“Where does your mum live? Scotland?”
“Yeah. My parents would never dream of living anywhere else. And, well, I can’t blame them, you know?”
I chuckle. “It’s that incredible, huh? I’ve only ever been to a concert in Glasgow.”
“Yeah, that hardly counts. You have to see the highlands, the lochs, the castles. An entire month wouldn’t be enough.”
“Gotcha. I’ll make sure to ask you for a list of must-see places, if I ever make it back there.”
He shoots me a sideways glance. “Are you from London originally?”
I nod. “Yeah, Brixton, to be precise. My dad still lives there, but I moved to central London after studying at Oxford. I wanted to be closer to the city and, well, work opportunities.”
“Oxford alumnus, eh?” he says, pulling up to a restaurant and giving me a look I can’t pinpoint. “Pretty impressive.”
My cheeks warm, but I hold his gaze. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
He chuckles, averting his eyes. “Well, here we are. Hope you like it.”
He accepts a ticket from the valet, and we head inside. The quaint restaurant is draped in the aroma of warm bread and fresh garlic, and soft golden light flickers from candles nestled in glass holders. Tiny handwritten menus hang above the bar, and vines trail lazily down the walls. The host seats us at a cosy corner table, handing us our menus.
A moment later,a waiter approaches to take our drink orders, and we browse the menu.
“Any recommendations?” I ask, overwhelmed by the myriad of choices. “What’s your favourite—or your parents’?”
“I love thepasta al forno, but my brother swears by thetagliata. My parents usually share the sea bass and minestrone. And without fail, my dad always orders two tiramisu for dessert.”
His voice softens when he talks about them, his eyes crinkling at the edges. I don’t think he’s ever looked more relaxed. I wouldn’t have pegged Callum for a family man.
“Your dad and mine would get along. Helivesfor desserts. I took him to a dessert-only restaurant once for his birthday, and he still talks about it. I was in heaven there too, mind you. If I could eat ice cream exclusively for the rest of my life, I’d be the happiest girl on the planet.”
“You’ll have to give me the address,” he says, his voice low and warm as he leans toward me.
“Deal.” I grin, bringing my eyes back to the menu. “Well, I think I’ll go with the minestrone.”
“Knew you’d pick that.” He smirks. “Carrots.”
I burst out laughing. “Right, but preferably not half-digested.”
He’s still chuckling when the waiter returns with our drinks and takes our order. As he walks off, Callum raises his glass toward me.
“Well,” he says, his gaze locking with mine. “Thanks again. For helping with Fergie.”
“My pleasure,” I reply, clinking my glass with his. “Truly. Well, aside from the broccoli situation. But we’re putting that behind us.”
He laughs softly. “Seriously, though, he must really like you. He’s never done that for anyone but me.”
“How old is he, by the way? Have you had him since he was a chick?”
“He’s my age—thirty. And no, I only got him six years ago.”
I nearly choke on my sparkling water. “He’sthirtyyears old? He looks like a little birdy baby.”
Callum chuckles. “Yeah, a thirty-year-old baby who imitates fire alarms and has a full repertoire of song covers.”
“Wow. How long do they usually live?”
“Average is seventy years, more even, if they’re well cared for and don’t develop any maladies. It’s a lifetime commitment.”
