And God knows there was plenty of fine food in my childhood. With my parents’ high profile jobs, they were always dragging us kids to functions and dinners and expensive charity nights that probably cost more to organize than was raised. And of course, the dinner parties with business associates that all happened to have good-looking, well-mannered sons and daughters that were pushed on Kiera and I. For a second, I feel a twinge of regret that I’ve left her to that by herself – and now Allie will be subjected to it, too. Even if Allie is a carbon copy of Mum, happy to marry a rich man and let him fund her lifestyle while she draws pictures of pretty dresses or whatever.
“The f**king risotto!” Joe bellows.
I shake off the lingering thoughts of my life in London and spoon the risotto into a large glass dish, ready to cover and whisk into the fridge after it’s been plated up. I carry the dish across the busy kitchen and place it in front of Joe.
“Least it smells like risotto,” he mumbles, grabbing a spoon. He puts some in a small bowl and tastes it – because he doesn’t yet trust my ability to cook. It’s written all over him, and proven by the look on surprise currently plastered on his face.
“Damn, kid.” He nods. “This is good. Plate it up and get that damn Jackie in here to take it out.”
A breath I didn’t realize I was holding leaves my body, and I grab some clean plates from the shelves behind me.
Maybe now he’ll stop doubting me.
I press the button to alert the wait staff there’s food waiting and take the risotto dish to the back.
“You can take off once that risotto is away, Blake,” Joe calls. “It’s under control here and already half an hour over your shift. You did good tonight, kid.”
I shut the fridge door behind me. “Thanks, Chef. I’ll see you Monday.”
“See ya. Damn it, Matt! Stop that f**king pan boiling over!”
I scoot out of the kitchen and grab my coat before he decides he’d rather send Matt home instead of me, and get the hell out of Double Bass Restaurant. Downtown Brooklyn on a Friday night is busy – not as crazy busy as I’m sure it is on the other side of the East River – but enough that the ten minute walk to my apartment is at least mildly amusing.
As I think this, a group of three girls round the corner in front of me. One of them stumbles into my side, and I grab her arms to steady her.
“Oh! I’m so sorry.” She giggles, putting her hand to her mouth.
“No problem.” I smile at her and drop my hands.
One of her friends gasps. “He’s British!”
Oh God. I should have just smiled and carried on walking.
The girl who fell into me stops. “Are you like, real British with a proper accent, or one of those really annoying ones?”
“I er… I should be going.” I step back a little as the girl giggles again.
“Oh, it’s a proper one!” She beams at me and puts a hand on her hip. “Did you just move here?”
I also should have listened to the attitude-filled warning about American girls and British guys my brother gave me before I left. Or learnt how to speak like one.
“Yeah… Last week. I really have to go. Sorry girls. Have a good night.” I side step.
“Then you must need someone to show you around!”
“I have a map, but thanks.” I wave awkwardly and turn away.
“Well, how about my number in case you change your mind?”
“Really, I’m good.”
“I could take yours!”
The brick wall across the street is looking like a really, really good place to bang my head against right now.
“I don’t have one.” I all but run around the corner and the rest of the way to my apartment before I take a breather.
I let myself into the block, see the lift is out of action, and climb the stairs. My apartment is a welcome sight, and I drop onto my sofa, letting the door swing shut by itself.
God. Damn.
I’m no stranger when it comes to attention from girls. I mean, I’ve had girlfriends in the past and a few one nighters, but I’ve never experienced anything quite like that. And all because I’m bloody British.
Am I gonna have that whenever I talk to a girl? ‘Cause if that’s the case, I really need some lessons on how to speak like an American.
“Hello?” I answer my phone as the screen lights up.
“Darling!” My mother’s voice trills down the phone. I slide down the cushions, wishing the sofa would just open up and swallow me.
“Mum,” I reply. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, Blake. How are you? You haven’t called me.”
“I’ve been busy. You know, settling in and stuff.”
“And stuff? What is “stuff?””
I pause. “Dance.”
“So you can find time to prance around like a fairy but not to call your mother?”
“I came to New York to dance, Mum. Remember that?”
“Yes, yes, so you say. What I’d like to know is when you’re coming home. It’s ever so quiet around here.”
“I’m not coming home.”
She says nothing for a minute that seems like an hour. “I thought you may have had enough by now.”
And there it is: the famous Smith parents’ belief in their children. Or maybe they reserve this special brand just for me.
“I’ve been here a little over a week,” I remind her.
“Well, yes, but you’ve never really been away from home for that long. Goodness, Blake, you went to your grandparents for a weekend when you were eleven and hated it so much you never went back without us. Although, it was your father’s parents, so perhaps I can understand that.”
“Yes, thank you, Mother,” I say dryly. “In case you fail to notice, I am no longer eleven years old. I’m twenty-one. You know. An adult.”
“Then whyever are you talking to me like you’re a hormonal teenage girl?”
I close my eyes and take a deep breath. God I love my mother, I really do, but she is the most testing woman on Earth. I admire her for demanding respect at all times, but honestly, if she’s gonna piss me off, I’m going to talk to her like I’m a child. Sometimes that’s the only way to get her to listen to me.
“Anyway, never mind all that. I’m calling to let you know the good news!”
“The good news? Did Kiera finally give in to your matchmaking?”
“No.” She sounds slightly put out. “Although, I believe she’s warming up to Dr. Lyle’s son, Martin. He’s a bit of a sap, but he has a bright future and stands to partner in his father’s practice, so he’s definitely suitable for her.”