She’s just setting her wine down when Lucas reaches over from where he’s seated beside her and taps her knee. “Here, Sarah, switch seats with me. I’m going to be blocking your view.”

“Trust me, Lucas, a better view isn’t going to make or break this,” Sarah replies, but he looks at her insistently so she agrees, rising from the seat and then taking his. Once he’s settled, she leans over and quietly asks, “How’s your ankle?”

Lucas lifts up the edge of his pant leg to show her the tensor bandage that’s wrapped securely around his injured ankle. He’s been off work for a few weeks ever since he got hurt - he hadn’t even called her to tell her when it happened, he’d just showed up at home after with crutches and a boot on his foot - but it seems to be doing very well, and at his last appointment the doctor had given him the go-ahead to take the boot off, so as long as he wasn’t straining or overworking his ankle. “Doing just fine, babe, don’t worry.”

Waiters appear seemingly all at the same time, and begin placing starter salads at each place setting. This one appears to have slices of fresh peaches and crumbled feta across what looks like arugula; it looks pretty good, she has to admit.

“Great balsamic,” Lucas comments, after taking a bite. “Really nice.”

Sarah smiles. “You never met an acid you didn’t like, huh?”

“What’s not to like, Sarah?” he says cheerfully.

The main course is a beautiful arrangement of roast beef and new potatoes, which Sarah wolfs down quickly; she’d skipped lunch in an effort to finish a set of revisions before this event tonight, and she’s starving, especially after the long training run she’d had this morning. After that, a small dish of lemon gelato is served over shortbread for dessert. It’s a little dry, but before she can comment on it to Lucas - not that he cares, but she’ll tell him anyway - the lecture begins.

It’s actually fairly interesting; the speaker is a visiting professor from Montreal who talks about fictional depictions of wartime restrictions on domestic life and the effect of that representation on secondary-level history texts. It’s forty minutes long, a merciful length considering all the non-lit people who are in attendance, and the speaker is both dynamic and clear enough to be accessible for the whole audience. Sarah sneaks peeks back at Lucas throughout the lecture, hoping that he’s at least not falling asleep in his chair, but every time she sees him he’s rapt with attention, back straight, brow slightly furrowed, like he’s trying to take it all in. The only evidence of his usual manic personality is his knee bouncing quietly.

When the professor finishes, everybody claps politely. Eve, who’d had to turn her chair completely to look at the lecturer, turns to the table and remarks, “Good length. I wonder if he’s done any work as far as questioning the absence of regulatory schemes for some of these publishers.”

“Is that even a thing?” Lucas asks. He looks at Sarah. “Probably a stupid question, but isn’t that kind of in opposition to freedom of speech?”

“Good point, Lucas,” Sarah says. He smiles. “I wonder that too, Eve - but Lucas’s right. You can publish whatever you want. It’s everybody else that assigns it some kind of trustworthiness.”

Eve nods slowly. “So maybe the better question then is around professional historical associations, and why they aren’t doing more to speak out against inaccuracies. Wartime rationing maybe isn’t the hill to die on, but...”

“People don’t usually go into fields of study to police them, though,” Ham offers. “You have to have people who are willing to make a big deal out of it.”

“Maybe no one’s doing it for history and whatever, but I see people on TV all the time talking about science,” Lucas says. “Scientists. Real smarty pants like you guys. Talking ‘bout climate change and vaccines and stuff.”

Sarah nods in agreement. She taps her low-heeled sandal against Lucas’s shoe under the table and smiles at him when he looks over.

“So that probably goes back to Eve’s point about this topic not being a hill to die on,” Ham says. “But people are willing to do it when it matters?”

“At least with politicized and higher-profile things like climate change, there’s certainly more of an incentive to.” The room is starting to clear out; Sarah folds her napkin and places it on the table. They’ve already spent enough time schmoozing with her professors and their colleagues. Really, she should probably do a little more networking, but she’s tired and despite his obvious engagement with the lecture, she doesn’t want to drag this out any more for Lucas.

“You around here next week, Sarah?” Eve asks, as she stands and picks up her bag from the back of the chair.

Sarah nods. “Should be.”

Eve flashes her a thumbs up. “Cool, see you then. Bye Lucas, it was nice to meet you.”

“Same to you,” Lucas says to both her and Ham, then they turn and make their way to the exit.

