Chapter 8
Eight
Thankfully, I manage to turn the conversation around and safely make it through the remainder of breakfast unfazed.
I’m even a little early to work. Sam is brilliant at keeping track of time.
It’s not until my lunch break that I finally am able to find the time to text Liz and bring her up to speed.
Liz
You met your soldier again this morning?
Min
Guilty as charged.
Liz
Wow, I’m speechless. That’s two dates without me needing to bribe you.
Min
I know.
Liz
What made you decide to be so impulsive?
Min
Instinct? I don’t know. I really want to get to know him better.
Liz
Please don’t tell me you’re madly in love with him already.
Min
NO! Everybody knows instalove isn’t a thing. At least not in the real world. But I do like him. He’s like a refreshing glass of lemonade on a hot day.
Liz
I’ll need photo evidence.
Min
No promises, but I’ll see what I can do.
Liz
*Grinning emoji* What did you guys talk about?
Min
Stuff.
Liz
That’s not enough details for me.
Min
Fine . . . we talked about life in the barracks, shopping for furniture, and Costco. He’s never been. We’re taking a field trip next time he can get a full day off.
Liz
You talked about Costco?
Min
He was curious to hear about all the stuff they carry. I told him it’s an experience. Did you know the average person spends three hours in there wandering up and down the aisles?
Liz
I don’t want to even know how you know that, but if he was into it, that’s brilliant. Have you planned your next date yet?
Min
We’re meeting again for dinner.
Liz
*Eyes bulging emoji*
Min
I know. When I say we hit it off, I mean it. Last night in the pub, I felt like a teenager. I didn’t want the night to end.
Liz
Maybe there’s something to be said about dating a soldier. Does he have any friends? And yes, I am being serious.
Min
I’m sure he does. I can ask.
Liz
Please do and fill me in on the third date tomorrow. *Heart emoji*
Min
I’ll text you later. My lunch break is just about up.
Walking outside the iron gates of Buckingham Palace, I spot Sam standing under an oversized navy umbrella in a black rain jacket, jeans, and wellies, watching the cars drive past as he waits for me.
My breath hitches. “Sam, you didn’t have to meet me here.”
He turns and flashes a cheeky smile. “I didn’t, but I wanted to.” He closes the distance between us and ensures I’m covered by the umbrella. “This is for you.” He hands me a single stunning orange-pink peony. Its long stem reminds me of a magic wand.
I accept it and clutch it to my chest. “But you already gave me flowers this morning.”
“I did, but that was then. This is now.”
I shake my head. The right thing to do would probably be insisting he didn’t need to buy me anything, but in my heart, I’m elated.
During my LABT days, I was always jealous of the soloist and principal dancers who received flowers after every performance.
I wanted someone to recognize me too. But when you’re one among many, you’re just a body.
Sam may not know it, but the gesture of giving me flowers makes me feel that appreciation I never had. He sees me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” The muscles in his forehead contort into a V. “Where is your waterproof? Did you not bring one to work with you?”
“No.” I stick my hand out and let a few stray rain droplets fall upon my hand. It’s more of a mist than a rain. “My phone said the rain was going to be light when we left this morning.” I shrug. “A little water never hurt me.”
“Haven’t you lived in the UK long enough to know never to trust your mobile? It’s never accurate,” he jokes.
Most of the time that’s true. Sometimes it rains even when there are blue skies.
“I have an umbrella in my bag if I’m desperate.” I tap my handy backpack. “I always keep a raincoat in my locker at the museum. If it looks like I’ll get drenched between here and the Tube stop, I take it with me.”
Sam shakes his head. “Hold this, please.” He places the umbrella in my hand.
Unzipping his jacket, he shrugs out of it, then drapes it over my shoulders a moment later.
It’s large and comes down to my knees, much like the boxy coat he wears on duty.
I can smell the woodsy aroma of his cologne. I commit it to memory.
