“My shout,” I offer.
“Then the next date’s on me,” he says.
A second date? The thought fills me with elation, but I try to play it cool.
“What would you like?” I ask.
“Banoffee, please.”
Forever the planner and organiser, he equips himself with extra napkins and spoons.
“I'll try the triple chocolate brownie with a smidge of toffee on the side, thanks.”
“I might sneak a spoonful of yours,” he teases.
Every table is full downstairs.
“Follow me.” I take him by the hand. “There's a garden out the back. It's more peaceful.”
We carry our dessert beneath a grove of trees that are strung with fairy lights.
Candles flicker in little jars on round wooden tables.
Plants loop from every corner in woven baskets.
“This is the sweetest little place,” he grins.
I pull out his chair for him.
Across the table, he tastes his first scoop.
I divert my gaze quickly.
Marco is licking a streak of melted chocolate from the spoon.
And he’s taking his time.
I bite the tip of my thumb.
He gives a small, knowing smile.
Flirt.
Conversation flows between us so easily.
He’s switched completely out of event mode.
No rushing. No corporate vibes. No deadlines.
Tonight he is warm and present.
We share stories about funny clients.
Tattoos of lawnmowers on partially shaved heads. One of my customers who cried as their ex’s name was inked into the shape of a rose.
Marco tells me about a wedding where the bride insisted every napkin be rotated exactly forty five degrees using a ruler. And an end of year function where the CEO had so much to drink that he jumped off the boat in the middle of the harbour.
His eyes light up as he mentions it.
