Page 26 of The Wedding Game

‘He caught me off-guard. I wasn’t expecting to be toldhe lives in the Cotswolds or the West Country, or whatever you call it.’

‘Nice part of the world,’ Scarlet says absently. ‘Lots of celebs live there. Went to a wedding there once.’

‘I’ve never been,’ I tell her.

‘You might get the chance,’ she replies. ‘You might end up shacking up with a farmer … Stranger things have happened.’

‘I doubt it. It’s probably a two-date thing,’ I say. Although I’m reminded of that kiss and how lovely Josh is, and handsome, and rugged … in a farmer-way that makes sense, now I know he is indeed a farmer.

‘When are you seeing him next?’ she asks.

‘Saturday. He’s going to stay overnight in a hotel.’

Scarlet’s eyes widen and a knowing smile crosses her face. ‘Ishe now?’

‘I won’t be going back there with him after our date.’

‘We’ll see,’ she replies.

I’m at my desk at my temp job on Friday afternoon – or, rather, I’m at someone else’s desk covering their annual leave – manning the phones and cobbling together security badges and lanyards yet again. It’s at a not-so-busy office block in the City, where each floor is rented out to different companies and it’s interesting watching all the various people coming and going.

Actually it’s not interesting at all, and that’s why I’m discreetly scrolling through interior design courses on the computer in front of me. All the scrolling and clickingmakes me look busy, which is one thing, I suppose. I’m overwhelmed by how many courses there are and how many are spread across London at various ‘creative’ campuses. And as if the confusion wasn’t enough, they are eye-wateringly expensive, if I want to attend either in person or from home. After about an hour of research and taking notes about prices and colleges, I close the browser. Being an interior designer felt more like a possibility yesterday than it does today. This just doesn’t feel feasible for me at the minute, financially or time-wise, if I’m going to work at the same time.

A dream is a dream for a reason, I suppose. Maybe it’s best to keep it that way.

My phone dings, and it’s Josh asking if I’m still on for our date tomorrow evening. I answer immediately. We’ve been texting back and forth a little bit here and there through the week. It’s slow, casual, easy.

The same can be said of Chris, as he messaged and we picked up our conversation straight away, comparing art we like, films we hate, books we own, but haven’t read. I can’t text back quickly enough and I feel my face form an easy smile whenever one of his messages lands on my screen. But when Josh’s messages arrive, I feel heightened too – in a good way.

On Monday evening I thanked Josh for a lovely date the previous day and then followed it up with a request for a picture of him on his farm. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I got a very early-morning selfie on Tuesday of Josh fitting some kind of contraption to a cow’s udders. I was hoping for a pic of him chopping wood or something equally sexy.I think I’ve misjudged what goes on in a farmer’s world. I had no idea how to reply to the photo he sent, and instead focused on the presence of his morning stubble. And then on Wednesday I sent him a selfie of me at work, because my life is so utterly boring it was either that or a selfie of me walkingtowork.

I’ve got one week left in this temp job and I haven’t been booked for the week after yet, so I need to make a point of nudging recruiters again. But first … I reply to Josh.

What shall we do?

What do you want to do?he asks. Just when I’m thinking this might be a little unimaginative, Josh types,OK … tomorrow evening, dinner, obviously. And then on Sunday – you mentioned Kensington Palace last time … shall we give that a go? A picnic and a palace?

I smile because I can’t think of anything better. Later he suggests that for our dinner we meet at a restaurant named Daphne’s in Chelsea. I practically skip home at the end of my working day.

It’s only the next evening, as I’m readying myself to leave the flat for our date, that I work out that tonight and tomorrow morning means two dates back-to-back, and I’m honestly not sure what to do about this. Should I demurely say goodbye to Josh after dinner this evening and then bundle myself back to the far side of town, to meet him again for our palace picnic on Sunday?

‘You should pack an overnight bag and go with the flow,’ Scarlet tells me.

‘Really? Feels a bit … you know,’ I reply.

‘Yes, it does,’ she says excitedly. ‘But also investigative. Because if he’s crap in bed, then you don’t have to keep waiting around all week for a farmer from the West Country to make it back into London at the end of the working week. You can get rid of him early on.’

‘Hmm,’ I ponder.

‘Just enjoy yourself,’ she tells me. ‘See where it leads. Don’t put pressure on anything, and if you end up back here tonight, so be it.’

The restaurant is filled with fresh seasonal flowers on every table and in open urn-style vases around the walls – bright dahlias, clematis and big blowsy heads of hydrangeas in varying shades of purples, reds and pinks. Above us is foliage, which I suspect is fresh rather than synthetic, and there’s an archway leading towards a conservatory area filled with more fresh flowers. It must cost them a fortune to keep the place looking like this. Waiters in matching green suit jackets move around effortlessly and it’s as if the restaurant has fallen out of a bygone era and into modern-day London. I love it.

‘This is so pretty,’ I tell Josh immediately as I greet him at our table. The wide bifold glass doors are open at the front of the restaurant where we’re sitting and the evening sunlight filters down onto us, as conversations from nearby tables and those positioned just outside on the pavement merge into one, while Chelsea locals walk past with large handbags and small dogs.

‘Hi.’ Josh stands to greet me, kissing me on my cheek, theroughness of his stubble grazing my face, but not unpleasantly so. He smells of fresh earth and countryside. I inhale him. ‘I’m glad you like the restaurant,’ he says. ‘I asked a friend for a recommendation and this was it.’

‘You don’t supply the beef here too then?’ I ask with a sideways smile.

---