“Sir, ma’am, are you ready to order?”

Malcolm raised his eyebrow at Vivian, and she smiled up at the waiter. They ordered everything that looked good to both of them, and he was suddenly starving. He’d barely eaten at lunch, because of how preoccupied he’d been, and Vivian was right; they had walked around a lot today.

“I just can’t help it—I have an extraordinary palate and a very high spice tolerance. Many people have commented on it.”

Wow, the guy next to them was still on about this. Vivian stared straight at Malcolm, her lips sealed together and her eyes dancing. Malcolm did all he could not to smile back at her.

“Um . . .” He had to think of something for them to talk about, so they wouldn’t spend all of dinner laughing at this man. “What was your favorite thing we saw today?”

She winked at him and smiled.

“I really loved Westminster Abbey,” she said. “Partly because it was beautiful, and there was so much history there, but also because despite all of that, and all of the tourists, it still felt like a church, if you know what I mean?”

He poured more wine into her glass.

“I do,” he said. “I’ve been to famous old churches when there are too many people there, and it feels like just any kind of building—like it’s divorced from its original purpose. But Westminster Abbey still feels like a church to me, too, despite the long lines and many tourists walking around. It’s one of my favorite places in London.” He looked down into his glass of wine. “Sometimes, when I used to work in Parliament and was having a hard day, I would walk over there, go inside, and just . . . sit in one of the pews for a while. I don’t know if I was praying, or meditating, or whatever you would call it, but it felt like having the centuries-old stones around me would help. I don’t know if they gave me perspective, or just absorbed my stress, but whatever it was, it made a difference.” He shrugged. Now he felt silly for confessing this to her. “That probably sounds . . .”

“Smart? Relatable? Like something more of us should do?” She nodded. “Yes, it sounds like all of those things.”

He reached across the table and touched her hand, just for a second.

“Thanks. I should probably find a way to do something like that more often.”

She nodded.

“Me too. I used to go to church pretty regularly, but I got busy and out of the habit. I miss it. It gave me that time of peace that you’re talking about. Life can get so”—she sighed—“overwhelming sometimes, with everything going on in the world, then dealing with difficult issues at work, and then always family. It helps to take time for yourself, though I don’t take my own advice on that as often as I should. I do go on long walks, which is a good break for me in that way.”

He laughed.

“I could tell. I could barely keep up with you this afternoon! And I know you usually go on walks in much more moderate temperatures than London in December.”

She looked down, then back up at him. He loved how, despite her directness, she occasionally got shy with him.

“I was just in Norfolk in December, don’t you remember? London weather is balmy compared to that.”

The appetizers arrived at the table next to them. They both looked sideways at the table.

“Please let us know if your starter is to your liking, sir,” the waiter said.

“Oh, I’ll make it very clear, don’t you worry about that,” their neighbor said.

He took a spoonful of his soup.

“Hmm. It’s all right, but I thought I made it clear that I wanted something very spicy,” he said to the hovering waiter.

The waiter nodded.

“You did, sir, you did. I would give it a few more spoonfuls before you judge.”

The man huffed and ate a few more spoonfuls in quick succession.

“Ah.” He nodded. His bald head shimmered under the restaurant lights. “That’s better. Very spicy, just as I like it.”

The waiter bowed.

“Very good, sir.”

The waiter came around to their table and filled up their water glasses. Malcolm kept glancing over at their neighbor, and he noticed Vivian did, too. He ate a few more bites of the soup, but his face got pinker and pinker. After a few minutes, he put his spoon down.

“Well,” he said to his date, “finally, a place where they listen to me about how I like my food to be served.” He picked up his full water glass and downed it. “I’m sure most people couldn’t handle even a bite of this soup.” Sweat formed on his forehead and dripped down his face. His head got even shinier. He picked up his date’s water glass without asking her and drank all of that, too. “Waiter! More water over here!”

Vivian looked at Malcolm, her eyes wide. Malcolm could tell they both knew exactly what was going on.

The waiter came over, with such a bland look on his face that Malcolm knew—if he’d had any doubt before—that the staff was just as irritated by this guy as he was.

“Certainly, sir. Is your soup to your liking?”

Their neighbor grabbed the water glass almost before the waiter had finished pouring.

“Mmmhmm,” he said as he drank both glassfuls on the table again.

Malcolm grinned at Vivian and poured them more wine.

Vivian was going to explode from all of her held-in laughter. This man next to them was clearly about to faint because of how spicy the food was, but he wouldn’t confess it for the life of him. If he hadn’t been so terrible before, she would have leaned over and told him that drinking water just made spicy food hotter, and instead he should eat some rice or bread or dairy to soothe himself. But instead, she just drank more wine and watched the show.