Chapter 12
Twelve
train platform. She was absolutely not wearing her love antennae, choosing instead to leave them propped up on her one potted
plant that, if she was being honest, probably wasn’t going to make it another four weeks until spring.
She had been texting with Joy while picking out her outfit, making plans for their brunch the next morning while trying on
jeans and skirts and heels and blouses, none of which made her feel as good as she had felt when Oscar had asked her out the
night before. She tossed them into a pile while agreeing to meet Joy at 10:00 a.m., then reached into the very back of what
she not-so-lovingly referred to as her “capsule closet” and found a dress that she hadn’t worn since . . .
Well, since Brian.
It was still in the dry cleaning bag from DC, and Lauren felt a small pang of homesickness when she saw the paper receipt clipped to the top.
When she tried the pacific blue puff-sleeved minidress on, it felt better than it had ever felt in the States, and she liked the idea of it having a renewed life right alongside her.
She was nervous, she realized, as her black cab bounced along some of East London’s cobblestone side streets, nearly giddy
not just with excitement, but for the potential for good to happen, for all the things she had endured throughout the past
year to melt away under the warm haze of something new and promising.
Oscar was waiting outside for her, wearing a cashmere sweater and cream pants. She suspected he had gotten a haircut that
day, he looked so crisp, and her heart pitter-patted a little bit at the thought. He was trying to impress her.
“Hey,” he said when she stepped out of the car, hurrying over to take her hand as she climbed out, praying that she didn’t
smell like the four pine tree air fresheners that hung from its rearview mirror. “You look great.”
“Thanks,” she replied, pulling her chain-link purse over her shoulder. She had had to unpack the small bag from a still-unpacked
moving box, realizing that her daily work bag wasn’t exactly going to complete her outfit. As she dug it out, she had started
to wonder how much was left in her moving boxes, how much she hadn’t touched, and what exactly she was waiting for.
“You look really good, too,” she said, rubbing the soft fabric of his sweater. “I like this.”
He held the door open for her as they entered the Italian restaurant. It was packed for a Saturday night, and Lauren—a planner
down to her DNA—was about to wonder aloud if they’d be able to get a table without a reservation when the ma?tre d’ saw Oscar
and immediately lit up.
“Oscar,” he said, doing the half-handshake, half-hug thing that every man seemed to have mastered. “Hello, hello, it’s good to see you. It’s been a few.”
“Yes, I know, sorry, work travel,” Oscar said. Lauren had never seen him so relaxed before. Even his shoulders seemed less
tight and tense, and when he smiled, his whole face seemed to change. She wondered if he knew that about himself.
“I was in Singapore for a bit,” he continued, then reached for Lauren and guided her forward. “With Lauren. We work together.”
He put his hand on the small of her back, and she felt herself get goosebumps. “She’s a VIP guest tonight, she needs looking
after.”
“Of course,” the ma?tre d’ said. “Here, let’s get you a booth.”
“That’d be perfect, thank you.” Oscar guided Lauren in front of him. “Follow him,” he murmured. “He’ll take care of us.”
Their table was nearly in the center of the noisy, bustling room but still felt intimate, and Lauren and Oscar slid into the
booth on opposite sides. “So why are they so nice to you here?” Lauren asked.
“I’m a very loyal customer,” he said. “Probably too loyal. I’m in here more often than not. I’m not much of a chef and it
feels like . . .” He shrugged and glanced around the room. “Feels a little bit like home, I guess. Noisy and loud, everyone
talking over one another.”
“Do you come from a big family?”
“A big extended family. One brother, but I have a million cousins, aunts, and uncles. I can’t even keep track.”
Lauren tried to imagine Oscar at a big Christmas table, or Easter brunch, or a wedding, and found that she couldn’t. She only
knew him as a journalist, she realized, someone poking around for the full story, and the idea of him being more than just
that made her heart swell.
“What about you?” he asked.
“Only child,” she said. “And not a lot of cousins. I think I have . . .” Lauren thought fast. “Three? They’re all older than me, we don’t really talk.”
She could tell that Oscar wanted to ask more questions, but the menus landed just then, and pretty soon they were deep in
discussion about drinks and salad and whether pizza should have shaved truffle on it (which they both agreed it should). Then
Lauren shrugged out of her coat, shaking her hair back, and Oscar pushed up his sleeves, and it felt right and warm and normal
to be together.