Sarah pushes her chair in and steps to Lucas’s side. “Let’s get out of here before I have to talk to anyone else about school,” she mutters, eliciting a laugh from him.

“One ninja sneak-out, coming right up.” He offers a hand, ostensibly to help her wind through the circular tables as they leave, but once they’re back in the reception hall and headed toward the exit, he doesn’t make a move to drop it, and she doesn’t either.

It’s dark once they step outside into the night air, but it’s not that late yet - about ten. They turn and walk south. When they pass by the church, Sarah grips his hand tighter and tugs him across the street to Regents Park.

“We can cut across the park,” she suggests. “It’ll be easier to get a cab on the other side.”

“Sure.” Lucas points at her shoes. “You okay to walk in those?”

“They’re not that high,” Sarah says, “it’s fine. I should ask you, actually - is your ankle okay? We can just call an Uber.”

“I’m right as rain, babe, don’t worry.” He squeezes her hand. “Thanks for bringing me tonight, Sarah. I was a little worried to start there, but it actually was really interesting.”

Sarah laughs. “Thank you for coming, Lucas. I can’t believe I got you out without a hat.”

Lucas runs his free hand through his hair. “I clean up pretty good though, huh?” he says with a grin. “I should have worn my fancy tie.”

She rolls her eyes. “All that attention going to your head already. Should’ve let Faelynn hook her claws into you and take you to her lair.”

“No.” Lucas waves his hand, swatting the implication away.

“Lucas, she was about to climb you like a tree before Eve called you away. No wonder you wear a hat all the time. The full effect is just too powerful.”

He waggles his eyebrows at her. “That so?” he teases, waving his hand at himself. “You feeling under the influence of fancy Lucas?”

Sarah giggles and scoffs at him. Yes. But he doesn’t need to know that. “I must have stronger willpower than Faelynn.”

Lucas clutches his chest. “You wound me, Sarah!” he jokes. Then, distracted, he points their joined hands at a large tree that they’re passing by. “Hey, look at how big that squirrel’s tail is, Sarah!”

She follows his direction, spots the big rodent, and nods. Only Lucas would think to comment on that. “Very impressive,” she confirms, using her free hand to rub her bare arm. It’s still pretty warm, but it’s getting a little cooler, and she’s sure the mosquitoes are about to come eat her alive any second. They’re almost through the park, though, so it shouldn’t be too much longer before -

Lucas stops walking, drops her hand, and all of a sudden, she’s warm again.

“You should have said you were cold, Sarah,” he says over the top of her head, his hands running across her back in big, wide strokes. “I should have noticed. You’re wearing this little dress-”

Sarah melts into his chest. God, she loves hugging Lucas, loves being held by him, loves how warm and affectionate he is. “It’s summer,” she mumbles against his shirt. “The dress is for summer.”

“Believe me, no complaints about the dress.” A big palm runs down her bicep and back up. The other curls around her waist, clutching gently. “I’m a fan of the dress.”

She laughs softly, but her chest burns warm at his words. “Thanks, Lucas.” They should really start walking again; this park is decent enough, but it’s night in London, after all. “We should get to the street, probably. Never know where you’ll get mugged.”

Lucas’s arms tighten briefly around her at that, then he unwinds them, keeping one arm around her waist. “Yes, for sure.” They walk a short distance in silence, his hand clutching her hip more firmly now, then out of nowhere he says, “I’d never let anything happen to you, Sarah. Want you to know that.”

Sarah reaches over and puts her hand on top of his on her hip, squeezing his fingers with hers as best she can. “I know, Lucas,” she says softly. And she does. He’s big and strong and she’s sure that his size alone is enough of a deterrent for anyone looking to steal a purse, but self-preservation instincts die hard. Still, he’s sweet, and she tells him so.

“Yes, I’m like sugar, babe,” he jokes as they reach the street. He lets go of her to step onto the road, peering out for a cab. “Where we going anyway? Home?”

She shrugs. “Unless there’s somewhere else you want to go.”

Lucas moves his head back and forth, clearly hedging on something. “I know Hamil’s at this place uptown, think Gee is there too. Want a nightcap?”

He’s smiling at her with absolutely no pressure, a reassuring ‘whatever you want’ expression on his handsome face. Under the streetlights, with his black shirt and his slacks and those light eyes, he looks incredible. Sarah understands the impulse of girls to throw themselves at him. She wants him to catch her, too.

“Yes,” Sarah decides, nodding. “Sounds good.”