I blink a few times. “Sam, I don’t need a jacket. I’m good.” I shimmy out of it and attempt to pass it back to him, but he gently pushes the coat toward me and collects the umbrella.
“Humor me.” He looks me up and down. “I’d feel like a wanker if I had a nice warm jacket on and you were freezing in a damp fleece zip-up. Trust me, I’ve been in a wet uniform on foot duty more times than I can count. Being freezing is miserable.”
“Sam, I can’t . . .” I sputter.
“Yes, you can. I have a puffy vest under my windbreaker. I’ll be fine.”
I make one final attempt to relent, but his stone-faced glare gets me. Realizing Sam is going to be a stubborn gentleman, I thank him, zip up the coat, and roll up the sleeves. “I’d always thought your cloaks are intended for all weather?”
“They’re supposed to be. They retain heat and repel water, but they’re not waterproof.”
We start walking. Sam gestures for us to cross the street near the Queen Victoria Monument and the main entrance to the palace gates. We cut across the Mall toward the greenery of St. James’s Park.
“What do you wear under the coat? A jumper and trousers?”
“That would be nice, but our winter kit under the cloak is a navy tunic and our khaki trousers. The coat works well enough on semi-cold days. The problem is on freezing-cold days and wet days. When our tunics get wet, the cold seeps into our skin,” he says.
My mind works fast. I wonder if Sam would be allowed to wear a silk thermal under his uniform.
Silk is one of those amazing fabrics that retains heat, and is lightweight and breathable.
In fact, I’m wearing a silk cami and leggings under my jeans.
I glance to my left. He’d probably wear a large?
I make a mental note to order one tomorrow.
Crossing the street, we wander through the deserted park. As Sam predicted, the rain has started to pick up. I hear the sound of excited quacking and a grouping of ducks, swans, and other fowl plays in the rain.
I huddle in a little closer to Sam. “So what’s the plan?”
“Dinner.”
I groan. He laughs.
“I thought tonight, I’d take you somewhere different and exclusive.”
My ears preen. “Like a club?”
“No, but that’s a good guess.” He pauses with an air of drama. “We’re dining with the sharks.”
“Sharks? As in underwater?”
Sam grins. “Where else would you find them?”
My mind begins to play the soundtrack from Jaws.
I picture Sam and I inside a cage under the murky depths of the water, being encircled by a trio of sixteen-foot-long great white sharks.
They flash their massive rows of sharp teeth at us, their eyes watching us for any sign of weakness, ready to come in for the kill when they see it.
I gulp. “I may need to go buy a swimsuit.”
He snorts and raises an eyebrow. “We’re not getting wet or in the water.”
“We aren’t?”
“No. It’ll make sense when we get to the restaurant.”
A short Tube ride later, we’re walking along the bank of the Thames near Tower Bridge. There are a few boats swaying near the dock, and I see the iconic Shard in the distance. It’s lit up with a golden hue that reminds me of a lighthouse.
“This is us.”
We arrive at a nondescript warehouse-style building that’s been converted. There are a few potted plants, two windows covered with blackout curtains, and a driftwood sign hanging on the door that’s been hand painted.
“The Tank,” I read. “Clever.”
Sam chooses not to say anything as he pulls the door open. “After you, Fashion Guru.”
Has he just given me a nickname? Fashion Guru? If he has, I approve.
It takes my eyes a few moments to adjust to the dimness as we enter the building. A neon sign glows with the words “The Tank” in blue and pink. There is soft music playing, with whale calls and a few bubbly noises.
“Baker,” the hostess exclaims, rushing out from behind her podium to hug Sam. She’s a tall woman with hair slicked back into a tight low bun, and she almost stands eye to eye with him. I watch as she claps him on the back. “It’s good to see you!”
“Likewise, Miller. It’s good to see you too. Thanks for fitting us in.” He clears his throat as they step apart. “This is Minerva. Min, meet Ash Miller. She was in my regiment until she decided she’d rather be a civilian again.”
“What he means is that my four years of service was up.” We shake hands. Her grip is firm and self-assured. “Call me Miller.”
