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‘That’s probably for the best.’
Ben’s face fell slightly. ‘Oh, is it not good?’
‘Oh no, it’s excellent. Best Italian food you’ll ever eat. You will leave happy, incredibly full, most probably very tipsy and having had a thorough inquisition.’
‘What?’
‘It’s my grandfather’s place,’ Frankie looked across the park area, past the pond and the bandstand, to the other side of the green where Matteo’s Trattoria sat in darkness, ‘where you will get the third degree.’
‘I survived the once-over from your sister and brother.’
Frankie nodded but didn’t mention the missed calls from Valentina wanting every snippet of information about Ben.
Ben turned back to look at the burger stand. ‘Burger, hot dog or haggis, neeps and tatties?’ He looked at little doubtful at this last menu option.
‘It is Saint Andrew’s Day.’
‘True.’
‘I’ll have a burger, please.’
‘But maybe Italian another night?’
‘You’re confident there will be another night?’ Frankie teased.
‘If our informal chat for the job interview without a job goes well.’ Ben winked.
‘Ah, a second round of non-interviews?’
Ben smiled as he perused the chalkboard menu.
Frankie had another sip of her mulled wine, the warmth of the cup permeating through her woollen gloves.
Ben rocked back on his heels beside her. ‘So, if you and me meeting up caused a big stir and set your family off questioning you, is it because you’re all very close or that you don’t do a lot of dating and us, here tonight, is a novelty and therefore noteworthy?’
‘Straight in with the big questions.’
‘Sorry, I’m used to difficult questions posed to politicians. Feel free to act like them and evade it, if you like.’
Frankie took a moment before replying, ‘I’d say that between my family and the dog walking and boarding, and now this Canine Cupids Christmas Club and occasionally working in the trattoria, I don’t really have the time or headspace to date.’ Nor the inclination, she added silently.
‘That begs the question, what made you turn up for this not-a-date date this evening, Ms Bartoli-Barr?’
Frankie blew on her mulled wine, giving the question over-exaggerated consideration.
‘Well, Mr…’ She realised she didn’t know his surname.
‘Smith.’
She cocked her head to the side. ‘Is that an alias?’
‘Nope, full name is Benjamin Lucas Smith.’
‘Well, Mr Smith, I turned up for two reasons. The first being the tree light switch-on. I can’t miss out on that. Second reason… curiosity.’
‘Curious how someone could have such a killer combination of devastatingly handsome looks and winning personality?’
‘And such an ego! All those, naturally. But mainly because I’ve never been on a date that’s not a date with a man who has a beard.’
