Sparks Fly with the Single Dad by Kate Hardy

Author:Kate Hardy
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin Enterprises ULC
Published: 2023-12-04T14:43:26+00:00

CHAPTER SIX

DINNER.

This wasn’t just a meal with a friend, where it didn’t matter what she wore. It was a practice date. One that made Jenny realise just how rusty she was when it came to dating. Thankfully her favourite little black dress still fitted, and it was a classic style that wouldn’t look dated. She made an effort to style her hair into soft waves, instead of pulling it back into a scrunchie, the way she normally wore it, and dredged out a pair of high heels. A touch of lipstick and mascara, and she was ready.

‘You look lovely,’ Betty said. ‘Are you going out with James?’

‘We’re just friends, Mum,’ Jenny said. Explaining the situation would be too complicated, and her mum would worry. ‘We’re simply having a nice time together, as colleagues, relaxing after work.’

‘Hmm. Is Archer going as well?’ Betty said.

‘He can’t make it tonight,’ Jenny fibbed, feeling guilty that they hadn’t asked Archer.

‘Well, I like James.’

‘So do I. As a friend,’ Jenny emphasised. Secretly, she was beginning to suspect that she liked him as a little bit more than a friend, but she didn’t have the headspace to work it out.

Tamsin came over with a playlist on her phone, some home-made cheese shortbread and a bottle of a non-alcoholic cocktail to share with Betty; then, at precisely seven, the doorbell rang.

James was wearing a dark blue suit with a white shirt and copper-coloured tie, and he didn’t look like the slightly scruffy but professional colleague she was used to.

‘You look lovely,’ he said.

‘Thank you—so do you,’ she said, feeling oddly shy.

After he’d exchanged a few words with Betty and Tamsin, James drove Jenny to the foodie pub, two villages away, where he’d booked a table.

‘I can’t remember the last time I went out to dinner like this,’ he said. ‘I’m more used to places that do the kind of food Tilly likes.’

And Jenny wasn’t used to going out to dinner at all, any more. She glanced down the menu and chuckled. ‘You can bring her here, you know—they offer cod goujons.’

‘Ah, but they’re posh fish fingers,’ he said, laughing back.

‘The menu’s fabulous. It’s really hard to choose,’ she said. In the end, she chose salmon served with Tenderstem broccoli, asparagus, courgettes and new potatoes, while James plumped for pie and mash with greens.

‘That’s so blokey,’ she said with a grin.

‘It’s a treat,’ he corrected. ‘Because I’d never cook pie and mash for myself.’

‘I was under the impression,’ she said, ‘that you cooked.’

‘I can shove something on a tray in the oven and forget about it for thirty minutes,’ he said, ‘and I think anyone can manage vegetables with an electric steamer. But that doesn’t really count as cooking, does it?’

‘Not really,’ she agreed.

‘Mum taught me a few basics before I went to university,’ he said, ‘but I was never really interested in cooking. Some of my friends could woo their girlfriends with home-made lasagne, but mine would get cheese on toast if they were lucky. Or pasta mixed with pesto.

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