Boyz turned. The bartender and waiters stopped posing and waved. Boyz waved back.
“Your colleagues like to keep an eye on you,” he said. “Shall we give them something to talk about?”
Before she could even imagine what he meant, Boyz put his arms around her, pulled her to him, tilted her back toward the pavement, and kissed her long and hard, managing to hold the flowers behind her back so they weren’t crushed. Then, she’d swooned at such a romantic act. Later, she’d realized it was the first of many signs that Boyz was an actor and all the world his audience.
He drew her upright and steadied her as he pulled away from their kiss. With one gloved finger he stroked the side of her face. “My cell number is on the card tucked in the flowers. Call me when you can so we can lock in tomorrow night.” He handed her the bouquet.
“Thank you,” she said. “For the flowers. And for the kiss—I’ll be the envy of all the staff.”
Boyz walked away. Darcy floated into the restaurant with flowers in her arms. Immediately she was surrounded by catcalls and whistles and applause. Completely not her usual shy self, she performed an impromptu curtsy. Then she hurried back to the staff lounge to put the flowers in water and organize herself for the evening. Black shirt and pants, discreet black apron around her waist for her order pad, and energy sparkling all around her. She got enormous tips that evening.
She wore a red cashmere sweater to dinner the next night. Red always set off her dark hair and eyes, and besides, she felt red. Vibrant. Bold. She purposely did not wear anything too tight or cleavage exposing. Boyz picked her up at her apartment—she told him she’d come down, she didn’t want to intrude on her roommate’s evening, trying to make that sound mysteriously sophisticated. In fact, her roommate, Rachael, was slopping around in her stained pajamas, eating ice cream, and watching Bridget Jones’s Diary—she’d just had a bad breakup. So Darcy waited just outside her apartment door.
Boyz drove a silver BMW convertible—Of course he did, she thought, as he stepped out to kiss her cheek and escort her around to the passenger side.
He took her to an Indian restaurant on Newbury Street. They were shown to a booth near the back, where it was quiet and dark except for the lights beaming from the exquisitely detailed copper and glass hanging lamps.
“This place reminds me of my favorite restaurant in London,” Boyz told her. “I’m a huge fan of Indian food. I’ve never been to India. Have you?”
“I’ve hardly been anywhere,” Darcy told him. She had had a serious talk with herself before the date, asking whether she was going to be frivolous and flippant about her family or be simply her lonely self. She had decided she couldn’t carry off any kind of a happy-go-lucky act with this man, and she didn’t want to.
“My parents are divorced,” she continued. “My father lives in Florida. Sarasota. I’ve been down there exactly twice to see him. He doesn’t come to see me or even his own mother. He won’t leave Florida. And then I’ve got my mother, who is always traveling. She might be in the Southwest. She texts me now and then, but she hasn’t invited me to join her. Oh, I did go to Washington, D.C., with my eighth-grade class one spring.” God, she was sounding positively pathetic. “But my grandmother lives on Nantucket, and I’ve lived with her most of my life, and Nantucket is fabulous!”
Boyz nodded. “Nantucket.” He seemed to roll the thought around like tasting a new wine. “I’ve heard it’s great. Our agency has a branch on the Vineyard, but I’ve never been to Nantucket. It’s so far out in the ocean. Not very accessible.” He brought his eyes back to her face. “So do you have any siblings?”
“No. I wish I did, but that didn’t happen.” Darcy tried to sound upbeat about this, but it was difficult.
Boyz put his hand on hers as it lay on the table. “You must be lonely.”
Oh, dear, she was coming off absolutely pitiful. That was not how she wanted to seem—that wasn’t how she was. “No, I’m not lonely. I have my grandmother, and I have some really close wonderful friends, and I have books.”
“Books?” Boyz looked perplexed.
“Yes, books. I’m a reading addict. A bibliophile.” She could see how he wasn’t understanding. “I read constantly. Books cheer me up, teach me things, give me bits of wisdom, entertain me—” He still looked confused.
She should have known at that moment that no matter how gorgeous he was, he wasn’t right for her. The waiter came with their orders. For a while, Darcy and Boyz focused on the hot and spicy food, the naan, the unusual flavors.