Page 30 of Hit For Six (Balls and Banter #1)

Lola kicked him under the table, completely forgetting her resolve and foolishly catching the end of the cloth with her foot, knocking their large bottle of water to the floor with a loud smash that turned every head in the establishment.

And just like that the evening was ruined.

It was all she could do not to run yet again in Monty’s presence.

‘Oops!’ he said, as if it was but a triviality.

‘I am so sorry. Allow me,’ Lola bleated at the rapidly approaching waiter.

She could detect the most unfetching pink hue creeping up her neck. She stood to help him, rooting around in her bag for tissues (yet again– when would it ever stop?), oblivious to the napkins in the centre of the table.

‘That will not be necessary, Madam. It’s taken care of already.

Please remain seated and enjoy your evening.

’ He gestured to a waitress with a cloth, dustpan, brush and mop.

It wasn’t that Lola had never been anywhere posh before, but she didn’t think she’d ever get used to this entitlement .

Just as well, then, that she wasn’t dating Monty.

‘And absolutely, Sir, to your request. Plus a fresh bottle of Perrier. Anything to graze on while you’re both waiting? ’

‘Rosemary glazed Mamra almonds sound good to you?’

Lola nodded her head sheepishly and all matters were closed.

‘I can’t believe I did that,’ she hissed, mortified at the deep clean going on around her, when she was the one who did the tidying up after others.

She couldn’t go on throwing SPD into the mix.

Whilst it could make some people clumsy, there was nothing wrong with her co-ordination; she’d just proved that at the park.

And she honestly barely drank alcohol either, but in the short time that she’d known of Monty’s existence, she’d gone from smuggling it into a cricket match in a hair brush, to resigning from a job at a cocktail bar, to pouring her heart out long distance over the tiniest bottle of bubbles, to this.

A good old restorative mug of tea was the way forward. But they weren’t in a greasy spoon. She had to observe etiquette.

‘It was nothing.’ Monty batted the disaster away. Ha, wouldn’t he just? ‘And it could have been much worse.’

‘Oh yeah? How? Short of upending our meals and making them hit the ceiling.’

‘Which might have been painted with priceless Michelangelo frescoes. And it could have been red wine that you splotched them with, at the same time sending it flying behind you to drench the poe-faced dude in his cream linen suit. This remarkable feat carried out at the same speed as your parting shot in Vicky Park.’

Lola couldn’t resist a furtive look over her shoulders. Such a man did exist and she could already feel his wrath.

‘Bit extreme, but when you put it like that.’

‘In other words, I brought you here to relax and have a good time. Don’t give it another thought.’

‘I suppose. I just wish I could… fit in a little better. Wherever I go. Stop causing scenes, quit creating so much drama.’

‘Lola, that’s your superpower. You’re uniquely, wonderfully you. And you totally belong in a place like this. Anywhere and everywhere should be honoured to have you on their guest list.’

‘Thanks, I think.’

‘I mean every word.’

Monty’s expression grew intense. This was getting dangerous.

‘Just nipping to the ladies!’ she announced.

After doing her business, Lola took a deep breath and appraised herself in the mirror before reapplying a smidge of makeup.

Oh, all right, then. She’d take heed of Monty’s advice and feel like she belonged here, glam herself up a bit.

As it happened, there was a cheap red lippy in a Taylor Swift shade in her little cosmetics bag just waiting to have its seal ripped.

She’d bought it ages ago and never plucked up the courage to wear a colour so bold, even though she knew it would make her green eyes pop.

Lola put a bit on. It complimented her dress, too.

A fellow young female diner gave her a chef’s kiss sign.

Bolstered by the approval of one so hip and trendy, she headed back to the restaurant.

Lola willed herself not to reach for the champagne as she returned to the table, where Monty was scrolling on his phone.

She didn’t think she could hold stem or bowl of the glass with a steady hand, and now she’d quite possibly made herself look even more appealing to him, which would totally ramp up the nerves.

She’d really not thought this through and should have just stuck with her girl-next-door look.

Where were the blimming nuts when you needed them?

On cue, the waiter reappeared with a bowl of delicious-looking toasted almonds that made her stomach growl. It had been hours since her early lunch.

‘Dig in!’ Monty insisted, his eyes widening as he silently appraised this hot new version of her.

