Page 24 of The One That I Want

‘Actually, for the one after that.’ I laugh gently at his shocked reaction. ‘If I were still working in print, I’d already be planning theDecemberissue.’

As expected, he gapes at me, clearly even more surprised. ‘That’s… Are you pulling my leg?’

‘I promise I’m not. Magazines are meticulously planned in advance, even the fashion. Of course, hot topics always pop up unannounced – like news items and matches, hatches, and dispatches…’

His brows knit together, but it’s obvious the moment he understands I mean marriages, births, and deaths. ‘Ahh, yes.’

‘Fortunately, being online affords us more freedom to cover those unexpected items than the print team has.’

‘Was that a drawcard of being online – the freedom it brings?’

‘Absolutely,’ I say, omitting that I don’t feel particularly ‘free’ now this assignment is hanging over my head.

‘It sounds interesting,’ he says, and I sense he means it. He raises his coffee cup in a faux toast and we both sip.

The coffee is delicious, but it’s hard to enjoy it. Since the moment I woke up – and much of last night – I’ve been obsessing about Poppy Dean coming into the office today. I’m supposed to orient her and introduce her to the team. Then we’ll get to therealreason she’s coming in.

Today is when I find out who my first date is. To say I’m conflicted about it is a colossal understatement. What have I agreed to?

Poppy did offer for me to come into the agency for this part. Apparently, if I wanted, they would put together a slide show of the potential matches, then let me choose. But that felt… well,icky. I’ve avoided dating apps for a reason: I don’t want to find someone as if I’m online shopping for shoes. No, swipe, no, swipe.

Not that I shop for shoes online.

No, if I’m doing this, I am placing everything in Poppy’s hands. That way, when it all goes pear-shaped (as it is bound to do), I can tell Anjali that I tried, and we can shelve this assignment for good.

I realise I’m so deep in thought that conversation has stalled and nowEwan’swatching out the window.

‘Sorry. Bad company this morning,’ I say, and his eyes return to me. ‘I’m in my head.’

‘That’s all right. Can’t expect you to be Graham Norton every day.’

‘Graham Nort— Is it the outfit?’ I say, looking down. ‘Or the beard?’ I run a hand along my jawline.

‘You’re funny, you know that?’

‘Please tell my mum that. Her sense of humour is very…German–sodry. She doesn’t find me remotely funny.’

‘Well, she’s wrong and I’ll be sure to tell her if I ever meet her,’ he says.

He takes another sip of his coffee, his gaze lingering on mine over the lid, and something actually pings inside me – that’s the only way to describe it. It was a throw-away comment – much like mine about asking him to tell Mum I’m funny – but thatlook.

Is Ewanflirtingwith me?

Oh god, have I got to the point where I can no longer recognise if someone is flirting? Tiggy would know, of course, but she’d also laugh her arse off if I ever asked her about it.

He holds my gaze a little longer, then looks away. Hmm, it doesseemlike flirting. But we’re friends. Just friends. He’s a nice-looking bloke, I think anyone would agree – especially anyone with a crush on James McAvoy (seriously, it’s uncanny). ButIdon’t fancy him.

Before I can unpack any of this further, our MI6 agent appears.

‘Ewan, look,’ I stage whisper. ‘Wait!’ As he starts to turn his head, I grab his arm. ‘Don’t make it obvious.’

He shoots me an amused look, then makes a show of turning around so slowly, somewhere in the world, an entire glacier has formed by the time his back is to me.

The man gets to the front of the line and the bloke at the counter shouts, ‘Earl Grey, no milk, shot of espresso.’

‘Ooh, he’s switching it up,’ I say, still using my stage whisper.

‘There’sdefinitelya hidden meaning in that,’ Ewan says over his shoulder, his lips barely moving.

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