‘Keep talking,’ says Charlotte, apparently having fallen for his caressing tones.
‘What would you like to drink?’ a voice asks us and I scream slightly.
‘It’s okay. You’re safe,’ says Jake, in areallysarcastic voice.
‘Thank you so much,’ I say, not gritting my teeth at all.
There’s laughter coming from the direction of the voice (well, I think it’s the direction; I now feel that I have no idea where anything or anyone is, even with sound clues).
I choose a mocktail (I feel like I need to keep my wits about me) while Charlotte and Jake both choose margaritas.
‘So how do you two know each other?’ Jake asks once we’ve finished choosing.
‘Well,’ Charlotte begins. ‘There’s a long version and a short version.’
‘I’d love to hear the long version.’ Jake has injected a hint of laughter into his voice, which, if I didn’t know better, I’d think was bordering on attractive. As it is, I know it’s an entirely cynical ploy to make sure he’s definitely got Charlotte back on side after his earlier mess-up.
Charlotte starts the story by telling him that she writes romance too.
‘Oh, Isee.’ Jake sounds like he’s sniggering to himself, and I’m pretty sure that he’s immediately realised that one of the reasons I asked Charlotte this evening is that I know he cannot stand romance authors.
As she tells him about us being the only two authors at a conference who got the wrong bus (we went north; we were supposed to go south) from our hotel and ended up at a solar-powered swimming pool makers’ conference (which we did not immediately realise), he chuckles in all the appropriate places (Charlotte is agreatraconteur) and generally behaves like the entirely pleasant companion he is not, all the while giving me the impression that he’s seenrightthrough me.
This impression is confirmed when his first question following the story is, ‘So romance. What books do you write, Charlotte? Do you have a pen name?’
‘Ha ha, no, I think it’s too soon to tell you that,’ Charlotte says. ‘I saw your conversation on TV.’ She lowers her voice so it’sall husky and seductive-sounding. ‘If you fall in love with me and prove Freya wrong, I’ll tell you then.’
Jake and I both laugh, which is an achievement on Charlotte’s part; I can’t imagine there’s much that Jake and I would both find funny.
‘Whatkindof romances do you write?’ Jake persists after a moment. I’m quite surprised that he knows there are different kinds; I’d have thought he’d lump romance as a genre all in together.
‘All contemporary. Some comedies, someextremelyspicy, some both funnyandspicy.’ Charlotte doesn’t write under her own name and is clearly not going to fall into the trap of telling him anything that will make her easily identifiable.
If I thought there was the slightest chance I could win this challenge, now would be a good time to try to get to know a little bit more about Jake and try to work out what direction I should be going in with these dates.
‘So that’s me and my career,’ Charlotte says. ‘What about you? What made you decide to become a divorce lawyer?’
‘I suppose it’s the combination of law and helping people through a difficult time in their lives.’ He says it so glibly that it’s obvious he says it every time like that. And ofcoursehe isn’t going to say anything in front of me that would give me any leverage for the challenge.
This is pointless, I decide, and I have stuff to do this evening.
Hopefully – unless she falls in love with Jake and would feel disloyal doing so – Charlotte will fill me in later on anything she learns about him (barring anything physical, I very much hope).
‘I should leave you two to it,’ I say. ‘So you can move on from the why-do-you-do-your-job interview-style questions to your actual date.’
If only it weren’t pitch-black and Icouldactually leave. ‘Um.’ I catch myself pointlessly looking around.
‘Are you looking around for someone to help right now even though you can’t see?’ Jake asks. ‘Because I just did that and I’m wondering if I’m the only one who can’t adjust fast.’
Okay. No. We don’t do pally. He’s obviously just trying to make Charlotte think he’s a normal, friendly person. I’m not going to be petty though. (Not in front of Charlotte, anyway.)
‘Ha,’ I say. ‘Yep. I did.’ I put my hand up and kind of waggle my fingers, and then I clear my throat loudly.
A voice immediately says, ‘Can I help you?’
And within a minute I’m on my way out, saying, ‘Well, I would hug one of you and blow polite air kisses at the other, but I obviously can’t see you, so… I’ll just wish you a good evening and look forward to hearing all about it. Have fun!’
As I’m led away, Charlotte says, ‘I’ll text later.’
