Page 108 of Stranger to Love

"I have, love," she said, her voice a soft thread. She tried to smile. "Just a bit of a bad day. I’m so sorry, Alex... I haven't even touched the washing, and I haven't put anything on for your dad's dinner."

"Don't be silly," I said, my throat tightening. "I can whip something up before I head out."

Mum looked at me, the fog clearing from her eyes. "The date. You’ve got that date with Caroline." She tried to nudge me away. "Go on. Go get ready. Don't you dare stay in the kitchen on my account."

She was clammy, a cold sweat sticking to her skin. For a split second, Monday night felt entirely unimportant. I was still hovering, caught between the urge to grab a thermometer and the need to jump in the shower, when the back door rattled. My dad walked in, dropping his keys. He took one look at us and placed a heavy, grounding hand on my shoulder.

"Alright, Lex," he said. "I’ve got her. I'll get her a tea and whip up a packet of mash." He gave me a pointed look. "Go on. Get yourself sorted. You’ve been looking forward to this."

Ninety minutes later, I stood in front of the full-length mirror, taking a final, shaky breath. I’d gone for a skirt paired with heeled boots that made me feel a little more like a fucking adult. My hair was down in soft waves, and my makeup was heavy enough to hide the dark circles. I looked good, but inside, I was a mess of raw nerves. My budget-friendly plan was tucked into my pocket—a series of reservations I hoped looked intentional, not cheap.

I slipped into the lounge to check on Mum one last time. She’d drifted into a light sleep. Moving into the kitchen, I found Dad fumbling with a tin of soup.

"Dad," I said, hovering. "Look, I can stay."

Dad turned around, his eyes softening. He gave a low whistle. "Blimey, Lex. You look incredible. If you stay here and help me open a tin of beans, I’ll never forgive myself. Go. Be the girl who isn't worrying about us for five minutes, yeah?"

He practically pushed me out onto the porch into the biting December air. Moments later, the familiar purr of a high-end engine hummed at the end of the street. Carrie’s car rounded the corner, and my stomach did a violent somersault.

Carrie didn’t just wait in the car. She stepped out, and I forgot how to breathe.

She was wearing a tailored black dress that should be illegal, but it was her hair that caught me. It was in a delicate half-up, half-down style—a direct, playful loophole to my rule about only letting it down for me.

She crossed the pavement, cupped my face, and kissed me. It tasted like the expensive peppermint she always had before a lecture. But as she pulled back, her sharp, analytical eyes scanned my face, seeing right through the foundation.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with immediate concern.

"Nothing," I said, forcing a smile. If I explained, she'd insist on staying, which would devastate my mum. "Just nerves. I’ve never taken a terrifyingly beautiful woman out on a proper date before."

Carrie narrowed her eyes, clearly not buying it, but she let it go. She opened the passenger door with old-school gallantry, and once we were settled inside, the scent of her perfume wrapped around me, grounding me.

"So," she purred, shifting into gear. "Are you going to tell me where we're going, or am I just driving until I hit the coast?"

"City centre," I laughed. "There’s a little place near the canal. It has the best view in the city, and they don't serve anything that comes with fake glitter."

The canal restaurant was a hidden gem, warm and intimate. As the waiter ushered us to a secluded table by the window, I saw the bouquet of deep red roses resting in the centre. I’d called in every favour I had to make sure they were there.

Carrie stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening. She turned to me, her expression melting, and pulled me in for a grateful kiss. "They’re beautiful, Alex. Red roses have always been my favourite.”

"I figured," I smirked, pride drowning out my nerves. "They suit you—classic, but with a bit of a sting."

We decided on fancy mocktails—muddled berries and fresh mint—because I didn't want to lose a single second of clarity while I was with her. As we ate and talked, I realised how much I’d overthought this. I’d worried she’d look out of place in a spot that wasn't Michelin-starred, but Carrie knew the value of a place with soul.

The highlight of the night happened when a group at the bar treated the room to a wildly off-key rendition of Silent Night. It was objectively terrible. Carrie tried to maintain her composure, her lips twitching, until a genuine, unbridled snort-laugh escaped her.

It was one of the best sounds I had ever heard. I pocketed that memory away like a treasure—the woman behind the PhD, letting me see the parts she hid from the rest of the world.

By midnight, the other tables were empty, and the staff were starting to stack chairs.

"I think we might be overstaying our welcome, darling," Carrie murmured.

"Best date I've ever been on," I admitted.

Carrie reached across the table, lacing her fingers with mine. "The best I've had in a very long time, Alex. Thank you."

The second she slid into the driver’s seat of the car, before her hand could even reach for the ignition, I was done being patient.

I reached across the centre console, my fingers tangling in her hair, and pulled her into a deep, frantic kiss. This was the Alex who had been starving for a week, watching Carrie under the soft glow of candlelight all night.