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“It is at this time of year,” he says, sidestepping us to narrowly avoid a puddle. It hasn’t rained all day and it takes me a minute to realize the water is coming from a leaking pipe fixed to the side of a building. “It’ll quiet down in January. So everybody makes as much of it as they can until then.”

“And then you can put your feet up in the new year like Santa,” I say.

He laughs softly. There are wrinkles on the corners of his eyes that furrow whenever he smiles.

A surge of people exit a theater on our left, and we get carried with the crowd. Theo tightens his hold on me and I try to ignore how nice it feels.

It’s only when we turn a corner that the throng thins out. Mostly because we’re in a back alley. But Theo seems to know where he’s going, his hand pressed firm against my back.

“Is this where you admit you’re a serial killer?” I blurt out, remembering my discussion with Jennifer earlier.

He stops dead in his tracks and frowns at me. “What?”

I wrinkle my nose at him. “Sorry. My friend and I… well I don’t know you and I wasn’t sure if you were… Oh God. No. It’s fine. Let’s talk about the muppets again.”

“You thought I could be a serial killer and you still came to meet me?” He frowns, the same way he did when I told him cats only live in houses.

“I’m a thirty-year-old woman,” I say, deadpan. “Dates are hard to come by.”

He pauses for a beat. “That’s a joke, right?”

A back door opens and a man walks out, a cigarette already in his mouth. He pulls his lighter out with one hand and his phone out with the other.

“It is a joke,” I tell Theo. “But I guess there’s a bit of reality in there too. Every time a woman meets a stranger there’s always the possibility of something going wrong.”

His brows lower, like he’s really taking it in. “Yeah, I get that.” He nods. “I’m sorry. Let’s head back to the main streets.”

“It’s fine. I have a nail file and I know how to use it,” I say.

That frown is still pulling at his brow. “I still have no idea how to tell if you’re joking or not,” he murmurs.

“Hey, Theo.” A second person comes out to join the smoker outside the back door of what looks like a bar. “You coming in?”

Theo blanches, like he wasn’t expecting to be recognized. “Ah, no. Wasn’t planning on it.” Theo gives him a tight smile. A drum crash cuts through the silence, likely from a live band playing inside.

“Sy’s playing,” the man continues, lighting up his own cigarette. “You should go in and say hi.” His eyes land on me. “Go on through.” He inclines his head. “You can skip the cover charge.”

I look up at Theo right as some music starts up. It’s funny watching his face immediately relax.

“Is it okay if we go in?” he asks me. “Just say if you don’t want to.”

“I want to,” I say simply. Because I’m having a good time. And when you’re on vacation you do things you haven’t done before.

Like let hot potential serial killers take you into dive bars.

Theo’s friend steps aside and we walk into the tiniest corridor I think I’ve ever been in. We have to walk single file and even then my shoulders almost brush the walls. Theo is behind me, so close I can smell the sandalwood of his cologne. As we reach another door the sound of the music increases. A trumpet plays along with the piano and drums.

“Is this a jazz bar?” I ask, right as he reaches around me and pushes the door open. And suddenly the music is super loud. Enough for me to barely hear him over the sharp notes of the trumpet as he points at a table to the left of the stage and leads me over there.

“It is,” Theo says. “A few of my friends play here.”

The pianist notices us right away. He gives Theo a big grin. I wonder how they all became friends. Maybe there’s some kind of London-based pianist group chat on WhatsApp.

“Theo, how’s it hanging?” A man walks over and Theo stands, hugging him. “Who’s this?” he asks.

“This is Georgia. Georgia, this is David. He owns the club.”

“Hi.” I beam at him, shaking his proffered hand. “It’s great to meet you.”