Jason was waiting on the promenade across the street from the Gourmet Garden. He looked a little awkward as he stepped forward to meet Grace, on Joan’s insistence now wearing a tasteful summer frock which exposed her legs below the knees. Jason was wearing an O’Neill t-shirt which still had the creases from being recently taken out of a packet, and a pair of jeans with brand-designed ripped knees.
‘You, ah, look nice,’ he said, making Grace cower inside. She had promised Joan, but nothing felt natural about this at all.
‘Thanks. So do you. Shall we go over?’
‘Um, sure. Did you book?’
Grace frowned. ‘Do we have to book?’
‘I don’t know.’
They headed across the road. The Gourmet Garden looked like a regular café and shop on the ground floor, complete with postcard racks, ice-cream count
