Page 4 of The London Chance
“What’s it like there now?” Might as well dive in, right?
“Seventy-five and sunny,” he said breezily.
“In April? Must be nice.”
Chance shrugged as he opened his leather-bound menu. “I suppose. Do you have any recommendations?”
“I usually order the roasted chicken, but everything here is fantastic,” I assured him.
“You mentioned you’re allergic to shellfish. Is it safe to order a crab-cake appetizer for myself, or should I stick to salad?” he asked, his finger tracing the print on the thick paper.
If I knew this guy as well as the one I’d told about the time Molly painted my pens and pencils in clear nail polish on our first day of school, I would have made a snarky remark about it not being an issue unless he stuck his tongue down my throat too. But I didn’t feel comfortable with him, and I couldn’t figure it out.
On the other hand, he’d literally just sat at the table, and meeting someone for the first time was bound to be nerve-wracking for both of us. We’d drop the overly polite routine after a drink or two and move on from careful topics like food and weather in no time.
Uh…
So that didn’t happen.
What commenced was easily the most highly anticipated flop of my dating career.
Don’t get me wrong, Chance was a perfectly nice gentleman with impeccable manners and a friendly demeanor. We discussed West End theater, restaurants in the city, and the new exhibit at the Tate. When he mentioned that he was interested in taking a day tour, I made a few suggestions, but I didn’t offer to join him. Frankly, it sounded like too much work.
Look, not every date was a success. Sometimes you just didn’t click. But that was what was so frustrating about Chance and me. We’d clicked on the app. Very well. I hadn’t just liked him, I’d lusted after him. The sight of his name made my heart skip a beat. I hadn’t felt that way about anyone in so long I wasn’t sure I ever would again. He’d made me laugh with self-deprecating stories about growing up with his hippie parents, a wacky sister, and the cranky old lady who’d flipped him off every day on his way to school.
I loved those peeks into his life in California. It all seemed so vibrant and fun; so far away, yet close enough that I swore I could smell the salt air and visualize palm trees, hipsters in convertibles cruising Sunset Boulevard, and the Hollywood sign in the distance whenever we talked. But I couldn’t now.
This was a nice dinner between two strangers. That was it.
I ordered a mixed green salad, the chicken, and a single glass of Chardonnay. Chance ordered crab cakes, the filet mignon, and a Cabernet. We declined dessert and coffee and went through the expected song and dance about who should pay. I insisted. He’d come all this way, and it only seemed fair.
The truly awkward part came when it was time to say good-bye. I didn’t want to do this again. It wasn’t fun. In fact, it was disappointing and vaguely depressing. A sure sign it was time to delete the app once and for all.
We stood outside the main entrance and stared at the rain dripping from the black awning.
“I’m going to catch a cab by the circus. Can you walk to your hotel from here?” I asked, pulling a compact umbrella from my coat pocket.
Chance nodded. “I think I’m fairly close. If I stick close to the buildings, I won’t get too wet.”
I held up my umbrella. “Take this.”
“No, no. That’s okay. You need it and—”
“I have a few and I don’t mind getting a little wet.” I thrust the umbrella at him and offered him my hand, adding, “It was nice to finally meet you in person.”
Chance’s smile wobbled slightly. He opened his mouth and closed it as if he wanted to say something more.
He didn’t. He shook my hand, unfurling the umbrella as he stepped aside. “You too. Thank you for…dinner. And the umbrella.”
“You’re welcome.”
I held my breath when he waved and turned away, then waited till the shadows swallowed him whole before pulling out my cell.
Maxine answered on the first ring. “Tell me all about it!”
The sounds of raucous laughter and the hum of conversation drifted from her end of the line. “Where are you?”
“You don’t want to know, mate,” she drawled in her thick Cockney brogue. “But I’ll tell you anyway. Angie kidnapped me for karaoke. It’s bloody awful. But the drinks are a’right. Are you ringing from the loo, or are you on your way to his hotel? Don’t tell me he’s sittin’ right there. Come on, you have better manners than that, don’t ya?”