Page 43 of Swiping Right (and other disasters)

“Oh my God, I still can’t believe I was so heteronormative as to think he was your boyfriend,” said Kiera. “Such an idiot!”

“It’s a common mistake,” said Seymour with an easy smile. “Your shirt is gorgeous. It goes so well with your dark brown eyes.” And suddenly, all Kiera could think about was sitting directly opposite this beautiful woman – when had she started thinking Seymour was beautiful? – who was looking into her eyes and noticing their colour.

“Thanks,” said Kiera, having paused for slightly too long.

After they paid the bill, Seymour informed Kiera she had a plan, and before long they were on the number thirty-five bus, sailing down through Moseley towards town. They sat side by side, not talking much, but the quiet was comfortable. The sun on their faces through the glass was hot and it was a relief when Seymour pressed the bell and they were able to get off the bus close to Cannon Hill Park.

In the sunshine, the greenery of the urban park was dazzling. Everywhere they looked they could see families in sitting on picnic blankets or walking dogs, children cycling or skateboarding. A huge park, it could sometimes look crowded at this time of year, but if you knew it well, there were quiet corners to be found, just a few minutes off the beaten track. Seymour and Kiera strolled past the MAC – the café and arts centre – which was predictably heaving with a diverse group of people there for everything from avant garde theatre to coffee, and much in between. Seymour steered them towards the boating lake where the swan boats had made their seasonal return. Kiera giggled. “I haven’t done this in ages,” she said, as they joined the short queue behind a family of two adults and two children, all with ice cream dripping down wafer cones.

Seymour smiled. “Exactly. If you live somewhere, you forget to be a tourist there. Today, we are tourists.”

“Brilliant,” said Kiera, “I love it. Although if we’re to do this properly, I think we should be furnished with ice creams like the family in front. I’ll be right back.”

The ice cream van was right beside them, and Kiera picked up a couple of vanilla cones with chocolate flakes. “You can’t beat simple perfection,” said Seymour. “Forget your pistachio mint choc chip, this is where it’s at; whippy sugary vanilla with a finger plunged in.”

“Wow!” said Kiera, blushing at the unintended double entendre. If it really was unintended.

Seymour sniggered. “You don’t need to be a nun to run a café, you know. Although there are of course standards to uphold.”

“Like not making suggestive jokes about chocolate flakes?”

“Yes, that, and rescuing damsels in distress on terrible Tinder dates,” said Seymour, with a wink.

“Fair,” acknowledged Kiera. “Right, hold my ice cream while I put on my life jacket, and I’ll hold yours while you do yours.”

Before long they were pedalling around the small boating lake, avoiding other fair-weather park-goers. “I’m tickled by the fact they give us life jackets given I’m fairly sure this water only goes up to my knees,” observed Kiera as they sailed past the family who had been in front of them in the queue.

“Safety first,” said Seymour, waggling her finger, “in boats and on dates.”

“On dates, huh?” said Kiera, her neck prickling. She fell silent. Was this a date? Was that what Seymour meant? Should she ask? Her brain was beginning to spiral. She looked across to her boatmate, who was peddling beside her. But because Kiera had unwittingly stopped pedalling, the swan was now turning gentle circles. Seymour seemed to be concentrating on something on the horizon.

Suddenly there was a raised voice from behind them. “Watch out, Daddy, we’re going to…” but the child was cut off by the bang and lurch of colliding swans. The family of four had pedalled into Kiera and Seymour’s circling swan. Sounds of apology and embarrassment emitted from the mum and dad in the larger boat, while the ice creams that had been knocked out of their hands dripped in Seymour and Kiera’s laps.

“Oh, really, no,” said Seymour, “it’s fine. I think we lost concentration. Please, don’t worry.”

“How the hell does this go backwards?” said the man’s wife.

Kiera stage whispered to Seymour, “just pedal!” and so they did, racing towards the other side of the tiny island in the middle of the boating lake.

“Well, I think that’s the end of any career either of us might have had in the Navy,” said Seymour, panting with the effort. “On the plus side, my thighs are lovely and cool now. What happened to you? Did you stop pedalling?”

Instinctively, Kiera reached out to Seymour’s ice cream-soaked thigh and said, “So sorry. I forgot where I was for a moment.”

Seymour looked down at Kiera’s hand, still on her thigh, rapidly becoming sticky thanks to the spillage.

“OK, let’s both stop this time. This bit’s quiet,” said Seymour. “Oh goodness, look at your trousers. I think they might be worse than mine. What happened to your flake?”

“I think it fell into the lake,” replied Kiera with a frown, now painfully aware she had her hand on Seymour’s thigh, but not able to establish whether she should remove it, or whether that would make it more obvious.

“Oh no, I’ll buy you another one!” said Seymour, placing her warm, if slightly soggy, hand on Kiera’s.

“It’s delayed gratification – I usually leave the chocolate to the end,” said Kiera with a smile. The warmth from Seymour’s fingers travelled up her arm. She allowed herself to relax a little.

“Whereas I ate mine first. There’s a personality study in there somewhere. You know,” said Seymour thoughtfully, “I’m running out of reasons not to kiss you right now. But I don’t want to scare you and have you fall into the lake. What do you think?”

Kiera’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, I, um,” she stammered.

“Oh, it’s ok, we don’t have to. Maybe I’ve misread this,” said Seymour, taking her hand from Kiera’s and adjusting her position. “You’ve told me very clearly that you don’t need anyone and that you’re perfectly happy single. I get it. I’m sorry. I’ve overstepped. It’s all the excitement and the ice-cream.”

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