“I hope so.” I grin.
Ever since I got out of detention, I haven’t been able to stop smiling.
By the time Harry gets here, my cheeks will probably be so sore that I can’t even smile at him.
“Why don’t you run along and start getting ready?” Helen says, standing up. “I think half the fun of a date is the preparation—taking a long, scented bath, slowing down and doing your hair and makeup in a special way, sneaking a square of chocolate before slipping into a luxurious outfit.”
“I’ve never been one to love the whole getting ready process,” I admit. “But when you put it like that, I might have to start having more fun with it.”
Helen leans toward me, confiding. “I love Gene to bits, but sometimes, the best part of our date nights is taking the time before for myself. There’s something about putting on lipstick and brushing your hair slowly. It makes you feel … sexy. When you become a mum, it’s easy to forget that you deserve time for yourself.”
I smile, thinking about Helen and Gene together.
“Someday, I hope to have what you and Gene have. It’s easy to see that you love one another. And I like that you aren’t showy about it. Sometimes, I think all people care about in relationships is how they look together. Or they want to be with someone just so that they feel loved. I guess maybe it’s easy to be in love. Or fall in love. And it’s easy to be in a relationship or to say you are. I think what you two have is more special though. You have a relationship and love.”
“And you need the boy who you are with to fancy you, but it’s also important he knows you. No one is perfect, and we all have our bad days. You need someone who understands that.”
“You’re right.” I nod my head, agreeing with her.
“But that all comes later. For now, have fun and allow yourself to be swept off your feet.”
“I’ll try my best.” I smile at her, getting up off the couch and heading toward my room.
Have fun and allow yourself to be swept off your feet.
I decide the first thing I should do when I get to my room is pick out my outfit.
I lay out a few options on my bed and then grab my phone, deciding to call home.
My dad answers, “Hey, sweetie. How’s it going?”
My dad’s voice is warm through the phone, and I instantly miss him.
“It’s going great. I miss you. And Mom,” I add, not wanting to leave her out.
“We miss you,” my dad replies.
“I have a date tonight,” I tell him, glancing down at my outfits, wondering which one my parents would like the best.
My dad always likes me in dresses. I think something about seeing your daughter in a dress just pulls at a dad’s heart.
My mom would be pickier, helping me decide based off the style, occasion, and what looks most flattering.
“Oh? And who is the lucky boy?” my dad asks, sounding surprised.
“His name’s Harry. He’s the boy I was telling you about before.”
“Mmhmm,” my dad replies.
And I’m not sure if he’s disinterested or if he just doesn’t remember.
“I think he’s really special, Dad,” I add for emphasis. I want him to understand that Harry’s important to me.
“I’m sure he is. You know, I bet your mother would love to hear about your date.”
I roll my eyes, knowing what he’s doing. But I give in.
“I’ll give her a call tomorrow. Tell her all the juicy details I’m sure you’d rather not hear.”
“There shouldn’t be any juicy details to hear,” my dad says sternly.
“Dad, is a kiss really going to be the end of the world?”
“I suppose not.” My dad sighs. “Though you really shouldn’t be kissing anyone after only knowing them for a week.”
I pull my lips into a straight line.
Sorry, Dad.
I kissed him—or, well, Harry kissed me—after only a few minutes of knowing one another.
But I figure that falls into the juicy details category and is a fact I probably shouldn’t share with either him or my mother.
“Are you telling me that you didn’t kiss Mom for a full week after meeting her?” I shoot back.
“Your mom was a woman with a mind of her own,” my dad replies, avoiding answering my question.
“I thought so …”
Dad chuckles. “Have fun tonight, Mal. I’m glad to hear that you’re getting out. Enjoy your time there.”
“I will,” I reply. “And though I hate to admit it, I am having a really good time. I’m happy to be here.”
“It’s surprising, isn’t it?”
“What is?” I ask.
“That, sometimes, your parents might actually do something with your best interests at heart.”
I roll my eyes. “I think that’s a little bit of a stretch,” I tease.
“Give your mom a call tomorrow, all right?”
“I will. I love you,” I say.
“I love you too.”
I hang up the phone and immediately miss my dad.
I think the thing I miss most is our banter. I also miss having coffee with him in the morning and going running.
And even though I’m not traditional, I can’t help but think about what it would be like if my dad met Harry. I’m curious to know what my dad might think about him. Would he love Harry’s outgoing personality as much as I do, or would he think that Harry was a bit of a disaster?
I think about what my dad might say about Noah. About the Williams.
If I were back in New York and going on a date, maybe my dad would get the chance to meet Harry. He would probably act protective and ask Harry what his intentions were. Harry would want to laugh at the question, but I could see him being serious and playing along by actually giving my dad an answer. I think he would be able to tell how much Harry likes me.
And how much I like him.
I took my time in getting ready, but I’m still downstairs before Harry arrives. I’m sitting in the living room, chatting with Gene, when I hear a knock at the front door.
“I’ll get it,” I say to Gene, wanting to be the one to greet Harry.
