person, that she won’t just drop everything for them.’
Kit frowned. ‘But what if you don’t have plans? What if you’re turning down a night out for a box set and a takeaway?’
‘It doesn’t matter. If he doesn’t respect you enough to try and book you in advance then he never will. You’ll be relegated to a last-minute hook-up and once you’re there you never move on.’ Maddison turned to him, her eyes alight with curiosity. ‘Isn’t it like this in London?’
‘I don’t think so. Not that I’ve ever noticed. I say, “Want to grab a drink?” They say yes. Simple.’ Simple at first, anyway.
‘Or no. Surely sometimes they say no.’
Kit paused. ‘Maybe.’ But the truth was they usually said yes.
‘Wow.’ Maddison looked around as if answers were to be found somewhere on the bus. ‘There’s more than just an ocean between us, huh? Guess I’ll never get a date in London. Or I’ll end up civilizing your whole dating scene. Grateful women will build statues to me.’
The women Kit knew played enough mind games without adding some more to their repertoires. ‘Remind me never to talk to a woman of dating age in New York again; I shudder to think of all the rules I must have inadvertently broken.’ Although it must make life a little clearer, all these rules. It never failed to catch him unawares how quickly it could escalate—a coffee here, a drink there and suddenly there were expectations.
He suppressed a grin at Maddison’s appalled face and couldn’t resist shocking her a little more. ‘If you want to meet someone in London then you need to be a lot less rigid. Over here we meet someone, usually in the pub, fancy them, don’t know what to say to them, drink too much, kiss them, send some mildly flirty texts and panic that they’ll be misconstrued and repeat until you’re officially a couple.’
Maddison stared at him suspiciously. ‘That’s romantic.’
‘You’ve seen Four Weddings and a Funeral, right? Think about it. If Andie MacDowell had understood the British Way of Dating she would never have married the other man, she would have just made sure she turned up at Hugh Grant’s local pub a couple of times and that would be that.’
‘Four Weddings, Three Nights Out and a Funeral?’
‘That’s it. Now you’re ready to go. If you’re looking, that is—or is there someone with the perfect dating etiquette waiting for you back in New York?’
‘We’re on a break.’ The words were airily said but, glancing at her, Kit was surprised to see a melancholy tint to her expression. Sadness mixed with something that looked a lot like fear.
‘Because you came here?’
‘Not really.’ She shook her head, a small embarrassed laugh escaping her. ‘I can’t believe I’m telling you this.’
‘I don’t mind.’
Maddison paused, as if she were weighing up whether to carry on. ‘Rule number two of dating,’ she said eventually. ‘Don’t talk about your other relationships. Always seem mysterious and desirable at all times. Remember, rejected goods are never as attractive. Rules are rules, even when you’re talking to your boss!’
‘Your way sounds like a lot of hard work.’ Kit stole a glance at her. Her face was pale, all the vibrant colour bleached out of it. He had been subjected to tears, tempers and sulks by his exes, often all three at once, and remained totally unmoved, but Maddison’s stillness tugged at him. He wanted to see the warmth return to her expression; after all, he knew all about pain and regret, what a burden it was, how it infected everything. ‘Look, if you want to talk about it forget I’m your boss. I’ve got a sister, remember? Sometimes I think she uses me as her very own Dear Diary.’
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