“Good. Very good. Eating these out of the old newspaper really does make it feel authentic.”
“Like you’re a proper Londoner now.”
He nods with a full mouth, and I take a bite of my fish and pause for a moment to moan with pleasure at how delicious it is.
“Authenticity is everything. Real fish and chips like real Londoners, and not forgetting that walking along the river bank eating them is the real magic.”
He nods sagely. “Yup. This is how real love stories start with fish and chips in our hands, the wind in your hair, and the city lights reflecting in your eyes.”
I almost choke on my chip. “Wind in your hair? It’s barely blowing.”
Rhett dips a chip into a little pool of vinegar that has formed in the corner of his tray with exaggerated seriousness. “You’re missing the metaphor,” he says, grinning. “Just go with it.”
We walk side by side, laughing, the crunch of crispy batter between our teeth and the occasional squawk of a seagull punctuating our conversation. Somewhere between the greasy fingers and the sun glinting off the water, our talk turns inevitably to our fake relationship.
“So,” I say, nudging him lightly with my elbow. “We need to be on the same page in case anyone asks us a question. Let’s get the official timeline sorted first. How long have we been together?”
He gives me a sidelong glance. “Hmm. By my calculations, it would be approximately eight hours of concentrated fun, give or take a few minutes of panic in the Dungeon.”
“Eight hours?” I repeat. “I was thinking longer. It doesn’t have to be true. It’s all fake anyway. It just has to be feasible.”
“Fine,” he says, raising his hands in surrender. “How long have you and Mr. Dependability … I mean George … been estranged?”
“Nearly six weeks,” I say mournfully.
“Ok, then, how about a month?”
I nod in agreement. “Month is good for me.”
“The first date, what was it?”
I bite another chip, my mood turning reflective. “How about it was raining heavily, I saw you jump into the river to save a drowning cat.”
He stops mid-stride. “What? No. No one is going to believe that nonsense. It’ll be easier to pull off if we stick to the truth where we can.”
“Fine,” I concede moodily. “Drinks. We met over drinks.”
“And the first kiss?”
“First kiss? George isn’t going to ask about that.”
“Yeah, I know. But it’ll feel more real if we have a more hypothetical history. For the timeline.”
I roll my eyes, but I play along, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. “Well, if we’re going by the almost truth method, we haven’t had one yet. But that’s just a detail. George doesn’t need details. Let’s just pretend you walked me home after our first date and kissed me goodnight at my door.”
“That sounds like something I might have enjoyed.”
I hit his forearm with the back of my hand, and Rhett grins at me. I can’t help but return the grin. “What about today’s date? That counts too, right? We can say I made you laugh until soda came out of your nose.”
“Or we could steer well clear of that image,” he says dryly, “and just call it the day we laughed so hard it hurt our ribs.”
I pause dramatically. “Or we could say it happened this afternoon during the London Eye at the very top. You were being ridiculous, and I couldn’t help it.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he says, bowing slightly. “Ridiculous can be charming, you know.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “You’re quite mad, aren’t you?”
We continue walking along the river, our fish and chips gradually disappearing. We have grease on our fingers, and Rhett has a dot of tartar sauce smudged across his gorgeous chin. Weird, but I want to lick it off.