I pull open the door and am instantly taken by the way Harry looks.
He has on a blue button-down, one that brings out the color of his eyes, paired with navy pinstriped pants. His blond hair is combed back, and his shoes are polished to perfection.
And he has a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
I grin at him. “Hi.”
Every part of me feels like it is glowing.
Because he looks amazing.
I’m not sure if any girl would be able to resist his charm, but I already know that I most definitely can’t.
“Hey, babe,” he says, kissing me on the cheek. “These are for you.” He extends his hand, offering me the flowers.
And I instantly melt.
“Aww, they’re beautiful. Thank you. Let me put them in some water before we go.”
He nods and then follows me into the Williams’ house.
“Hey,” Harry greets Gene, who is in his usual chair, a book held open in his hand.
“It’s nice to see you, Harry.” He smiles, setting the book down.
I walk past Gene into the kitchen, searching for an empty vase. I check under the sink, not finding anything. Shit.
“Let me help you,” Noah says, suddenly at my side.
I jump at his voice and his proximity.
“God, don’t do that,” I say, trying to slow down my heart rate.
“Scare you?” He laughs as he opens the pantry and pulls out a vase from the top shelf.
I never would have found it up there. And even if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to reach it.
“You’re so quiet sometimes.” I didn’t hear him come downstairs or into the kitchen.
“Or maybe you’re just distracted,” he says, setting the vase onto the table.
“Thanks for getting the vase for me.
” I look between Noah and the flowers.
“They’re beautiful,” he says, eyeing them as I take the vase and run it under the faucet.
I can feel Noah standing over my shoulder, but I keep my head tucked down, my eyes on the vase.
“You look beautiful as well,” he comments more than says, leaning against the counter.
“Thank you.” I stop the water, put the vase onto the counter, and give my full attention to Noah.
His gaze slips down my dress before focusing on the flowers. “I’ll put them in the water for you,” he says, not making eye contact, “so you two can head out.”
When he finally looks up at me, my stomach tightens at his expression.
“Thanks,” I reply, handing him the bouquet. He takes ahold of it, but I don’t let go. “Don’t wait up,” I add, trying to break the spell between us.
And I have to say, it works. Noah’s jaw tightens as I let go of the flowers.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replies flatly, shoving the flowers into the vase.
I leave Noah in the kitchen and go back out into the living room.
“Ready?” I ask Harry when an opening comes in his conversation with Gene.
He nods and then says, “See you,” to Gene before opening the front door for me.
“Bye,” I call out before closing the door behind us.
Harry laces his fingers through mine, and we go down the steps and to the sidewalk, side by side.
“Wait,” I say, stopping him.
“Forget something?” he asks mindlessly, turning back toward me.
“Yes, I did,” I say and then pull him to my lips.
I must take Harry by surprise at first. His eyes stay open for a second, his body stiff. I press my whole body against his, grasping at his neck and kissing him hard. It’s more of an I want your clothes off right this instant kiss than a hello, it’s nice to see you kiss, but I couldn’t wait. I need to feel close to Harry. I need to feel his body pressing against mine.
He drops my hand, wrapping his arms around me. I lean into him with force, almost pushing him over. Fortunately, he steadies us, but I would welcome the ground as I force my tongue into his mouth, wanting nothing more than to taste him.
“Mallory,” he whispers, breaking our lips apart. “If you keep kissing me like this, I’m going to be forced to rip off your clothes right here, in the street.”
I take a deep breath and then press my lips back against his. But this time, I slow it down. I kiss him softer, knowing that he won’t go anywhere.
I kiss him, trying to show him exactly how I feel.
“What was that for?” Harry asks, blinking a few times. His eyes are glazed over with lust, and a sheepish grin forms on his face.
“It wasn’t for anything,” I say, looking up at him. “I just really wanted to kiss you.”
“I could tell.”
“You liked it?” I ask.
“That’s an understatement,” Harry says, wrapping his arm around my shoulders.
“Good,” I reply, feeling warm all over.
I always know how he’s going to react to my lips, and I like that.
“You look smashing,” he says, taking in my outfit.
“Thanks.” I glance down at my dress.
I decided on something a little different for me. Usually, I go for fitted and tailored, but I wanted something more romantic, something with movement.
I ended up picking out a pretty wrap dress because it cinches around my waist, highlighting it, and slides over my hips.
“So, are you going to tell me where you’re taking me now?” I ask, realizing that we’re walking in the direction of his house.
Maybe his plan is to take me there.
But we both seem a little dressed up for that.
And I’m not sure how good of a cook Harry actually is.
Or if he can cook at all.
“It’s a surprise,” he says, taking in my expression. “You hate surprises, don’t you?”
“I mean … I like the idea of them,” I admit, but I still scrunch up my nose.
“I promise you, there aren’t any crazy surprises. No noisy poppers or gaudy singers. Just me and you.”
“Just me and you,” I repeat.
Harry nods, giving my hand a squeeze.