The night raced by as they shared linguine and truffle pizza and chatted over a bottle of wine about their lives, their interests
and dreams in life. For the first time since they had met, the subject of the royals didn’t even come up. After a shared scoop
of pistachio gelato, Oscar picked up the bill and they made their way toward the exit, both of them effusively thanking the
ma?tre d’, who just smiled and handed over a doggie bag of leftovers before giving Oscar a thumbs-up.
“I saw that,” Lauren said, nudging Oscar’s arm as she waited for her Uber.
“Well, I think he likes you,” Oscar replied. “Everybody likes you, though.”
Lauren laughed, turning to face him. “That is factually untrue. You need to check your sources.”
“Oh, do I?” he asked, wrapping his arms around her so that she was locked in against his chest. “Prove me wrong.”
Lauren hesitated before leaning up to kiss him, but once their lips met, she wasn’t hesitant at all. The taste of him was
familiar, his mouth warm against hers. There was a different intensity than there had been at Annabel’s, their first time
hooking up rooted in the immediacy of the moment. This felt like something stronger and deeper.
“Well,” he said as they pulled apart. “Not bad for a first kiss.”
“What?” Lauren said. “This is like our sixtieth kiss. Remember Annabel’s? Oh my God, please say you remember.”
“No, I remember,” he said, and he was brushing the hair off her face again as he looked down into her eyes, and Lauren hated
how much she liked it when he did that. “But this is our first date, so those previous kisses don’t count. This one’s legit.”
“Prove it,” Lauren whispered, and then he was leaning down to meet her again, and well, Oscar had no problem at all proving
it. No problem at all.
“Damn,” she whispered when they pulled apart again. “You can’t just . . . wow. Okay. Give me a minute.”
The Uber pulled up just as she was getting her bearings, Oscar still holding on to her arms. “Are you sure you want to go?
We can grab a drink somewhere around here, or maybe a coffee.”
Coffee was the absolute last thing on Lauren’s mind. “I could grab a drink,” she said. “At yours, maybe?”
Oscar pulled back to look at her, his eyes slightly dilating. “I think we can make that happen,” he replied, then opened the
car door to speak to the driver. “Change of plans, my friend,” he said. “We’re going to walk.” Lauren felt his hand reach
for hers as they made the four-minute stroll to his place.
Not that Lauren had thought a lot about what Oscar’s apartment might look like, but she hadn’t been expecting what she found.
“Okay, I’m just going to ask,” she said, setting her purse down on the stone kitchen island. “How the hell do you afford this
on a newspaper salary?”
Oscar laughed as he swung his coat over a walnut-and-wicker dining chair.
The apartment was neat, but not the sort of clean and organized that suggested he had thought her visit was an inevitability.
There was mail stacked on one end of the table, a few cups in the sink, a hastily made bed on the mezzanine floor that looked over the living room, and several pairs of sneakers sprawled by the front door. It felt lived in, and Lauren liked it.
“I share it with my housemate, who is fortunately away for the weekend,” he said. “We’ve lived here for a few years.” Then
he looked her dead in the eyes and said, “I know when to hold onto a good thing.”
They both paused for a few seconds before bursting out laughing. “That was terrible!” Lauren cried.
“I was trying to be cool!” he protested, even as he laughed alongside her. “I know, I have zero game.”
“Game is overrated,” she promised him.
“Do you want something to drink?” he said. “I have some whiskey tucked away somewhere, some beer.”
Lauren suspected that she was going to want to sober up for whatever happened next. “Just water,” she said. “For now.” He
had taken off his sweater when they got in, and when he turned toward the refrigerator and opened the door, she could see
the muscles of his back through the plain white tee he had on underneath, and Lauren said a quick thank-you to whatever gods
had convinced her to stay on birth control after breaking up with Brian.
“Soooo,” Oscar said, sliding the glass of water over to her before sitting down at the kitchen island. “Only child, not many
cousins.”
Lauren shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“Is that why you moved here?”
“Because I don’t have cousins?” She laughed. “People have done far more because of far less.”
“No, I just meant, like, you’re not anchored anywhere.”
Lauren had never thought of it that way, and after hearing it out loud, she had no intentions to do so in the future. “I moved
here after my relationship and life imploded, which I know you know, and I needed a change.”
“Still, it’s a big move,” he said, sipping at his own bottle of beer. “I really admire that about you. That’s a huge change,
and you just did it, no fear.”