Page 108 of The One That I Want

With a smile, I look back at the menu, hoping it’s not obvious to Ewan that I’m catching my breath. Between the cologne and the way that blue shirt accentuates his eyes –andthe thoughtful plans – this is already the best date I’ve been on since… well,ever.

We decide on cocktails – a Negroni for me and something called a Mezcalita for Ewan, which is made with tequila – as wellas steaks (what The Archduke is famous for) and wine to have with dinner.

Like last time we went to dinner, I defer to Ewan to order the wine, and he selects an Argentinian Malbec. No doubt it will have the one wine characteristic I’m confident of: yumminess. Though, Ewan won’t let me get away with that – not after that whole ‘close your eyes’ episode when we were at The Port House.Note to self: pay extra special attention when the wine is served.

‘Congratulations on the latest issue, by the way,’ he says after the waiter takes our order.

‘Oh, you enjoyed it? And, yes, Iamblatantly fishing for a compliment.’

‘A well-deserved compliment. It really was an interesting read. I especially liked the article on professions of the future, how the traditional nine-to-five model is diminishing – fascinating.’

‘Thankyou. And I can see why that would have resonated.’ I regard him closely. ‘You know, I have so much admiration for you – how you stepped away from corporate life and did something completely different, something you’re passionate about,’ I say.

I realise as soon as the words are out of my mouth how unguarded that was, but isn’t that what this evening’s about, letting down my guard and diving into this date wholeheartedly?

‘Oh, that’s…’ He looks down, his slight embarrassment evident, which is endearing. ‘Thank you. So far, so good – even though most people in my life think I’m just “going through a phase” – a midlife crisis of sorts – and soon I’ll “come to my senses” and go scampering back to my old job.’

‘Who says that? I want names,’ I say, making him laugh.

‘Let’s see, there’s my parents, my brother, his wife…’

‘God, that makes what you did even more impressive. Is anyone on your side?’ I ask.

‘Well…youare.’

He holds my gaze, then reaches for my hand across the table. My breath hitches as I slide my hand into his and he looks intensely into my eyes.

‘Thank you for telling me that – about admiring me. You have no idea how much I battle self-doubt on a daily basis. Even though The Daily Grind is a success – by any metric – I still keep questioning what the hell I’m doing. I mean, I was that bloke at uni who was laser-focussed on my studies and my career. I knew exactly what I wanted to do, who I wanted to work for, and I landed my dream job right out of the gate. But recently, only just this year, I had this epiphany – sorry, that sounds naff…’

‘No, not at all. So, what was the catalyst?’

‘Well…’ He inhales a deep breath. ‘Sally never wanted children and I thought she would change her mind about that. She didn’t and it all came to a head one day – we’d been to this christening for our friends’ daughter and… Never mind, you don’t need to hear the gory details, but we talked it through and realised we would be better off as friends.’

‘That’s… That must have been really difficult,’ I say, though a teeny part of me is rejoicing at the discovery that Ewan wants children.

‘It was,’ he replies, ‘but that was nearly a year ago and I think we’re in a good place now.’

It seems like he doesn’t want to say anything more on the subject, and while I don’t mind himmentioningSally, I’m glad we’re not going to keep talking about her.

Our cocktails arrive and after the waiter sets them down, Ewan raises his and meets my eye. ‘To Greta, for being kind and understanding and a good listener.’

We lock eyes and I raise my glass. ‘To Ewan, who is brave and funny and very generous, especially with baked goods.’

He breaks into a smile, and we clink our glasses together and drink. I swallow, then lick my lips. ‘That is an excellent Negroni,’ I say.

‘This is good too.’ He sets his glass on the table. ‘So, back toNouveau Life,’ he says. ‘I looked for your article – the one about obsessive behaviour – but I couldn’t find it. When’s it being published?’

Well, bollocks. I’d forgotten about that lie.

I quickly recover, dodging the question with a half-truth. ‘Actually, that got pulled. Part of the fallout from the situation at work I mentioned.’

‘Did you want to talk about it? I wasn’t going to bring it up, but I’d be happy to listen if you want to tell me what happened.’

‘That’s kind, but it’s messy –very.’

‘I can handle messy,’ he says.

I take a moment, feeling the weight of his seemingly simple statement. Because isn’t that what we all need at times? Someone close to us who can handle the messy parts?

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