Page 78 of Shout Out To My Ex

The part that isn’t going so well is my too-frequent erotic thoughts about Leo.

We’ll be sketching or discussing fabric options and my mind will start drifting off and before I know it, I’m imagining Leo’s hands on my body or his mouth on mine or him taking me on the workbench. On Friday, he had to ask me three times to pass him the tailor’s chalk.

There’s also that Leo and I both seem to be suffering from ostrich syndrome, burying our heads in the sand. It’s obvious that another big talk is coming but neither of us are brave enough to go there.

All this means it’s been an intense week and a half – and that’s without my new hobby: stalking the supermodel who’s engaged to my ex.

‘Oh, for fuck’s sake,’ I say, giving myself a mental slap. What am Idoing, obsessing like this? Leo is mycolleague. This is not a date. This is simply a research excursion for our collection.

I grab my favourite handbag and leave the flat before I make myself late.

Leo is standing outside the café when I arrive, looking annoyingly cool and sexy. The baseball cap has made a return appearance and he’s in his ‘uniform’: a black T-shirt and jeans. He’s also wearing sunglasses, something I wish I’d thought to bring, as it’s not only warm, but the sky is a brilliant blue and the sunshine is bright.

‘Hey,’ he says, ‘you look…’ He pauses for far too long, making me self-conscious about what I’m wearing. ‘…good,’ he says eventually, which makes me laugh.

‘Really? For a fashion designer, you need to work on your vocabulary.’

He chuckles self-deprecatingly. ‘You got me. Hi, by the way,’ he says. He leans down and we end up in one of those awkward are-we-hugging-I’m-not-quite-sure-pat-on-the-back hugs. We step back and smile at each other – also awkwardly.

‘So, are we going inside?’ I ask, indicating the café.

‘Oh, if you want to.’

‘It’s just?—’

‘I thought we’d?—’

‘Oh, that’s fine?—’

We’re talking over each other, which is silly because we don’t do that in the workroom. Maybe that’s it – take us out of the working environment and we don’t know how to be together.

Be together… Oh god.Not a date, not a date, not a date.

‘Start again?’ he asks with a shy smile.

‘Please.’

‘I chose to meet you here because I wanted us to be in the vicinity of our destination without revealing what it is.’

‘Right. But you don’t want a coffee or a pastry?’

‘Only if you do?—’

‘No, I—’ I expel a heavy breath. ‘We’re doing it again.’

‘Talking over each other?’ I nod. ‘You go,’ he says, smiling.

‘Okay, I’m not hungry and I had three cups of tea this morning.’

‘Cool, so we can go?’

‘Looks like it.’

‘This way,’ he says, pointing away from the Thames. Right, so we’renotgoing to the Tate Modern. We walk side by side as much as possible on the busy London street, dodging oncoming pedestrians and the odd pushchair. When we turn onto Bermondsey, I immediately know where we’re going, and I’m amazed it didn’t occur to me before.

‘Fashion and Textile Museum?’

He grins at me, and I catch myself reflected in his sunglasses –almostseeing myself through his eyes. Strange that I was pondering that only an hour ago.

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