“Min,” I reply, still not sure what to make of her.
“Thanks again for arranging everything for me,” Sam says. “I know it was short notice”
“Not at all. I was chuffed to bits when you called. You’re actually doing me a huge favor.”
Miller grabs two menus and opens the doors behind her. I freeze in the doorway. “Whoa.” My mouth drops open.
The walls are entirely made of glass. There are hundreds of colorful dancing corals and schools of fish swimming around and above us. I don’t know where to look. There is so much going on at once. It’s a living piece of art.
That’s when I spot my first shark. Its tail swishes side to side as it gives its tank mates the evil eye. It’s about three to four feet long, but looks can be deceiving. Any shark, even a small one, can do some serious damage.
“Welcome to The Tank,” Miller says.
She leads us farther into the warehouse, which appears to have no other patrons right now.
The tanks back here are deeper and look like something you’d find if you were to visit an aquarium.
It’s about twenty-five feet high. I see a mermaid statue, a canoe-sized shipwreck, and larger sharks.
I shiver as they swim through the shipwreck.
“What is this place?”
“My baby.” Miller chuckles.
Sam and are placed at a table set for two in the center of the circular room, cast in an otherworldly shade of dark teal.
“Hey, Ash, you back here?” a deep male voice calls out. “I have a couple of journalists from the Times here for you.”
“I’ll be right there,” she responds, glancing over her shoulder. Miller sets the menus down in front of us. “I’ll send Marco over to you in a couple minutes.”
“Thanks, Miller,” Sam and I say at the same time.
She walks off back toward the front. Sam picks up his menu and opens it. “She did a brilliant job curating the options so there’s something for everybody.”
Cracking open my own menu, I’m surprised to see it’s organized like a pattern catalog.
There are about fifteen different tabs, each labeled for a very specific purpose.
Thumbing through it, I see vegan, vegetarian, gluten free, nut free, dairy free, and a few other allergy-friendly tabs.
There are also sections for meat lovers and seafood lovers.
The back contains all the offerings by price, low to high and high to low.
“If this is how the menu looks, I can only imagine what she must be like to work with.”
Sam looks at me over the top of his menu. “You have no idea. Miller’s mind works like a computer.”
I snort.
“It’s true. During our downtime at the barracks, Miller used to sit in the common room on her laptop with about fifteen different spreadsheets open, calculating things like how much interest her savings was earning, and what the current trends in the stock market were.
She knew down to the pence how much it would cost to open this place to the standard she wanted, and she did it. ”
My jaw drops. “She doesn’t have any other investors? The tanks in here alone must have cost a fortune.”
“No, Miller is as savvy as they come with numbers and finances. She saved up everything she earned over her four years in the H-Cav and figured out how to turn it into all this.”
“Wow, I’m just in awe.” Miller is the kind of adult I want to be. She knows what she wants and goes after it. That’s the type of attitude and confidence I need to have when I’m applying for internships.
“Anyway, this place opens to the public next week, but Miller did me a solid and let me bring you here so we could have a special evening together. I thought it’d be nice to have the entire restaurant to ourselves.”
Reaching over the table, I place my hand on top of his. Our gazes lock. “Thank you Sam. Even if I’m scared of sharks, I appreciate this.”
We stare at one another for several long moments.
The soft glow of candlelight flickers, casting a warm and intimate ambiance around us.
The air is filled with a hint of ocean breeze, carrying the scent of salt and adventure.
A tender smile plays on his lips. In this shared moment, the world outside The Tank fades away, leaving only the two of us in a bubble.
Footsteps approach us. A man dressed in all black clears his throat. Our moment is over and I drop Sam’s hand.
“Ciao, I’m Marco, Ash’s ma?tre d’. Do you have any questions about things on the menu?”
Sam picks up his with a playful glint in his eye. “What would you recommend to a couple who’s here to swim with the sharks?”
“Ugh.” I hide my face with my hands.