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“No, but how wild would that be? This one’s called Freddie. He claims to be a proper gentleman with a penchant for romance and spoiling his lovers.”
“Nah, mate, he only used thatromanceline to get in your knickers,” Jamie says, rolling his eyes.
“Jamie.” Celeste tilts her head toward him. “Tell us, what’s the most romantic thing you’ve done for a girlfriend?”
“Ha!” Jack smacks a hand on the table, rattling our drinks. “Lord Kent sends them home with a gift bag of tiny soaps and a photo of himself.”
Jamie cracks a smile. “What he said.”
Celeste waves them off. “You’re both pigs. On our first date, Roberto got us into the National Gallery after hours and arranged for a screening of my favorite movie in the Sunley Room.”
“What’s your favorite movie?” I ask.
“Center Stage,” she says like I should have known.
“That’s not romance.” Lee’s pint glass is empty, so he helps himself to Jamie’s. “Staying up all night until your partner vomits up their grandmother’s gold cross pendant when you’d told them if they kept sucking on that thing, one day they’d swallow it—that’s romance.”
I cover my mouth when an involuntary gag reflex threatens to spew pinot grigio all over the table. “That’s nasty.”
“What about Nate?” Celeste asks Yvonne.
She sighs in answer. “He’s not the romantic type.”
“You mean he’s never penned you a love song or recited poetry in your ear late at night?” Lee says mockingly.
“Afraid not.” She smooths a hand over her sleek blond hair before reaching for her drink.
“Ever brought you flowers at least?” Celeste presses.
Yvonne shakes her head. “Not Nate’s style.”
It’s awful, but a tiny, petty part of me is happy to hear Nate hasn’t made any grand romantic gestures for Yvonne.
“Go on then.” Jamie prods at Jack. “Your turn.”
Jack shrugs. “Romance? Mate, I’ve never even brought a girl home. I think I gave one a carnation for Valentine’s in primary school once.”
I don’t have anything to add to the romance discussion. My one “adult” relationship consisted mostly of hooking up in his dorm room between study breaks. Living at home with a scarily overprotective parent meant no sleepovers, and our dates were less romantic outings than group hangs at the movies or the grill on campus. I don’t even remember if he got me a birthday present.
Later, on our way home, I’m yet again crammed in the back seat of a cab with Jack to one side and Jamie asleep on the other. We hit a pothole that doesn’t rouse him from his content snoring.
“You really never brought a girl home?” I ask Jack, because I’m feeling bold and a bit tipsy. “Like ever?”
“Like ever,” he imitates with a smile.
“But you dated, right?”
“Sure. Dated around in high school. And there was one girl I was steady with. It’s a different thing, though, to take ’em home to Mum.”
“Is what someone might say when they have commitment issues,” I tease.
“You’re not the first to say that.”
“Can’t imagine why.”
He offers an adorable shrug that bumps my shoulder. “I’d have to be head over heels for someone to introduce them to Mum. I wouldn’t put any woman through that level of cross-examination unless I thought she was the one.”
I laugh. “Your mom’s a tough critic, huh?”
