Page 11 of The Last Kiss

Oh wait…

A quick internal body sweep ensures my heart isn’t about to give up within the next hour or two. That would be a damn shame, he really is gorgeous, and it’s been a while since I’ve been for dinner with a man. The truth is, if I can sit here with a complete stranger with a beautiful smile, crinkles around his eyes, and hair that might tickle, it means I don’t have to go home. Don’t have to face a stark reality that I don’t want to be mine.

The bartender clears his throat. “Table by the window.” He points, flicking an accusing gaze over me again that says—I remembered your drink and now you’re going to have dinner with that beast of a man, how’s that fair? In response, I drag my gaze away from my unexpected dinner date and grimace an awkward smile which says in return—it’s okay. I’ll be back for another depressing appointment in hell next week and I promise I’ll drink all your Pinot.

“Thanks. I think,” I say, already distracted by Man Mountain turning back to his paper. Without a sign of rushing, and with a surprising delicate touch, he folds it neatly back down the crease and folds it again in half.

Now that is how a newspaper should be treated. Not scrunched into the trash; left abandoned on the Tube; or worse, wrapped around fish.

I could fall in love with him just because he knows how to fold a newspaper.

Okay. I am definitely in shock.

Without a sound, he gets off his stool, and I crank my neck to look up at him. He truly is a mountain made of man. Wide shoulders and narrow hips wrapped in a tan belt against his sharp cut suit. Wowser. I don’t want to get off my own stool. I’ll only come up to his nipples.

A steady gaze on my face, he holds his arm out to help me down. “After you,” he says in that gloriously seductive sounding accent.

My feet plop down onto the floor like an elf next to a yeti. “Thanks.” I put my neck out to look up as I start to cartograph an ordnance survey of his face just in case I ever forget I saw it.

Does he know how beautiful he is? How did I end up sitting next to him in a bar? The worst day of my life and I end up having dinner with a face like that. Wait till I tell Liv.

The universe is a strange thing.

His lips flicker into a smirk and I know he’s assessing how incredibly small I am.

I can’t help it, small is good. I get to wear kid’s trainers at half the price. I also get ID’d every time I buy alcohol and at twenty-nine, I’m no longer offended.

Across the room, in an awkward silence, Man Mountain waits for me to sit, his hand hovering on the back of my chair, angling it slightly and pushing it in as I bend my legs to sit.

My heart gives a little flutter. No one has ever helped me sit down before. I think my vagina just fluttered too.

This is crazy right? I should be on the Tube. Going to Olivia’s so we can whisper about my exceedingly bad news over wine at her kitchen island while my niece runs riot like a wild animal, and my nephew cries with the inflamed passion of a six-month-old that hasn’t been given milk in the last five minutes. That was the way today was going to go.

Almost on cue my phone rings again.

Man Mountain’s gaze reads my face. “I don’t want to be rude,” he says, and I want to tell him he could never be rude because his accent makes it almost impossible. “But your phone has been ringing the whole time you’ve been here.”

I fiddle with the fork a waitress puts down in front of me. Her attention is solely on my dinner partner. Who can blame her? She’s human, not a robot.

“It’s my sister.” I peek up to look at his heavenly face. Glory to God, what a face. And it’s sat opposite me at a cosy table for two.

“And you don’t want to answer?” He steeples his fingers into a cathedral arch, staring at me over the spire.

“Not right now, no.” My shoulders drop. “Sorry, that probably sounds awful.”

He shrugs, before flashing me a brilliant dash of white in his smile and dismantling his cathedral, in preference to holding his palm out to me. “Shall I answer? Tell you’re out for dinner with a handsome stranger.”

Yes! Do that! “Tempting, but she’d likely think you were a rapist and/or murdering bastard trying to pretend I was still alive.” I squint my eyes at him. “You aren’t, are you?”

He laughs. Pure fucking magic. “No.”

“That’s a relief. Could have got awkward.”

The trill of my phone disturbs the moment as we stare at one another. For God’s sake, Olivia. Get with the programme; I’m not answering.

“May I suggest switching it off?” He pours a glass of water for himself and takes a sip. I pout my lips into a little kissy shape as I watch him slide his against the glass.

“You could, but it would only make it worse. If I switch it off the police will be out scouring for me in a matter of minutes.”