“Are both those cakes for you?” he asked.
Clementine was startled. She hadn’t imagined he would talk to her. She tried to act coolly, but her heart danced noisily in her chest. “Are you suggesting I shouldn’t?”
“Of course not. It’s important for a girl to eat well.” He was now grinning at her.
“Are you going to have something naughty?”
“If you put it like that, I think I’d better.”
“Rude not to. Where are you from?”
“Argentina.”
“Argentina? The land of polo.”
“How well you know it.”
She laughed, feeling foolish. “I don’t know it at all. I’ve been to the Cartier Polo Match, watched the Argentines slaughter the Brits, and seen Evita at the theater. That’s as much as I know.”
“It’s a good start.”
“You’ve come a long way.”
“Not really. The world is getting smaller all the time.”
The girl at the counter stood poised by the till. “Can I help you?” Clementine noticed how she perked up at the sight of him, too.
“A chocolate brownie and an espresso.” He turned to Clementine. “As you say, it would be rude not to.”
She laughed. “It really would. If you’re from Argentina, you should go to Devil’s and taste our scones with clotted cream and jam. They’re out of this world.”
“Next time we meet, you can take me.”
“Deal.” She sincerely wished for a next time.
She paid for her order. He didn’t invite her to join him. Perhaps he wasn’t staying, either. “Well, so long, stranger.”
“So long. Enjoy your naughty muffin.”
“Not for me, actually. For my boss.”
“Lucky boss.”
“Lucky boss indeed. He certainly doesn’t deserve it.” She was left no alternative but to leave. The queue behind them looked on impatiently. She tossed him a casual smile, as casual as she could muster when her mouth wanted to swallow her entire face with happiness, and left.
Clementine hurried back to the office in a state of excitement. Throwing herself against the door with her bags, she fell in. “Oh my God!” she exclaimed to Sylvia, who was now rubbing oil into her cuticles.
“You look better. What have you done? Got the present?”
“A pink food mixer.”
“Fabulous!”
“I think so. I’ve got wrapping paper and a card.”
“Let’s see?” Clementine placed the bag on Sylvia’s desk. “You’ll have to get them out, lovely, my nails are still tacky.”
“I’ve just bumped into the most delicious man I’ve ever seen!”
“More delicious than Joe?” Sylvia looked disappointed.
“Forget Joe, Sylvia. Joe’s not a runner.”
“Shame, he’s just sent you round a bouquet of roses.” She nodded at Clementine’s desk.
Clementine’s heart sank at the sight of ten plump roses in transparent paper, tied with ribbon. “Oh Lord!”
“He can’t help you.”
“I can but ask.”
“So, go on. Amuse me.”
“This divine stranger from Argentina just sashayed into the Black Bean Coffee Shop and chatted me up.”
“Are you serious? With all that makeup caked onto your face?”
“Yes.”
“Foreigner. And?”
“Well, that’s it.”
“Did you give him your number?”
“Of course not.”
“Did he give you his?”
“No.”
“Does he know where you work?”
“Sylvia, he knows nothing about me. We had a little chat. That’s all.”
“I’m not even mildly amused. So you’re turning Joe down because of a man you’ve talked to for five minutes and will never see again.”
“I feel on cloud nine.”
Sylvia looked perplexed. “You’re a very strange girl, Clemmie. What sign are you?”
“Aries.”
“Must have Aquarius rising.”
“Whatever. My hangover is cured.” She smiled broadly.
“Well, thank the Lord for that.”
Clementine handed Sylvia the card. Sylvia looked at the black-and-white 1950s photograph of a woman in an apron, smiling serenely while wielding a wooden spoon. The caption read, “Bet you can’t imagine where I’d like to stick this?” “Do you think this is appropriate?” Sylvia asked.
“He won’t know until she opens it. I think it’s funny.”
“He won’t.”
“But Mrs. will.”
Sylvia laughed, handing it back. “I think she will, too. Now give me the gift and the paper, and once my nails are dry I’ll wrap it for you. If your wrapping is anything like your dressing, Mr. Atwood will throw it back at you.”