Across the Pond – Chapter 3

For most of the next day, following the party, I wondered whether or not I should call Laura. I mean, a big part of me wanted to and I was more excited about her than most dating prospects I’d had in a while. But because of that anticipation, I was also nervous. Even though she told me to call her, there was always the possibility of her just saying she didn’t know what she was thinking that night, and that she couldn’t date the daughter of one of her friends. I pondered on that possibility a lot, to the point where mom and dad commented on how distracted I looked. I said it was just a hangover, which I felt, but wasn’t the whole truth. They seemed to find that explanation satisfying enough not to push it. And so the day passed me by and I ended up not calling her. But on the day after that, my mind was still fixated on her, so I decided I better just rip that band-aid. It also helped that it was the first day I felt positively cured of my jetlag.

And Laura said yes. She didn’t seem awkward or surprised by my call, and I didn’t need to fumble with my words for long before she cut me off and took the reins, asking me if I wanted to go meet her in London. It sounded a bit far at first, but I was thinking of American Midwest distances, where it wasn’t unusual for there to be a two-hour drive between two neighbouring towns. But Laura assured me I could be in Downton London in twenty minutes by train, and much to my surprise, my smartphone seemed to corroborate her story.

I told my parents I felt like exploring London on my own and, once more to my surprise, that didn't bring up many follow-up questions. That should not have been that surprising considering I was a fully grown adult, of course. I found my way to Luton’s station and took the train, finding that indeed I was in London in a time shorter than most podcast episodes. I arrived there a quarter past noon.

Laura was already waiting for me outside St. Pancras International, which was just across the street from the world-famous King’s Cross station. She was wearing a sensible jacket over what seemed to be a knee-length dress and thick pantyhoses with simple but elegant dark flats. She was tall enough without heels, of course. I felt very American in my jeans and hoodie. It only dawned on me on the way there that I wasn’t really dressed for a date, but Laura made no mention of the discrepancy in elegance between us as she offered me her arm.

“There’s a coffee shop near here that I absolutely adore. I was thinking we could start there and maybe see if you want to visit any of London's big landmarks, hm?” she proposed.

I looked back towards the station as we walked to the stairs, and was afraid to admit out loud that I wanted to visit King’s Cross, and more specifically the Harry Potter café and small tourist photo spot they had built there. But I couldn’t bring myself to admit such a thing to a woman who went on for twenty solid minutes about the different properties of wines from all across southern Europe. The age difference and the fact I was American had already made me self-conscious enough around such a sophisticated Scottish lady, that I didn’t want to appear too vapid and into pop culture. But she caught me glancing back and I could swear the woman was a witch because without me saying anything, she asked:

“Do you want to go see King’s Cross?”

“I… Yes, how did you know?”

“Well, it’s rather famous, isn’t it?” she offered simply and turned, as I took her arm and we began walking there.

Now that was a pickle. It was one thing to consider going back to King’s Cross later to satisfy my nostalgic geek obsession, but it would be really hard to act blasé about it if she was going to visit the station with me.

We walked through St. Pancras and across the street into the massive train station that was King’s Cross, and between tourists and actual passengers, the station was absolutely crowded. Laura walked with me while she pointed at a few historical pieces of the station and told me facts about its age and construction, and its importance to London’s development. She didn’t go into too many details or obscure trivia but filled me in on the general history of the place as locals would be likely to know. And then as we walked around, we were passed by a group of people in costume. Long dark coats and red and gold scarves as they rushed towards a portion of the wall where half a luggage cart was shoved against the wall under a plaque. My eyes sparkled but I tried to contain my enthusiasm. Laura was too good at reading me though.

“You know, you don’t need to pretend you don’t like it to impress me.”

I fumbled with my words at being called out so openly but decided to drop the pretence entirely now that it was futile to keep hiding.

“Heh… You caught me. It’s just… Very nostalgic for me. I read it and, knowing my mom was from England when I was young, it made me feel very special.”

“Don’t need to explain. I missed those books for a decade but I was obsessed with Marion Zimmer Bradley when I was younger. You can be sure I would have visited any attraction made based on her books too.”

“Oh really?” It was hard to imagine Laura being such a geek.

“Oh yes. And I don’t mean just the Mists of Avalon, no. I read the whole Darkover series. I suppose if the internet was more of a thing in the 1980s I would have probably written fanfiction as well.”

“I’m surprised you even know what fanfiction is.”

