Page 39 of The Date

Me: You dated a man who slept in a coffin?

Violet: Briefly.

Me: Jesus Christ, Violet.

Violet: Then there was Dean. He insisted we’d been married in three previous lives and was genuinely annoyed that I couldn’t remember him.

Me: He sounds like he could be the note guy.

Violet: Nope. Not this note guy, anyway. Dean died a few years ago.

Me: How tragic. Poor Dean.

Violet: Poor Dean, my arse.

Me: That’s a bit mean.

Violet: Really, Rose? He got his sister to give me a note at his funeral. It said I’d better remember him in our next life or he’d be pissed. I’m still living this life for Christ’s sake, and I already have anxiety about the next one.

I clamp a hand over my mouth to muffle my laugh.

Me: I’m starting to understand the problem.

Violet: What problem?

Me: Your taste in men is terrifying, or just terrible.

Violet: Callum says the same thing.

“That’s because he likes you,” I sing-song under my breath.

A few days have passed since the kiss and promises of more. I’m starting to find my feet, and things no longer feel quite so awkward when we’re around each other. Well, kind of. The fact that he’s been out of the office for the majority of that time has certainly helped.

My phone buzzes on my desk, and when I glance at the screen, my pulse kicks up a notch at the sight of his name.

Not-Brendan: I’m stuck in this stupid meeting. I won’t make it back to the office before you leave. Do you have plans tonight?

I stare at the message for a moment, wondering what exactly he has in mind. Has nightcap night finally rolled around?

Me: I have kickboxing at six. Why?

The three dots appear at the bottom of the screen almost immediately.

Not-Brendan: I was hoping to steal you for dinner. I’ve barely seen you the past few days.

Me: There’s a great sushi place across the road from my kickboxing class. I’ll be done by seven.

Not-Brendan: So you’re agreeing to dinner?

Me: Maybe.

Not-Brendan: Maybe?

Me: I don’t want to appear too eager.

Not-Brendan: You wound me, sweet Rose. Text me the address, and I’ll pick you up at seven.

I bite my bottom lip to hide my smile, but it slips through anyway. Clearly, my attempt at playing hard to get has gone straight out the window.