Page 107 of The One That I Want

28

GRETA

As I climb the stairs to our meeting point on the Golden Jubilee Bridge, my nerves ratchet up. The whole journey here, I’ve been mentally replaying my friendship with Ewan, wondering again at which point it shifted towards something romantic.

I think it might have been that first night when we met up by accident – his friend having to rush off and the gym fanatic fabricating a sister who needed a ride to the airport. There was that moment between us over dinner – a romantic spark.

I dismissed it in the moment, just like I have every time it’s occurred since, being too far up my own arse to see what was right in front of me.

But I do see now. I see it as if there’s a giant flashing sign blaring, ‘Greta, you muppet – it was Ewan you wanted all along!’

And that’s what makes me nervous.

What if I’ve completely misread everything, and Ewan doesn’t feel the same way? I’m hardly an expert in reading romantic signals. Maybe hewasjust being friendly. And now that I’ve realised I have feelings for him, what if he only wants to be friends?

Oh god, is this how proper dating works?

With Darren, we just sort of fell into a relationship. We never discussed being exclusive – which in hindsight, we should have because I obviously needed to spell out to him that sleeping with other women is a no-no when you have a serious girlfriend.

And now…?

What I’ve learnt over the past month is that I’m a total novice in this area, constantly confused and full of doubt.Howare people doing this as part of their normal, everyday lives?

‘Because normal people simply date and fall in love, and your situation isanythingbut simple,’ I mutter to myself.

I don’t have time to ponder this conundrum further because when I look up, Ewan is waiting at the top of the stairs, and my heart elbows my head out of the way, shouting, ‘There he is!’

We exchange grins and when I reach him, he gently clasps my arm to pull me close for a soft cheek kiss. He’s wearing that lovely cologne again – the one with spicy sandalwood notes. It’s divine.

‘Hello. You look beautiful,’ he says, his eyes taking in my outfit, then meeting mine. A thousand butterflies launch inside me, fluttering about, and I have to nudge myself to reply.

‘So do you – handsome, I mean.’ And he does, having chosen a dress shirt in the exact shade of blue as his eyes. He smiles at me, tilting his head in modest shyness, then slides his hand down my arm and clasps mine.

I never knew that holding someone’s hand could be so… so…sexy. The tingles racing about my body are compounded when he laces our fingers together.

Even I know this is a good sign that Ewan feels the same way I do.

‘Now those are rather gorgeous shoes,’ he says, ‘but we do need to walk across the bridge and a little further. I’m not going to need to carry you, am I?’ he teases.

We both look down and I point one toe and move my ankle from side to side to show off the shoe. ‘These are Lorenzos, so, no,’ I say, and our eyes meet again. ‘The most comfortable sexy shoes on the planet.’

‘Excellent. This way,’ he says, and we cross the bridge towards South Bank.

‘So, have I managed to find someplace you’ve never been before?’ asks Ewan as we’re being seated.

He has! We’re at The Archduke, which is cleverly integrated into the arch under the bridge, its architecture and design a mix of industrial and ‘high-end pub’.

‘Was that your goal?’ I ask with a laugh.

‘I wanted to return the favour,’ he says. ‘Andimpress you. The food here is fantastic, by the way –andthey have a comprehensive cocktail menu. I know you like your cocktails,’ he adds right as the waiter hands me the bar menu.

‘Thank you,’ I say to him.

‘Now we do have to be somewhere else at a quarter to nine,’ says Ewan mysteriously, ‘but that leaves us plenty of time to have a drink and eat dinner. It’s nearby, so no need to rush.’

‘You’re not going to tell me where we’re going?’ I ask.

‘Better if it’s a surprise,’ he replies, winking.

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