Page 49 of The One That I Want

‘So Harrison Reid stays at number one?’ he asks.

‘Ithink so – based on his profile and the number of compatibility markers he shares with Greta. Don’t you?’

‘I do, yes. But we’re sticking with the current plan, right – Greta goes out with Harrison but onlyaftershe dates the duds?’

‘Well, obvs,’ I say, rolling out my fave Britishism.

‘Don’t do that, Poppy,’ he rebukes. ‘With an Australian accent? Just… no.’

Well, I guess I’ve been told then.

Greta

‘Hello, you,’ I say to Ewan.

I’m sat at what’s become ‘my table’, furthest from the door and tucked in the corner next to the floor-to-ceiling window – an excellent spot to watch the world go by any time my mind wanders, which is often these days.

For the past fifteen minutes, I’ve been pretending to work while pretendingnotto be scouring the coffee shop for Ewan (it’s positivelyteemingthis morning). It’s silly really, my behaviour. We had a lovely time the other night and I should have asked for his contact details rather than hoping to run into him by happenstance.

‘Hello,’ he replies. ‘Smallconfession. I saw you come in, so I lined up to get you this.’ He places a paper bag on the table.

‘Oh, a mystery confection,’ I say, eyeing the bag. ‘How did you know that’s my favourite?’

We share a smile.

‘May I?’ he asks, indicating the chair opposite me.

‘Please.’

He sits and we regard each other for a moment.

‘Aren’t you going to open it?’ he asks, his gaze dropping to the paper bag.

‘Oh, sorry.’

I unfold the top of the bag and out wafts a delectable aroma, but when I look inside, I’m confused.

‘Not the prettiest of pastries, but I assure you, they’re delicious.’

I laugh. ‘But what is it?’

‘A cronut.’

‘Now you’re just making up words.’

He crosses his forefinger over his heart. ‘I promise, they’re a real thing. They’ve been taking America by storm for more than a decade.’

I tear open the bag, and the smell of cinnamon is like a slap to the face – a soft, delicious slap.

‘Halvsies?’ I ask. It smells incredible but there’s no way I’m eating the whole thing by myself – it’senormous.

‘Why not?’ he replies.

He tears the pastry down the middle and we each take a half, then a bite.

‘So,’ he says after he swallows. ‘How’s your article going – the one about the bloke with all the muscles?’

A chunk of cronut goes down the wrong way and I cough and splutter.

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