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Chapter Eleven

Baxter

When Lake followed me out of the cafe, it came as a surprise to find I didn’t mind. I might even have welcomed it, given that I slowed to let him catch up. His phone was still in his hand, but he’d ended the call. “He wants to try a second date,” he said once he drew level.

I forced a smile. “Great. I’m happy for you. He sounds like a good guy.”

We walked on in silence. I didn’t know where I was going, and I had an inkling Lake didn’t either. “Let’s go to Regent’s Park,” he eventually suggested. “Unless… you have stuff to do.”

I let out something of a strangled laugh. “Well, I don’t have a job to go to, so my calendar’s pretty clear. You’re probably busy, though?”

Lake shrugged, our pace having picked up now that we had a destination in mind. “I’m a writer most of the time, so my hours are flexible.”

“What do you write?”

“History books. Nothing exciting.”

Something clicked into place. “Ah. Hence the French guillotine thing.”

A tinge of color crept into Lake’s cheeks. “Yeah. Verity frequently tells me off for wittering about long-dead people. She claims that one day someone will drop dead of boredom while I’m speaking. You know what sisters can be like.”

“Not really.”

“No sisters?”

“No siblings at all. Not unless you count Calisto. We were like brothers.”

Lake took the left turn through the side-gate into the park. “One you no longer speak to.” He laughed before I could comment. “Yeah, you’re right. That’s exactly what a sibling relationship is. I do my best to ignore Verity, but she makes that extremely difficult most of the time.”

“You said you mostly write,” I queried, keen to change the subject from Calisto.

“I teach as well,” Lake said. “Secondary school history, but that’s more about keeping the wolves from the door than a genuine passion for forcing historical facts into young minds. History for them is mobile phones only having the game Snake to play, and shell suits. Anything further back than that is too much for them to grasp.”

I smiled. “I had a shell suit. I thought it looked cool. Now when I look back, I realize it was a bright blue and purple monstrosity that rustled so loudly people could hear me coming a mile away.”

Lake laughed. He looked good when he laughed. It gave him tiny creases around his eyes and relaxed his mouth. There hadn’t been much laughter last night. We’d both been too busy wallowing. “Mine was pink, purple, yellow, and green. I reckon I could probably be seen from space.”

Regent’s Park was fairly quiet at this time in the morning on a weekday. Leaves crunched beneath our feet as we followed the long path to the boating lake. “If I said Leonardo to you,” I asked Lake, “what would you think of?” I braced myself for Lake to talk about Leonardo da Vinci. He was a historian, after all.

“Cowabunga,” Lake said without missing a beat.

A warm glow spread through my chest. “I work with someone called Leo. He didn’t have a clue what I was talking about.”

“Philistine,” Lake said, his expression saying he was only half joking. He led the way to a bench just a few feet away from a large group of ducks and geese. Used to humans, they were supremely unbothered by our presence. “Do you know the theory about their weapons being carefully chosen to counteract their personalities?”

I frowned. “No. How does that work?”

Lake swiveled around to face me and sat up straighter. It gave me a glimpse of the history teacher. “What was Leonardo’s weapon?”

I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t have mentioned them if I’d known there was going to be a quiz.” Lake waited, one eyebrow slightly crooked. “He had katanas,” I said.

“A powerful weapon.”

“Right. And?”

“As the leader, he had to use them wisely and decisively, showing his sense of responsibility and compassion. Who was the most aggressive turtle?”

“Raphael.”