higher dining standard than usual.”

Amy nodded. “You’re right. Chris took me to a lot of fancy places.

And he always insisted I wear heels, even though he is actually shorter than you, because it made him feel powerful to have a tall woman on his arm.

And he’d talk at me about work over meals like the one we would undoubtedly be served in there. ” She pointed into the restaurant.

I bit at my lip. I hated that Chris had treated her like that. That he hadn’t appreciated her for who she was. She’d lost so much to those assholes, and how she was still so bright was beyond me.

“Phil,” she said more softly, reaching for my hand, and I happily let her take it. “You’ve known me for most of our lives. If you erased everything you knew about me from the last three years, and this were a real first date, where would you have taken me?”

“Definitely not here,” I admitted easily.

“Where then?”

I barely had to think about it at all, because I’d spent a summer five years ago figuring out the answer to that question. And I did know Amy. She was funny and showy and competitive, and she was always up for anything. I loved all those things about her.

“Honestly?” I asked, and she nodded encouragingly. “Chippy and bowling.”

Amy squeezed my hand so hard in response I had to yank it away.

“Now that’s more like it. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

We walked nearly half a mile along the river to get to the bowling alley, stopping when we were almost there to buy paper parcels full of food: large cod and chips for me, and a jumbo battered sausage and chips for her.

Not everything from Manchester could be discounted, apparently, as Amy ordered gravy to go with her chips.

We smuggled the food into the bowling alley, though smuggled was probably a strong word given that the entire business seemed to be staffed by pimply fifteen-year-olds who couldn’t have cared less what we brought in. Hell, I’d worked there myself as a kid for one very smelly summer.

We ordered a whole pitcher of some disgusting blue cocktail, and I let Amy refill my glass when it was empty, trusting that Anil and Ethel would be fine.

Amy was catching a lift home with Jack later from mine, and I noticed that she practically chugged the first drink, needing a refill almost instantly.

We got very, very tipsy over the course of the first game, which I won by just a few points.

During the second game, we played where we took turns copying each other’s “trick shots”, though that was probably an overly generous way of describing the increasingly creative ways we managed to score zero points.

Amy nearly wet herself when I decided to spin the ball like I’d once seen in an old Disney Channel film, and I asked her “Areyou ready for spin time?” before chucking the ball directly in the gutter.

Amy technically won that game, though it felt like blind luck more than anything, and I took a selfie of us in front of the score table on the screen, Amy holding her ball up like a trophy.

I only noticed later that I wasn’t even looking at the camera, but at Amy herself.

As we walked back to mine, we kept bumping into each other as if magnetised, which was probably from the blue pitcher more than anything else.

At one point Amy rebounded off me so hard that she almost ended up in the road, so I insisted that she walk on the inside.

And if my hands lingered on her waist a little too long as I moved her around me, that was probably just the blue pitcher, too.

Amy insisted on walking me to the door despite the fact that Jack was parked across the street, scrolling on his phone.

“Lore drop,” she said as we got to the front door, and I fumbled with my keys. “Sometimes I let you win when we play games because it makes you so happy.”

I scoffed. “As if I didn’t just let you win that last game.”

“You absolutely did not!” she said, shoving me just hard enough that I took a step back. When I came forward again, I may have overcompensated with a little step forward, bringing me just a tiny bit closer to her.

We were both quiet for a moment, and I wondered if, like me, she didn’t want the date to end. Or maybe she was hoping for a specific ending– was that wishful thinking on my part?

But the booze I could still taste was too reminiscent of the last time I’d thought she might want me to kiss her, so I changed course in my mind.

“Is this okay?” I asked. “Are you getting what you want from this?”

She seemed to really think about her answer.

“Yeah, I think so,” she said, but again she didn’t sound so confident. I wondered where all her bravado and certainty had gone. Maybe, like me, she’d just gotten more jaded as she’d gotten older. Less certain. “Things are going well with Dad, anyway.”

“That’s good,” I said, and I was happy that things were going the way she wanted, even if I didn’t fully get it.

“But I guess time will tell,” she added. “What about you? Are you getting what you want?”

I had to actively remind myself of the reasons I’d had for wanting to do this. Reasons other than just wanting to be around her. Wanting nights like this. Wanting to make things up to her for how badly I’d fumbled it five years ago.

“Yeah, everyone’s been off my back,” I said. “But like you said, I guess time will tell.”

Time will tell an awful lot , I thought. Like if this was all a terribly misguided idea to begin with. But even if I didn’t get what I wanted from it, as long as she did, it wasn’t a waste of time. Not to me.

“Well, we’ve got plenty of it,” she said. And she was right; we still had exactly twelve weeks until our new expiry date: the fantasy ball. “You think you have it in you?”

The answer came easily. “Definitely.”

I looked at her for another long moment and admitted to myself that I couldn’t prolong this tipsy proximity any longer.

My two options were to kiss her or say goodbye.

And as tempting as the first option was, as much as it felt like fighting gravity not to lean in and find out if she tasted like those damned blue cocktails, I wasn’t quite ready to crash and burn.

And plus, Jack was right there . Sure, he’d seen us kiss once before already, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to let it happen again on purpose.

So I said goodbye instead, and told her I’d see her on Tuesday for the pub quiz. But when she moved to leave, I couldn’t resist the chance to pull her in and press a kiss to her forehead.

She looked slightly startled when I pulled back, but not unhappy, and I took that as a win.

Then she stepped away, and I watched her go, craning my neck to make sure she got to Jack’s car okay.

Then I turned back towards the door, my eye catching on the hawthorn blossoms to my right, catching the moonlight as if they wanted to make sure I knew they were there. That they’d seen everything.

“I know, Mum,” I said with a sigh, pushing the door open at last. “I don’t want to hear it.”