“Pleased to meet you.” Tasha was already offering Mike a hand to shake which he took almost reluctantly.
“I’ll get your bag, miss.”
“Thank you. You don’t have to call me miss. My name’s Tasha.”
He smiled as he pulled her bag from the boot. “I don’t know if that would be right, miss.”
Tasha cocked her head slightly, listening intently to the voice of the man before her. “Are you English?”
He smiled broadly now. “I am indeed, London.”
“Snap,” she grinned. “Whereabouts?”
“East Ham. You?”
“Walthamstow.”
“Small world, eh? You wait ‘til I tell Sandra. She’s from Walthamstow originally. I thought you were more West End than East End though.” He seemed more at ease with their common ground established.
Tasha shook her head. “No. Just a private secondary school education courtesy of my grandparents.” Suddenly, she felt butterflies in her stomach as she heard James’ familiar voice.
“What’s this? Stories from Blighty?” He bent down and kissed her gently on the lips.
“Kind of,” she replied. “Turns out we’re from the same neck of the woods.”
“I see.” Jim picked up Tasha’s case. “Thanks for changing your plans, Mike. I appreciate it.”
“No problem, although it’s costing me a romantic dinner for two now rather than lunch.” Mike smiled.
“It’s Mike and Sandra’s fifteenth wedding anniversary today,” explained James to a confused looking Tasha.
“Ah. Happy anniversary.”
“Thanks for the gifts, Jim.”
“No problem.”
“I’d better get back to ‘er indoors. I’ll put the car away first though. Nice to meet you, Tasha,” he said, notably more relaxed now, his English accent somehow providing Tasha with a sense of familiarity and reassurance.
“You too,” she replied as Jim took her hand and led her towards the house.
“Who do you support?” Mike suddenly shouted to Tasha.
Turning to face him she revealed a genuine smile. “I sometimes went to watch Leyton Orient with my grandad, but my heart was always at Upton Park.” Her face was now sporting a full, toothy grin as she recalled the time she’d spent with her grandfather watching football, just the two of them.
Jim looked at them, his confusion clear to them both.
“Football,” they replied in stereo.
“You mean soccer.”
“No, we mean football.” Tasha’s smirk teased Jim.
“Good girl.” Mike laughed at the pretty English girl who already had big, bad scary James Maybury on the back foot. “Jim, this one is a keeper,” he called to his boss with a short laugh.
“I would have to agree with you.” Jim wore a smile that matched the other man’s and then in a whisper spoke to Tasha. “See, lucky seven.”
Stepping into the palatial hall, it was a vision of marble and stone, light and airy, with no clutter or dust it appeared. Tasha swallowed hard, feeling out of her depth again, with this man, in this place. Jim held her hand firmly in his as he led her through to a huge kitchen with a general family room attached that had a wall of glass doors leading out to a pool area. She tried to take it all in.
