Iyanna Redfern.

Table 3.

The Swan and Goat.

7pm.

It was strange, Ramiro mused, how nine words could change your entire world. The words had been printed on heavy cream coloured card, with the text itself written in a stylised handwriting font.

Ramiro flicked over the card, even though he had memorised both sides. The back of the card held the logo of the foolishness he’d gotten himself into.

Love: The Experiment had become an overnight television success. Seasons 1 and 2 had aired with 15 episodes each in which twenty singles were paired up under the watchful eye of Faye Goswami, a couple’s therapist for over forty years. Of the twenty couples Faye had matched, twelve were still together. LTE, like all its reality tv counterparts followed the couples as they met for the first time, fell in love, and all the drama in between.

On a drunken whim, on which Ramiro firmly blamed his sisters for – they were always nagging him about not being able to stay in a long-term relationship - he had applied for the show, never once thinking he’d be selected. He should’ve known better. His surname guaranteed that anything he applied for, he got. It came with being a Barazotti. Apparently, the only time he forgot that was when he was after five triple vodkas and several double shots of whiskey. It had been a great night though. Even if the hangover had made him wish he’d never discovered alcohol in the morning.

So now, here he was, in the back of a Land Rover, with a camera crew squashed in one corner, the poor boom mic operator having to twist in the passenger seat, leaning partially over to make sure he heard everything.

Ramiro tried to look as though he wasn’t worried about the night ahead of him. That his heart wasn’t beating out of his chest. He checked his jacket pocket, where Iyanna’s gift waited. As a matter of politeness, that his father had instilled in him, Ramiro always bought a gift for first date.

Before to long, the car purred to a stop and the crew hopped out, desperate to stretch cramped legs and ready to film him leaving the car.

Ramiro scrutinised the Swan and Goat before carefully stepping out of the car and brushing his hand overs his tailored navy suit, adjusting his tie so it remained perfect.

The Swan and Goat wasn’t the typical place he’d take, well, anyone. It was nice enough, though clearly the façade needed a fresh coat of white paint.

A set of worn steps lead into the building, where a young, twenty-something woman waited to greet them. The woman, whose name tag identified her as ‘Ann’, smiled brightly, her eyes flicking worriedly towards the camera crew before landing with

A smiling, pigtailed, blonde woman clasped her hands nervously in front of her, her eyes flicking to the camera crew before resting with relief on Ramiro.’

“Mr. Barazotti?”

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“Yes.” Ramio inclined his head.

“I’m Ann, your hostess for the evening. Your table is ready, please follow me.”

Ann’s eyes flicked to camera once more, as though she was waiting for it to jump out at her. She turned, with one last check at the tv camera’s and led Ramiro to his table. Iyanna had yet to arrive, and given his nerves, that was fine by him.

Somewhere, in another Land Rover, Iyanna was probably staring at the same thick card he had been staring at. Ramiro’s stomach twisted at the thought.

He dropped ungracefully into a chair, taking a deep, steadying breath as he did so. It’s going to be fine, he told himself firmly. Completely fine.

A minute or so later, a vision in an off the shoulder light blue dress appeared, walking towards the table. Her hair was styled in an elegant side ponytail, loose curls framing her face.

“Hello,” Ramiro stood, smoothing down his suit as he did so. “Lovely to meet you.”

“Hi.” Iyanna embraced him warmly, taking Ramiro aback slightly. It took him a short moment, but he returned the hug.  “You look nice.”

“Thank you,” Ramiro stepped back, pulling out Iyanna’s chair for her. “You look beautiful.”

Ever the gentleman, Ramiro wanted until Iyanna was seated and comfortable before sitting back down himself. Ann, who has been waiting off to the side rushed forward, still ill at ease at being on camera.

“Your menus,” Ann handed out two deep red menus, the name of restaurant embossed in a bright gold font. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

“I’d like the wine list, please.” Ramio said accepting the menu. He grinned at Iyanna, “I’m not driving after all.”

Ann, looking relieved at escaping the camera’s, nodded at Ramiro’s request and trotted away.

Slim hand wrapping around the glass pitcher on the table, Iyanna laughed brightly as she helped herself to some water. “You don’t seem nervous at all?”

“Of a dinner date?”

“Everything,” Iyanna waved a hand to indicate the restaurant. Aside from them, there was one other couple already eating and surround by their own team of camera people.

“Camera’s have never bothered me,” Ramiro shrugged, “first dates however -,” he shook his head. “Those have always terrified me.”

“How do you feel now?” Iyanna sat back in her chair, her pose quietly confident.

“Somehow even more terrified,” Ramiro admitted. “How are you feeling?”

Iyanna pondered the question a moment before answering. “I was nervous – concerned that I’d end up with nothing in common with the person I’d agreed to share the next year with.”

“Understandable. I was worried I would be partnered with someone who didn’t like dogs.”

Iyanna’s eyes lit up. “I love dogs, I have two myself.”

“So do I,” Ramiro said with an easy smile. “Huskey’s, Milo and Lola.”

“Wow, I have Huskey’s too, Cinnamon and Toast.”

“I love those names.”

It was easy, Ramiro found after that, to forget about the camera’s and lose himself in the moment. The food came and went, the wine flowed, and the conversation never ran dry.

**

Precise blond curls fell loose from the side ponytail that Maizie had spent hours perfecting. She had noticed the well put together looking man that had entered The Swan and Goat about thirty minutes after she did, had noticed the warm brown skin, like roasted acorns.

“Are you listening to me?”

With a roll of her eyes, Maizie turned her attention back to her match. “I’m sorry.” She looked down at her plate, the salmon had been decent, she’d left the salad.

Leon sat straighter in his chair, his eyes glancing at the new arrivals. “She’s pretty.”

Maizie scowled. There was nothing all that special about the dark brown woman that had been matched with the man who’d caught her eye. Nothing she couldn’t compete with anyway.

“I suppose.”

“Did you settle on a house?” Leon asked, trying to continue the stilted conversation they’d been having.  

“Yes, did you?”

“Yeah.” Leon, as Maizie had painfully learned, had been born and raised in South Dakota before moving to London in his twenties. The Midwest still clung to him. Perhaps it was the scruffy beard and the instance of wearing flannel – even on a first date.

Maizie sat back; hands folded neatly on her lap. Leon wouldn’t last. And she wasn’t about to kicked of the show early, because they’d paired her with a boring American. She turned her head to look at the other couple, who, unlike her and Leon, were talking and laughing as though they we old friends.

There were other fish in this sea, and Maizie was going to catch them.