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‘It’s like eating opposite a male Nigella Lawson,’ I tease him.
‘My dad’s so busy this Christmas,’ he tells me. ‘So I might not get any.’
‘What do your parents do?’ I ask curiously.
‘My dad is a surgeon and my mum is a therapist,’ he replies, raising an eyebrow, acknowledging that it can’t have been an easy childhood. ‘So, between them, they always thought they could fix everything. They’re both working so much at the moment, hardly home, hence me staying in a hotel.’
‘You sound like you’re close,’ I say with a smile.
‘Yeah, even though I’ve been working away, we all make the effort,’ he says. ‘I’ve been offered a job, working on a new project in the city, I can’t say too much because I’ve had to sign an NDA. So I’ll swiftly change the subject. You said you’re close with your mum?’
‘Yeah, with my mum, not really with my dad, though,’ I reply. I humour him, getting the conversation back on track, but I can’t stop wondering about what could happen if Rocco did take on a local project. I need to focus on the conversation at hand, not let my mind race away with me.
‘My parents are separated, I’m not close with my dad at all, and his new wife isn’t ideal so I don’t spend any time with them, if I can help it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Rocco replies. ‘That’s rough. But you sound like you get everything you need from your mum.’
I smile.
‘Okay, not that I’m trying to blast through the motions or anything, but my plate is clear, you’ve knocked it out of the park with the first two courses, I’m excited to see what this dessert is.’
‘No more wicked step-mothers, no more cauliflower cheese, let’s focus on the food things, and I think dessert might be your favourite course yet,’ he says. ‘To the boat!’
After grabbing our coats and making our way back out to the boat, where our driver is dutifully waiting for us, we get inside to make the short journey back to the hotel – so I will be getting to eat something in the Michelin-starred restaurant there after all.
There’s a small cabin in the boat but, despite it being cold out, it’s so nice sitting outside, looking out over the water, and at the city around us. I’ve lived here all my life, and been to the city centre hundreds of times, but there’s nothing like seeing things from a different perspective, to view things in a whole new light.
The pretty lights all around us, the gentle bob of the boat on the water, sitting on this small seat alongside Rocco, it’s… dare I say it? Romantic.
I don’t think I could be any closer to him right now, but I try anyway. I hook my arm round his and rest my head on his shoulder.
‘I’m having such a wonderful night,’ I tell him sincerely. ‘Honestly, just the best I’ve had in ages.’
It’s not the most eloquent declaration but I’m kind of stunned. I never expected such a truly perfect evening.
‘Are you wet?’ Rocco asks me.
I quickly lift my head up again to look at him. Did he just ask me what I think he asked me?
‘What?’
‘Are you wet?’ he asks again. ‘Buddy, are we sinking?’
Rocco’s question to our driver makes me panic for a second. Now that he’s mentioned it, my seat does feel a bit wet.
‘Nothing to worry about,’ he replies in his West Country accent. ‘It’ll be a bit of built-up rainwater, trapped in the seat. These things happen at sea.’
We’re less than a minute away from the hotel but by the time we’re safe on dry land, the damage is done.
‘My bum is soaking,’ I whisper to Rocco as we walk into the lobby. ‘Can you tell?’
I twist around, to show Rocco my bum. I wore a red dress tonight, and cropped leather jacket, so if you can see, you can really see.
‘Yep, it looks like you’ve been sitting in a puddle,’ he replies quietly. ‘To put it politely.’
‘I can’t go into a restaurant like this,’ I reply. ‘Your trousers look fine. Obviously I chose tonight not to wear black.’
Rocco laughs.
