What If He’s the One. Kathy Jay

image. In smart black designer jeans and black ankle boots, with a businessy white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck where she’d hooked her big, black oversized sunglasses into the vee, she aimed to look unremarkable. The laughing triggered a blush the color of a London bus – a glowing contrast to her monochrome look.

       Great!

      “And to avoid freezing,” she chipped in. “I’d like to point out that it was one of the coldest Decembers on record.”

      “It was Christmas Eve, actually.” Alex spoke slowly. The piercing glimmer in his eyes sent shivers up and down her spine. She wished he would stop looking at her like that.

      “Hence the Santa ensemble.” She made a face, shrugged, and held her palms out apologetically to the group.

      Sitting on a bench seat at the opposite side of the table between the two models, Nick leaned forward and moved the things in front of him about randomly – the salt pot, his sunglasses, a coaster. He seemed to be watching his brother for a reaction. Alex didn’t say anything more. He stopped looking at her and stared off into the distance.

      Maggie sat down at the table, picked up a couple of menus and handed one to Natalie, who suddenly closed her gawping mouth, as if for a fraction of a second she’d lost control of her features. Almost faint, not with hunger, but embarrassment at being scrutinized by every woman within earshot, and most of the men, Maggie’s fingers trembled. “So,” she announced, eager to close the subject. “Enough of the boring friends reunited stuff.” She rolled her eyes. One of the models sent her a sympathetic smile across the sea of drinks, menus and cutlery littering the rustic table top. “Should we order? What’s everyone having?”