The concierge rang her at seven O three and informed her that a Daniel Carter was going up to her floor. Kajsa smoothed out the skirt of her favourite floral Erdem dress and waited for him in the hall. They greeted each other, and Kajsa watched him toe off his shoes. He was dressed in a different shirt, light blue and more casual, and dark denim - and held a large bouquet in a bulky vase in his hands. She wondered if he'd googled 'what to bring to her place for a dinner date.' The vase was endlessly ugly, but the bouquet, of different shades of yellow and green - with its alstroemeria, chrysanthemums, asclepias, and green bell - didn't lack charm. She appreciated that he hadn't chosen pink roses.
"Thank you," she said sincerely.
"The vase is ugly, but it was too late to change my order," he grumbled.
"And if you'd taken them out, the flowers would be dripping water," Kajsa added and laughed. "I absolutely love the flowers, Danny. Thank you." She shifted and almost rose on tip-toes to kiss his cheek - but stopped herself. "I have just a vase for them, and yellow is my–"
She choked on her words, because he quickly pressed his lips to her cheek. Kajsa tingled from head to toe. He withdrew, and she continued gawking at him.
"Ms. Larsson?"
"Kajsa," she corrected him, and cleared her throat. "Shall we go in?" She swirled on one spot and hurried to the sitting room. "The dinner is served in the kitchen, on the island. I decided that taking a dinner table and chairs from the storage would look like I was trying too hard," she joked. "You didn't insist on a restaurant, so I assumed you wouldn't oppose to such lack of formalities."
"Not at all," he said and left for the bathroom.
Kajsa arranged the flowers in a vase and carefully placed them on the end of the island. She was pleased to see how well it went with her navy blue Royal Doulton Pacific dinner set. He stepped in the kitchen and halted near his chair. Previously, he'd always gotten up when she'd entered the room during their meetings, but she'd assumed he'd been following John Holyoake's example. The publisher had posh, somewhat old-fashioned manners. Apparently, so did Danny Carter.
"Please, sit down," Kajsa said softly.
She took out their plates from the warming drawer and placed them on the counter. His eyebrows jumped up.
"Beef Stroganoff," Kajsa announced. "It's my favourite comfort food. Not the most romantic dish, I concede, but I'm afraid I'm too practical to suffer through three dissatisfying slices of duck breast on a hill of greens just for the sake of a vibe."
He chuckled and picked up the fork.
"It's an authentic Russian recipe, traditionally eaten with pickled cucumber slices," Kajsa said. "I grew up eating lots of pickled vegetables."
"I do like pickles," he said.
"Then we should definitely have some," she said and rose.
He looked up at her, seemingly in surprise again. She took out a bowl with the cucumbers from the fridge, placed it in the centre of the island, and plated three slices on the side of her beef and mash.
"What did you eat as a child?" she asked.
He pensively chewed his food and swallowed. Kajsa favourably noted his manners - courteous but not put-on or pretentious.
"Anything that was quick and filling," he said and picked up a slice of cucumber. "My mother passed away when I was five. My dad brought us up, my brother and me. And I'm, what's called, a military brat. So, we often ate in the cookhouse at the base as well."
"Is that why you enlisted? Because of your father?"
"Every Carter for the past two hundred years was in the army," he said with a shrug. "Except for my brother."
"Oh, what does he do?" Kajsa asked with curiosity.
To imagine another Carter - and this Carter as a child - required a significant effort. If this evening were to become the beginning of something more, she would definitely need to see some photos.
"He's a veterinarian," he said. "He's back in the countryside where we grew up. Married, with two little'uns."
"That sounds lovely." Kajsa smiled. "I have two sisters. I'm a middle child."
He dropped his eyes to his plate - and she realised he was pressing his lips to hide a smile. She gave out an exaggerated gasp.
"Did you just think that it was obvious that I was a middle child?" she asked with fake menace in her voice.
He quickly stuffed a forkful of the food in his mouth, and gave her a cheeky glance from under a raised eyebrow. Kajsa would like to continue their lovely banter - but this sudden flirty expression on his face took her breath away. After all, up until now she hadn't been a hundred percent sure whether the man she thought she fancied had been anything but a figment of her imagination with the face of the IT specialist. And yet - the sexy smirk on his lips and the impish spark in his eyes were as real as the heady blush that spilled on her cheeks.
"Well, I wish I could argue with the stereotype, but I'm afraid I do possess all the telltale traits," she said with a small laugh, after regaining her composure.
"Open, sociable, independent, and competitive?" he asked. "Seems about right."
He truly had the most charming smile.
"Do you drink, Danny?" Kajsa asked with a chortle. "I have an excellent bottle of red. I feel like this topic requires a bit of social lubricant."
"I do." He chuckled as well.
While he was opening the wine, Kajsa checked on their pudding in the oven.
"I did have a rebellious stage as a teen," she said, returning to her seat. "But it was rather mild. I was never expected to take part in the family business or stay back home. I often feel sorry for my older sister. As much as she claims to enjoy her responsibilities, there must be days when she struggles against the pressure."
"And your younger sister?" He poured wine for them.
"She's a typical heiress." Kajsa smiled at the thought of Ingegerd. "Parties, fashion shows, glamorous affairs... She's a talented athlete as well, she skis. She's one of the most charming and irresponsible people I've ever known. We all love her to bits."
