Page 11 of The Wedding Game

He steps forward. ‘Do I maybe want to what?’

I get brave. ‘I was going to say do you want to swap numbers? Just for when you might be back in town again? Although I know you said it’s not often, so …’

‘Yeah,’ he replies uncertainly. ‘We could do.’

I realise, from his tone, that I’ve misjudged the situationdramatically. ‘No, don’t worry.’ I try to claw back my dignity, but fail. ‘Sorry, I’ve totally misread—’

‘No, you haven’t,’ Chris says quickly. ‘You haven’t misreadanything.’ He stands for a second, weighing something up. ‘I think I’m about to do something … unprecedented.’ He glances at his watch.

‘It’s been longer than seventeen minutes, by the way. You’ve missed the boat on proposing,’ I tease.

‘Damn,’ he laughs and then looks at me. ‘Bear with me, because I’m about to do the most random thing I’veeverdone.’

I narrow my eyes, no idea what he’s about to say.

Chris opens his mouth, pauses and then says, ‘Come with me.’

‘Come with you? Where?’

‘To New York,’ he says simply. ‘I know it’s ridiculous. I know we’ve just met. But I also feel as if you should. I feel as if you should come with me.’

‘You feel as if I should come with youto New York?’ I ask in a high-pitched voice.

Chris is laughing now. ‘Yeah. I don’t understand what I’m doing, either. I’ve never moved this quickly in my life,’ he tells me. ‘Maybe that’s where I’ve been going wrong all these years. Lexie, I like you. And unless I am totally misreading things … Ithinkyou might like me.’

I smile shyly and nod. ‘I do.’ What ishappening?

‘So,’ he goes on, and he breathes in, breathes out, ‘come with me to New York.’

I open my mouth and pause. ‘You’re serious?’

He laughs, clearly shocked at his own behaviour. ‘Yeah, I’m serious. It would be like …’ He grasps around for a comparison. ‘It would be like continuing this evening long into the early hours of the morning, which is probably what we would have done if we were both staying at the venue, instead of one of us rushing to catch a flight. We’d wake up here tomorrow, find each other over the breakfast buffet, talk again over coffee and then make plans to continue seeing each other. This is sort of like that. But … on a plane and in a different city.’

I think. ‘Really? Are you being serious?’

‘Maybe,’ Chris replies. ‘I think I am. Yeah. Why not?’

‘I …’ I can’t think of what to say. I like Chris. I liked him immediately. He’s lovely, funny, charming, handsome … And how often does this happen? How often do I meet a man like this and experience such an instant connection? Never. Not like this.Thishas never happened. This seems fated. Chris asking me to go with him – because he feels it too. This must all be happening for a reason. What if he’s the one?

I’m not speaking and he continues, nervously, ‘I know it’s a ridiculous thing to suggest, but …’

‘It is ridiculous, yeah,’ I say absently as I try to think it through. I can feel excitement brewing inside me. I love this idea. I love the idea of being with Chris, even for a minute longer, so the idea of being with him in New York for a few days: yes, please. I don’t exactly have a full diary this week, being unemployed. ‘It’s my turn to clean the flat,’ I say out loud, realising immediately how boring that sounds.

Chris nods, a knowing smile on his face. ‘I hear you. Ilove cleaning. Cleaning is important. I respect your decision-making process.’

‘Shh,’ I say, thinking. ‘Are you being serious?’ I ask again, because I can’t help thinking this sounds fun, incredible. ‘How?’ I ask uncertainly. ‘How would we do this?’

Chris blows air out of his cheeks. ‘I don’t know.’ But his face betrays the excitement that is clearly rushing through him too. ‘How about this,’ he suggests, with laughter in his voice. ‘Just come for a few days. Then, if it turns out I have zero hobbies, we’ve got no chemistry and you don’t fancy watching the sand-timer of your life run out …’ he repeats my words and I can’t help but laugh, then clamp a hand to my mouth as excitement bubbles over. ‘Then you’re only a taxi ride away from the airport,’ he finishes.

‘What if I decide it’s a terrible idea after having spent … however long the flight is with you? I’ll be stuck.’

‘Eight hours,’ he says. ‘It’s only eight hours. And if we land at JFK and you think,This man’s an idiot. No way. I’m out of here, then you’re already at an airport, so you can go home. It’s almosttooeasy,’ he ends with a grin.

Itisalmost too easy, isn’t it? He’s quickly scrolling online, saying that my ESTA will still be valid, as I went to Miami less than two years ago, and that we might just have time to book a flightanddrive to my flat to grab some clothes and my passport.

I love this idea. I love it so much.

But then this dream-like trance that I’m in is replaced by a jolt of reality. How will I pay for all this? I can’t afford a planeticket to New York. I couldn’t even afford drinks at the bar. I can’t afford anything.

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