After a short stroll, we arrive at a restaurant. Harry holds the door open for me, and we go inside.
My first impression of the place is that it’s both cozy and romantic. Red-and-white-checkered tablecloths cover each table. Candles give the entire room a warm glow, and the sound of silverware clinking against plates slips throughout the room.
“Italian,” I state as a man approaches us.
He’s wearing a white shirt under an apron.
He smiles, moving to embrace Harry.
Harry grins from ear to ear, and when they end the hug, he turns toward me.
“Marco, I’d like you to meet Mallory.”
Harry’s eyes are glistening as I extend my hand to Marco. He glances down at it but then pulls me into a hug.
“Welcome, my dear,” he says, giving me a good squeeze.
Everything about Marco is warm and rosy. His cheeks are tinted pink, his smile bright and wide.
Harry’s face almost mimics his, looking happy.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I say, smiling back at him, trying to be polite.
Because it’s obvious that Harry is close with this man, which means that Marco instantly feels close to me.
“It’s a pleasure.” He beams.
“Marco is the owner of the restaurant,” Harry states, grabbing my attention. “I’ve been coming here for years.”
Marco glances over to Harry, his eyes softening. “I remember the first time this boy came into my restaurant. He was young and scrawny. Came in alone and tried to order a slice of pizza and a fizzy pop. He looked so sad. I remember that day well.”
“I wasn’t pathetic,” Harry says, starting to look embarrassed.
“I will continue the story as I remember,” Marco says, quieting Harry. “I told him that he could have a slice of pizza or if he wanted more, I would serve him a traditional dinner. He could have fish and pasta. I would let him sneak a tiny sip of limoncello and a delicious dessert. But I said he must help me out first.”
“Really?” I ask, smiling at Marco.
I want to believe his story, but part of me can’t picture this happening at all.
Marco nods. “Yes, of course. I couldn’t just let him sit there and sulk, eating some of the most delicious Italian cuisine in London. No. So, I took him with me back to the kitchen and gave him a slice of pizza. He got to watch the chefs prepare pizzas and roll out fresh pasta.”
“It’s true,” Harry adds, his lips pulling up at the corner.
He looks at Marco with humility, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Harry look that way.
“I would sit next to him any chance I got, explaining our traditional recipes. By the end of the night, I had his belly full and a smile on his face.” Marco nods, his blue eyes looking bright and glassy against his tanned skin.
“And he sent you home happy?” I ask, directing my question at Harry.
“He sent me home with a stomachache actually,” Harry corrects.
Marco shakes his head, still smiling. “It is my joy in life to make sure that anyone who comes into my restaurant leaves happier than when they arrived,” Marco replies.
“And I’ve been coming back ever since.” Harry glances at me, looking almost shy.
“Come, let me take you to your table.” Marco leads us to the center of the room, pulling out the chair for me. There is a single rose in a vase and a gold votive candle burning next to it. Marco hands us the menus. “I hope you two enjoy yourselves.”
“Thanks, Marco,” Harry says.
When he walks away, I look across the table to Harry.
“You come here a lot, don’t you?” I ask.
Harry nods. “Probably once a week.”
“So, you have to tell me, that story, it’s all true?” I ask, my eyes glistening.
Harry shifts in his chair, looking uncomfortable. “Besides the dramatic embellishments, basically, yeah.”
“Which part did he embellish?”
Harry’s eyes meet mine, and I can tell whatever he’s about to say is serious, meaningful to him.
“The first time I came here is when my mum told me that she was going to work for my dad’s company. It was her first work trip away, and my dad was home. He got upset over something or another, and things at the house got … heated. I ended up leaving. I just had to get out, I guess. I didn’t want to explain things to Noah or Mohammad. I didn’t know where to go, and I ended up here.”
“You ended up here,” I repeat.
Harry nods, his blue eyes settling on mine.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Harry. It means a lot.”
“What does?” he asks, his lips pressing together.
I shift, trying to figure out how to explain this to him. But really, I don’t think I need to. Even though he won’t admit it, he knows too.
“Thank you for letting me in,” I reply. “For letting me into your world.”
Harry smiles, his cocky grin coming back. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about, Mallory. I just thought you might like some Italian.”
“I’m sure.” I smile at him as a waiter sets water on the table and then comes back with a basket of bread and herb-infused olive oil.
I take a piece, dipping it into the oil, and then take a bite.
Harry watches me, his gaze directly on my lips. “How is it?”
“Delicious.” I’m savoring the flavor, but I’m also thinking about us being here. “I can’t believe we’re on a date.”
Harry scrunches up his nose, his eyes wrinkling at the corners. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “I was just thinking back to when we met at the pub. You were so flirty.” I can’t help but grin at the memory.
“I was drunk.” He laughs, taking another bite of bread.
“You were laying on the charm real thick,” I counter.
“And you couldn’t resist.” Harry’s blue eyes sparkle at the memory.
“No, I couldn’t.”
“You tried to.”
London Prep: Book Two Page 14