“Oh please, I’m not that old,” she chuckled, “besides, I teach literature. Fanfiction is absolutely fascinating from an exploration of authorship and ownership of fictional spaces, characters…”

“Okay, okay… See, you even made that sound sophisticated,” I protested in fake indignation.

Laura just shook her head in a mock apology before she indicated the cart.

“Go, I’ll take your picture.”

“Gosh no, I’m way too old for that.”

She laughed and insisted.

“I heartily disagree. Come on, lass.”

And she released my arm from hers to give me an encouraging, barely felt, slap in the rear. And I yelped in surprise and blushed vividly. She smirked and for a second, she had a face of deep musing before she encouraged me by gesturing to go ahead and get in the line of tourists waiting their turn. I did feel silly waiting but that dissolved quickly. Everyone there was on the same boat and I wasn’t the oldest person in line by far. Laura eventually took my picture and I returned to her giggling like a schoolgirl.

We agreed that our next stop on the date would be her decision, and she took me to the National Gallery, which was one of her favourite museums in London. I was surprised and brought up the British Museum, but Laura explained that she always appreciated paintings more than historical artefacts, from a pure onlooker standpoint. As we walked around, it was fascinating to hear her comment on the stroke type, the colours and the artistic movement of most of the pieces. Once again I felt out of my league, walking holding her arm and seeing her express these ideas that I found a bit too big for my head. But by the end of our visit, I could tell that she had only grown even more attractive in my eyes. She was non-judgemental, sophisticated and very much in control all the time. And the way she exercised that control, always sweet and gentle, but with assertiveness and soft authority, was admittedly a big turn-on.

At the end of the afternoon, we finally went to the café she really wanted me to see, and as it usually happened on dates, we ended up recapping some of the things we had seen together, now with some time to digest them. I was surprised to hear her bringing up Harry Potter again, which I swore she wasn’t interested in at all and only humouring me when we went to King’s Cross. But now it seemed like she really wanted to hear my thoughts. And as our hands touched over the table and I could feel her shins brushing against mine under it, I ended up letting it slip that part of my fascination with the series could be explained by the school uniforms:

“It’s not something you get often in America. And I don’t know… Something about those uniforms really… Awakened something in me,” I admitted, “and, to be honest when you said you went to a catholic school, I couldn’t help but imagine you wearing one…”

Laura smirked at the confession and, caressing the back of my hand with her index finger, she tauntingly asked:

“Is that so? I’m afraid that was ages ago, sometimes feels like centuries when I think of all that’s different.” But before I could start talking about how she was still very attractive to me, she added, “but it does… Inspire me to hear this.”

“Inspires?”

“I hate to be so upfront, and do not feel pressured, of course… But knowing how limited your time on this side of the ocean is…” she began, her words coming slowly and smoothly, without a hint of nervousness, and more giving myself time to prepare to hear what she had to say next. “…I have a flat in the city, and I would very much like to take you there…”

“Oh, I would love…” I said but she wasn’t done, and all it took was for her to lift her eyes and look at me to silence me.

“Tomorrow. Or later.”

“What…? Why not today?”

“We could. But I think there are things worth waiting for. I want to... Prepare things.”

“Ominous,” I teased.

“Not at all,” Laura said and then chuckled. “Besides, what would you think of me if I brought you to my place on the first date, hm?”

“I would think you got mad game,” I said, deliberately being more youthful with my words than I would usually be, in a playful manner.

Laura laughed and looked at me with a mix of mirth and attraction as she reached out to cup my chin with both her hands, in a rather commanding, yet soft and delicate way. She barely touched me, yet she had complete control, pulling me close as she locked her eyes with mine.

“You’re a lovely little scamp…” she said in a very heartfelt way, if still playful.

And then she inched in to close the small gap between our lips, closing her eyes and putting her lips on mine. I closed my own, and for a moment our lips just brushed together in what would be a rather soft kiss, before I felt her mouth parting and her tongue beckoning me to open mine. The whole kiss didn’t last very long, and I could guess Laura wasn’t much into public displays of affection. That only made it more meaningful to me that she was willing to step out of her comfort zone to please me.

In those brief seconds, her tongue danced against mine and I did my best to clumsily keep up without being overwhelming, or too shy. I was never a good kisser, I knew that, but my self-consciousness about it quickly disappeared as, like a good dance partner, Laura knew how to lead.

As we broke apart, I was blushing and I dipped my head as if to return to the conversation we had pinned before that kiss. How could I say no to her after that?

“Very well. We will do it your way,” I said.

“Of course we will,” Laura smirked, unsurprised.