She scooped a delicate handful and dropped one on her tongue.

At least that way she couldn’t talk. Oh, they were incredible with that rosemary infusion.

Lola was unbearably picky with herbs. Coriander tasted of soap, tarragon like cough syrup.

But rosemary was the stuff of the gods– or goddesses, more than likely, as befitted its name.

Monty was less overawed, chowing the expensive nuts down as if they were an everyday snack.

‘Well? I haven’t forgotten.’

So much for thinking she could make a detour with the dialogue. Lola changed her mind and took a swig of her champagne cocktail, putting the glass down a little too forcefully.

‘Musical theatre,’ she announced emphatically.

Might as well let the entire brasserie know. And it was definitely important that Monty knew, so they could sever ties after tonight, because she was sure it would not be his bag.

‘But that is so cool!’ His eyes lit up so brightly that he had to relegate his own cocktail to the table, its contents sloshing about as he absorbed this new-to-him tidbit.

Ah, but he was feigning interest to be polite.

Any moment now and he’d change the conversation.

‘How many have you seen? Have you ever starred in one? Tell me how it feels when you’re watching a performance because…

this is so embarrassing.’ He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose as if to spare himself from Lola’s reaction.

‘I have never been to a musical theatre production. I’ve not even watched a movie version. ’

‘W– but you must have!’

‘Really, I swear. The not-having-a pet thing is the tip of the iceberg in a very long list.’

‘Okay,’ said Lola slowly. ‘Noted for discussion during main course.’

‘We’ll need to stay here for cheese and biscuits, port and coffee to cover everything in said glacier. Trust me.’

‘No offence, Monty, but you crack me up. I can’t believe you’ve missed out on so many mainstream things when you’ve probably got to soak up hundreds of experiences that the average person misses out on.’

‘Like slimy fish eggs on toast, freezing my arse off in Kitzbühel, and Milan Fashion Week, you mean?’

‘Exactly. And all right, I’d pass on two out of the three, but you can’t downplay Milan!’

‘You’re deflecting again, Lola. I want to hear your answer!’

‘Says the original procrastinator in this entire getting-to-know-you conversation.’

Monty drummed his fingers on the table and suddenly the main courses appeared.

Perfect timing. The waiter fussed about with the cloches, revealing two intricately presented meals– one looking infinitely more appetising than the other.

In Lola’s humble opinion only, of course.

Normally she would reel at such a small portion but suddenly her stomach was in knots when it wasn’t performing somersaults.

For some reason she’d already skipped ahead in her imagination to the walk home, wondering which proverbial path it might take them down.

Damn that red lipstick for messing with her head.

‘Let me take a bite or two first, please!’ she insisted, spearing a small piece of the samphire that accompanied her dish with a lovely little chunk of the sea bass.

The ingredients melded on her tongue in a musical theatre performance of their own.

Damn, this was high end nosh. She shouldn’t get too used to it.

Monty, again, was tucking in as if this was a regular meal of cottage pie.

Lola knew that he couldn’t help his upbringing and being used to the finer things in life, but once again, it only served to highlight their differences.

She rested her knife and fork at a respectable angle on her plate to signal that she was still eating, patted her lips and prayed that she had nothing green stuck in her teeth.

She cleared her throat. The sooner she answered his questions, the sooner she could grill Monty.

She was intrigued to hear his backstory.

‘One– I’ve lost count of how many musicals I’ve been to because I’ve watched a few multiple times,’ she said, trying to recall the order of his interrogation.

‘Two– no, I’ve never been on stage and I honestly have no desire to…

in the same way, I guess, as most of us sitting here don’t dream of being gourmet chefs.

I love being in the audience, experiencing the end result.

We’re an integral part of the show, the energy flows both ways.

’ She paused for effect. ‘And three– there’s nothing quite like the natural high.

Sure, you can experience something similar by watching sport or going to see your favourite band, but musical theatre feels more intimate and special.

Don’t get me wrong, I still really enjoy other kinds of live events– well, most of the time. ’

‘Hey.’ Monty held his palms up. ‘No offence taken. I think I get it. Live sport is great but it can be stressful and disappointing when you’re in the audience. Somebody has to lose. It sounds like everyone’s a winner with musical theatre.’