Page 25 of A Dark Fall
“Wow, calm down, babe!” she says sardonically. “Listen, Al, heisa lovely guy, and cute too. In that geeky, clean way you like them. He’s perfect Alex material.”
Perfect Alex material. If only she knew “perfect Alex material” was now tattooed, nightclub-owning knife wound victims.We finish up, and I promise to call her tomorrow to fill her in.
Sam, of course, arrives on time. In fact, he’s early, ringing the doorbell slightly before 7:00 p.m. and carrying a lovely hand-tied bouquet of sunflowers. Not white roses.
“Oh, Sam, you didn’t have to,” I say as he hands me them.
He shrugs. “Oh, I know. You like them though, and they were just asking to be picked from your neighbor’s garden,” he jokes. “Though, you probably have them all over the house, don’t you?” He looks around in curiosity.
“Actually, I don’t.” I shake my head. “They’re really lovely, thank you. Go through to the living room while I put these in water.” I gesture toward the front room and go to the kitchen to get a vase.
Theyarelovely. I’m not surprised he remembered sunflowers are my favorite. I normally have them in my office at the surgery, and Dad sends me them every year. Sam is the sort of person who remembers those kinds of things. He’s nice like that.
I fetch a vase from under the sink and fill it halfway before settling the flowers into it. Sam is browsing the contents of my bookshelf when I come back and set the flowers down on the side table that holds the phone.
He turns to face me and gives me a warm look. “You look really pretty, Alex,” he says shyly.
“Thank you. You scrub up okay yourself.” I smile.
He’s wearing light-colored brown cords with a dark blue denim shirt and smart trainers. His face is clean-shaven, and though he isn’t wearing the black-rimmed glasses he wears for work, he looks good without them too. His hair is a dark chestnut brown, longer than Jake’s, and he wears it in a trendy unkempt style. It occurs to me then that he looks like a student despite being my age. Christ, I hope he has ID on him.
“Yeah, it’s good to get the civvies on.” He smiles. “You have a really lovely house, by the way. No Fred?” He looks disappointed. Of course he also remembered my cat’s name.
“Oh, no, he’s out on the tiles. Every night from six until nine is party time for Fred. He won’t be home until he’s scented every square inch of the village. Then once more for good measure,” I tell him, and he laughs softly.
“Well, that’s a shame. Wanted to introduce myself to the man of the house.”
“You’ll meet him later,” I say, and Sam’s eyes widen a fraction. Then I realize why: because I’ve intimated I’ll invite him back here after. Ignoring the hopeful look on his face, I lift my bag from the couch and nod. “Ready?” I ask.
In the hall by the door, I grab my blazer and lift my phone, checking one last time to see there’s still no response from Jake. Perhaps he’s already moved on, seducing some other girl with an elaborate ruse as we speak, fucking his barmaids on the sofa in his office. I ignore the slight burn of anger that idea creates.
Outside, Sam’s BMW is parked behind my Mini on the driveway, and he unlocks it as we start down the path.
“Sam, we can walk there. It’s only five minutes down the road,” I suggest.
“Oh, right, yeah, of course, great.” He nods and locks his car again, and we head off down my street.
The Pig and Hen sits at the entrance to the village, opposite an ancient wishing well that now functions as a roundabout. I give him a mini tour of Shere as we go, pointing out Ken’s bakery where I get my Saturday croissants. I tell him they also do the best éclairs I’ve ever tasted outside of Paris, and he makes me promise to bring some to work next week to prove it.
It’s a nice warm summer night, and it shows the village off at its best, and likewise, Sam is bright and easy to be around. It pushes all thoughts of a certain mercurial male to the back of my mind.
The pub is busy as always, but we find a small table next to the large open fireplace, which is thankfully unlit tonight. As we enter, Stuart, the owner behind the bar, gives me a wave, his gaze moving curiously to Sam. Since I’m normally with my dad or Nick when I’m here, I’m hoping the fact I’m on a date will mean people will stop trying to set me up with every single male relative they have.
“So, what are you having?” Sam asks once we’re seated and I’ve hooked my jacket over the back of my chair.
“A half of the cloudy draft cider, please.”
“Oh, you said it’s good.”
“It is, but it’s super strong, so if you’re driving, you may want to have a taste of mine and get something else.” I give him an apologetic smile.
Sam is funny and sharp in a witty, dry way—a side I’ve only really glimpsed at work where he’s almost always professional and reserved, which isn’t him at all. I’m not sure how long Sam has liked me, but I definitely felt a shift in his behavior toward me after Ben and I broke up. Then, a month later, at his thirtieth birthday—which I dragged Rob along to—he suggested we “go for a drink sometime.” It only took him another six months to follow up on it. I suppose this could mean he doesn’t like me much at all, or he’s as indecisive about things as I am.
Sam was also engaged, and though he never talks about it, I’m pretty sure he had his heart broken too. It’s why the girls at the surgery fuss around him in a way I’m not entirely sure he appreciates. So perhaps that’s why it took him so long to ask me out. Heartbreak tends to kill your confidence with the opposite sex even if you convince yourself you’re absolutely fine.
We somehow get onto the London club scene, which is apparently his idea of hell. He asks about my night with the girls last week at the opening, which of course causes unbidden thoughts of Jake to fill my mind, supercharging it. I say “unbidden,” but really, they don’t need much bidding. He’s been hovering on the periphery of my thoughts all night.
We chat about movies and music, and I find out he plays piano too—something else we have in common. It’s starting to feel a bit eerie. I started playing at six, he at seven, though unlike me, he says he stopped when he left high school. I never stopped but have barely played a note since Ben moved out. Most of the tunes I know best are emotional and mournful pieces that make me teary, and I don’t want to cry over him. He doesn’t deserve that.