“This. This pop-up.”
“What, this?” I look round. “You mean the…fair? Market thing?”
“Exactly.” His eyes gleam. “It doesn’t even know what to call itself. But they want to roll out all over London. Cash in on seasonal cheer. And go large. Bigger venues. Advertising. Tie-ins.”
“Right. Wow.” I look around the stalls and fairy lights with new eyes. “Well, people do love Christmas. And people do love a pop-up.”
“But a pop-up what?” counters Alex. “Is it a gourmet-food destination or is it fun for the kiddies or a craft fair or what?” He brandishes his empty glass at me. “What do we think of the mulled wine?”
“Very good,” I say truthfully.
“Whereas the merry-go-round…” He wrinkles his nose. “A little tragic, no?”
“Maybe they need to focus on the food.” I nod. “Food is a huge deal. Do they need the other stuff?”
“Good question.” Alex starts toward the merry-go-round. “Let’s try it out.”
“What?”
“We can’t assess the merry-go-round unless we go on the merry-go-round,” he says gravely. “After you.” He gestures toward the horses, and I grin back.
“Well, OK!”
I clamber up onto a horse and fumble for my purse, but Alex holds up a hand.
“On me. Or, rather, on the company. This is essential research.” He climbs up onto the horse next to mine and pays the attendant, who is a grumpy-looking guy in a parka. “Now I expect we’ll have to wait for the hordes to join us,” Alex observes, and I can’t help giggling. It’s us and the two toddlers—no one else is even nearby. “In your own time!” Alex cheerfully calls to the guy in the parka, who ignores us.
I can feel my bangs blowing about in the wind and curse them silently. Why can’t they stay put? This is quite bizarre, sitting on a wooden horse, at eye level with a guy who in theory is my boss but doesn’t feel like my boss. Demeter feels like my boss. Even Rosa feels a bit like my boss. But this guy feels like…My stomach squeezes with yearning before I can stop it.
He feels like fun. He feels like cleverness and irreverence and wit and charm, all packaged up in a long, lean frame. He feels like the man I’ve been waiting to meet ever since I moved to London, ever since I wanted to move to London.
I surreptitiously run my eyes over him and a fresh wave of longing overcomes me. That knowing flash in his eye. Those cheekbones. That smile.
“So what’s happening with the products from Asia?” I ask. “The stilts and stuff?”
“Oh, those.” A frown crosses his face. “We’re not taking the project on. We don’t think it’ll work, teaming up with Sidney Smith.”
I feel a tweak of disappointment. I suppose I’d half-imagined working on the project with him. (OK, full disclosure: I’d totally imagined working on the project with him, maybe late into the night, maybe ending up in some passionate clinch on the shiny lacquer table in Park Lane.)
“So, head won over heart.”
“That’s right.”
“Shame,” I venture, and an odd, lopsided smile passes over Alex’s face.
“Heads. Hearts. Same old, same old.”
“Although actually,” I say after a moment’s thought, “maybe it was heart over head. Maybe you don’t want to work with Sidney Smith. So you’ve made out like it was a rational business decision but it was instinct all along.”
I don’t know what’s giving me the confidence to speak out so openly. Maybe it’s the fact we’re both sitting on fairground horses.
“You’re bright, aren’t you?” Alex gives me a sharp look. “I think you’re right. Truth is, we just don’t like those Sidney Smith guys.”
“There you go.”
“Is there a difference between heads and hearts, anyway?” Alex seems fascinated by the topic.
“People talk about ‘head over heart,’?” I say, thinking aloud. “But they mean ‘one part of their head over another part of their head.’ It’s not really ‘head over heart,’ it’s ‘head over head.’?”
“Or ‘heart over heart’?” Alex’s eyes glint at me.
There’s a strange little silence between us, and I wonder where on earth I can segue naturally from here. I’m not sure if it’s the way he’s looking at me or the way he said “heart” like that—but either way, my own heart’s feeling a bit fluttery right now.
Then Alex leans over, breaking the mood. “Hey. Your hair’s gone mad.”
Abruptly I forget all about the Asian products, heads, and hearts. My bloody, bloody bangs.
“It always does that,” I say flushing. “It’s awful.”
He laughs. “It’s not awful.”
“It is. I should never have got bangs cut, but—” I stop dead. I can’t exactly say, But I wanted to look like a different person.
“It’s just a bit…the breeze…” He leans over from his wooden horse toward mine. “May I?”
“Sure.” I swallow. “No problem.”
Now he’s gently tweaking my bangs. I’m fairly sure this is against company policy. Bosses aren’t supposed to adjust hair, are they?
His face is only inches away from mine now and my skin tingles under his gaze. His brown eyes are surveying my face in that frank, interested way he has. As they meet mine they seem to have a question in them. Or…do they?
Oh God, am I inventing all this? My thoughts are lurching wildly back and forth. I can feel a spark here, I really can. But can he? I mean, I only met this guy yesterday. Now I’m on what might be a date—feels like a date—except he’s my superior, and I don’t know for sure what’s going on….
Without warning, the merry-go-round starts up, and Alex, who’s still leaning toward me, falls half off his horse.
“Shit!” He grabs at my horse’s neck.
“Oh God!” I cry out. “Hold on!”
The horses are farther apart from each other than you’d think, and Alex is now suspended between the two, almost horizontally. He looks like some action hero between two cars. (Well, not exactly like an action hero, since this is a merry-go-round, and jingly music has started playing, and a little kid is pointing at him and yelling, “The man fell off his horsey!”)
His hands are gripping my horse’s neck, and I can’t help staring at them. He’s got bony fingers. Strong wrists. His sleeve has ridden up to reveal a tiny tattoo on one: an anchor. I wonder what that’s all about.
“I should have had horse-riding lessons first.” Alex is panting as he tries to right himself.
I nod, trying not to laugh. “Merry-go-round horses are pretty dangerous. I mean, you’re not even wearing a riding hat. It’s foolhardy.”
“Reckless,” he agrees.
“Oy! You!” The man in the parka has noticed Alex. “Stop mucking around!”
“OK!” With an almighty heave, Alex gets himself back in his saddle. The horses are swooping up and down as we spin around, and I grin madly at Alex.
“I take it back!” he shouts over the music. “This is great!”
“Yes!” I call back. “I love it!”
I want to freeze-frame this moment in my mind. Whirling around on a merry-go-round, with a gorgeous, funny guy…at Christmas…I mean, all I need is for a few snowflakes to fall and the scene will be perfect.
“Rosa!” Alex suddenly calls to someone on the ground, and my scene splinters. Rosa? As in…Rosa? “We’re up here!” Alex waves his arms. “Gerard! Rosa!”
There’s Rosa, in her dark-green peacoat, staring up at us blankly. Beside her, a gray-haired guy I don’t recognize is tapping at his iPhone. As the merry-go-round comes to a halt, I feel my happy glow fade away. Right. So whatever this is, it’s not a date.
I mean, I never thought it was a date. I didn’t. I only ever thought it was date-ish.
Was it date-ish? Just for a few minutes?
We both slither down from our horses, with Rosa watching unsmilingly, and I suddenly feel stupid that we were up there in the first place. Alex heads straight to Rosa and the gray-haired man.
“Hi, there! Rosa, you know Cat.”
“Gerard,” says the man, and we shake hands.
“What are you doing here, Cat?” Rosa frowns. “I didn’t know you were on this project.”