‘It’s like tapas. You order small dishes, they may not come all at once. Order food through our app. The guacamole is free. Tell us if you have allergies. Please look out for our chilli ratings. You will need to use the ladies’ toilets today as someone has blocked the gents. Our apologies.’
I have a feeling the last two points may be related but don’t say anything. However, I can see it’s also brought a rise to Cameron’s face.
The waiter scribbles something on our placemats and then wanders off into the crowd of people.
‘You’ve not been here before then?’ Cameron asks, looking over the many combinations of tortillas we can experience today.
‘No, this is all Michelle.’
‘Well, it’s certainly lively. You have a PA?’
‘I do.’
‘That’s fancy.’
‘She’s less of a PA, more there to look after me, she ensures I eat and leave the office at 6 p.m. I have a tendency to overwork.’ This is where I should tell him. I overwork because I’m the MD at a company that you’ve assumed to be catering but really it’s something else, completely. Maybe a drink first before the confession.
‘So, today is on me. I feel awful after Friday,’ Cameron tells me.
My body tenses a little. Kissing me was awful? I really hope not. I hope this isn’t a weird lunch to dump me and let me down gently. If that is the case,mi corazonwill literally be left out bleeding by the pavement.
‘I duped you into coming with me to that dinner. I should have known things would have deteriorated like that and my family were unforgivably rude.’
‘I think I felt worse for you, to be fair. There’s a very good fried chicken place at the end of your road. Excellent coleslaw. I was fine.’
He scans my face. I don’t know what he was expecting. For me to be angry? I was angry at his family, but none of that was ever directed at Cameron. He kissed me. It was a nice kiss. You can’t get angry with nice kissing.
‘I have a question, though…’ I ask. He sits there waiting for me to continue. In a checked shirt, jeans and Vans like my sort of kryptonite. ‘That is some messed-up family dynamics. How do you live with that?’
He half-smiles and shrugs his shoulders. ‘I don’t. I rarely see them, to be honest. My mum wanted me there, so I went along. I was just never the son they wanted. They wanted me to be the jock at school, playing rugby and going into a manly profession like finance or law, and it just didn’t float my boat. I was a comic geek, I loved art and music and all these endeavours that are glorified hobbies really to them. I’m sorry they spoke like that about your career. That was rude and unfair.’
‘I’m a big girl. I knew I wasn’t quite a date and I know how to handle myself around idiots, so I was fine. I can call your family idiots, right?’
‘I encourage it. So, is this a date then?’
But before I have the chance to answer, a waitress appears at the table looking like she’d rather be anywhere else than here. It may be because she has to wear a poncho.
‘Hola,’ she says, in not very Spanish tones. ‘Drinks for you?’
‘Could I get an orange juice?’ I ask.
‘We’re out of orange juice, what about pineapple? It’s kind of the same?’
I don’t think it is. ‘Maybe a sparkling water?’
‘Or a Fanta? That’s orange.’
Cameron looks like he’s going to explode in hysterics.
‘Or maybe a beer? Sol?’ the waitress recommends.
‘Two bottles of that then?’ Cameron says.
I can’t argue with a waitress over fruit, I’m just going to get drunk instead. Screw professional work lunch etiquette.
‘And did they say the guacamole was free?’ Cameron asks.
‘Yes. I’ll bring it over. You want tortillas or pork rinds?’ she asks.