"Do you go to parties and fashion shows?" he asked. His lips closed over the rim of his glass, and he took a sizeable sip.
"From time to time, mostly to support one of my friends." Kajsa sampled the Malbec as well. "After I moved to London, I formed a circle of friends. There are six of us. We're very close. One of my friends is a model, so we attend her shows if we aren't otherwise busy. And Helvig is the daughter of a diplomat, so there are parties in her father's embassy."
"And yet you've got a proper job," he said and swirled wine in his glass.
It was some sort of a distracted gesture, hardly an attempt to oxygenate the wine to extract more aroma. Kajsa wondered whether she'd get a chance to touch his hand before their evening was over - and then returned her mind onto the conversation.
"I do," she said and popped a piece of beef in her mouth. "I don't enjoy being idle. But I also know how privileged I am to be able to choose the profession I actually love. Not everyone is lucky to have the means to pursue an artistic career. So I try to work hard and do my best."
He nodded to his thoughts and finished his wine. Kajsa followed his example, and he poured them some more. They both were almost done with the Stroganoff.
"I did see the illustrations you made for Keagan Daly's novels," he murmured. "I never got a chance then, when you offered in the lift, so I asked the Visuals to show them to me. They are brilliant."
Kajsa's heart seemed to have just done a somersault.
"Thank you." She drank some wine to hide a wide grin that was threatening to bloom on her face. "Do you enjoy Daly's writing?"
He nodded. "I mostly read fantasy, so I reckon, I'm picky. Daly's is pretty good. And there's a new one almost every year, so I don't mind the cliffhangers."
"I've struggled with them," Kajsa said, feeling somewhat embarrassed. "I think they're too heavy for me. Too brainy. It felt similar to when I tried to read Lord of the Rings for the first time when I was seven."
"That might be a tad too early," he said with a small smile and put down his fork.
"And it was in translation, which only added to my suffering," she joked. "I think I didn't develop my taste in fantasy fiction beyond enjoying Tiffany Aching books. And you're a Herbert and Asimov man, aren't you?"
He froze with the glass at his lips.
"I've done some snooping," Kajsa admitted shyly. "Linda's boyfriend works in the Accounting, and your two departments go to watch football in a sports bar together. I did a bit of recon when I first started... flirting with you."
She got up, put away their dirty plates, and took two ramekins out of the oven.
"I was also told you're a chocoholic," she murmured and placed his pudding in front of him. "Chocolate mousse with candied orange peel."
She was especially proud of the neat curl of the candied orange peel she'd achieved this time. She also thought she probably shouldn't confess to imagining his lips wrap around a spoon with the mousse while she'd been cooking.
"Did you make all that yourself?" he asked in obvious admiration.
"I love cooking," she said. "And baking. Not so much eating sweets actually, so if you enjoy the mousse, you can have mine as well."
She was standing between him and the stove, and he turned on his chair to face her. His gaze fell on the cheery oven mitts on her hands. Kajsa giggled and shook them off.
"Tea or coffee?" she asked.
"Tea, please."
She turned on the hob under the kettle.
"So you asked around about me," he said.
She wasn't sure what sort of emotions danced in his blue irises.
"I was curious," she said and leaned her back against the counter opposite from him. "I'd seen you around, and then I overheard your conversation with your friend in the bookshop. I don't know if you remember that day. You were discussing some sort of a telly series and laughing. You were unusually... animated. I thought you were interesting. And fit. Although, two years of absolutely no reaction from you have been rather disheartening," she added and shook her head in amusement.
He was studying her face, and she smiled at him widely.
"You're awfully direct," he said evenly.
"I am," she agreed lightly. "But isn't it so much easier?"
"Why did you ask me out now? After two disheartening years."
One could almost miss the crinkles near the corners of his eyes and the softening line of his lips - and yet, that was definitely a joke, and a cheeky one. Kajsa felt relieved. After all, the point of this dinner was to test whether the real Danny matched the Danny in her head, a man with a sense of humour and integrity, capable of affection and tenderness.
"I saw you in a button-up shirt," Kajsa said and widened her eyes at him dramatically. "You looked very good, and I realised I had nothing to lose, really. In the worst case scenario you'd refuse me, if you weren't interested. And knowing you, it would have been a polite rejection and had no unpleasant consequences."
"I should wear button-ups more often." His voice shook with laughter.
"You definitely should," she murmured, and looked down his torso and then up again, meeting his eyes. "If you feel like it, of course."
The kettle whistled, she took it off the hob, turned it off, and opened the cupboard.
"Do you have any tea preferences?" she asked.
And then she realised he was standing right behind her.
She hadn't heard him get off the stool or approach her. She just felt his warmth, and some sort of an electrifying tingling trickled down her back, from her hairline and between her shoulder blades. He didn't answer, and she wanted to turn around to face him. It would be silly to lie to herself that she had been hoping for nothing beyond a polite conversation - although she'd appreciated every moment they'd shared and getting to know him was most rewarding.
Yet, her body just wouldn't listen to her. As he said, she was direct - but it seemed that her audacity had finally run out. And then he took a step back - and she knew with absolute certainty that if she didn't do something right now, he'd go back onto his spot, and their lovely civil dinner would continue just the same way.
And she didn't want that.
She swirled on one spot and stepped closer to him. He was looking down at her, and she rose on tiptoes. Barefoot, she wouldn't reach his lips if he didn't reciprocate and lean down.
He did.