I accept it and clutch it to my chest. “But you already gave me flowers this morning.”
“I did, but that was then. This is now.”
I shake my head. The right thing to do would probably be insisting he didn’t need to buy me anything, but in my heart, I’m elated. During my LABT days, I was always jealous of the soloist and principal dancers who received flowers after every performance. I wanted someone to recognize me too. But when you’re one among many, you’re just a body. Sam may not know it, but the gesture of giving me flowers makes me feel that appreciation I never had. He sees me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” The muscles in his forehead contort into a V. “Where is your waterproof? Did you not bring one to work with you?”
“No.” I stick my hand out and let a few stray rain droplets fall upon my hand. It’s more of a mist than a rain. “My phone said the rain was going to be light when we left this morning.” I shrug. “A little water never hurt me.”
“Haven’t you lived in the UK long enough to know never to trust your mobile? It’s never accurate,” he jokes.
Most of the time that’s true. Sometimes it rains even when there are blue skies.
“I have an umbrella in my bag if I’m desperate.” I tap my handy backpack. “I always keep a raincoat in my locker at the museum. If it looks like I’ll get drenched between here and the Tube stop, I take it with me.”
Sam shakes his head. “Hold this, please.” He places the umbrella in my hand. Unzipping his jacket, he shrugs out of it, then drapes it over my shoulders a moment later. It’s large and comes down to my knees, much like the boxy coat he wears on duty. I can smell the woodsy aroma of his cologne. I commit it to memory.
I blink a few times. “Sam, I don’t need a jacket. I’m good.” I shimmy out of it and attempt to pass it back to him, but he gently pushes the coat toward me and collects the umbrella.
“Humor me.” He looks me up and down. “I’d feel like a wanker if I had a nice warm jacket on and you were freezing in a damp fleece zip-up. Trust me, I’ve been in a wet uniform on foot duty more times than I can count. Being freezing is miserable.”
“Sam, I can’t . . .” I sputter.
“Yes, you can. I have a puffy vest under my windbreaker. I’ll be fine.”
I make one final attempt to relent, but his stone-faced glare gets me. Realizing Sam is going to be a stubborn gentleman, I thank him, zip up the coat, and roll up the sleeves. “I’d always thought your cloaks are intended for all weather?”
“They’re supposed to be. They retain heat and repel water, but they’re not waterproof.”
We start walking. Sam gestures for us to cross the street near the Queen Victoria Monument and the main entrance to the palace gates. We cut across the Mall toward the greenery of St. James’s Park.
“Whatdoyou wear under the coat? A jumper and trousers?”
“That would be nice, but our winter kit under the cloak is a navy tunic and our khaki trousers. The coat works well enough on semi-cold days. The problem is on freezing-cold days and wet days. When our tunics get wet, the cold seeps into our skin,” he says.
My mind works fast. I wonder if Sam would be allowed to wear a silk thermal under his uniform. Silk is one of those amazing fabrics that retains heat, and is lightweight and breathable. In fact, I’m wearing a silk cami and leggings under my jeans. I glance to my left. He’d probably wear a large? I make a mental note to order one tomorrow.
Crossing the street, we wander through the deserted park. As Sam predicted, the rain has started to pick up. I hear the sound of excited quacking and a grouping of ducks, swans, and other fowl plays in the rain.
I huddle in a little closer to Sam. “So what’s the plan?”
“Dinner.”
I groan. He laughs.
“I thought tonight, I’d take you somewhere different and exclusive.”
My ears preen. “Like a club?”
“No, but that’s a good guess.” He pauses with an air of drama. “We’re dining with the sharks.”
“Sharks? As in underwater?”
Sam grins. “Where else would you find them?”
My mind begins to play the soundtrack fromJaws. I picture Sam and I inside a cage under the murky depths of the water, being encircled by a trio of sixteen-foot-long great white sharks. They flash their massive rows of sharp teeth at us, their eyes watching us for any sign of weakness, ready to come in for the kill when they see it.
