Page 7 of Sincerely Yours, Anna Sherwood

‘I mean, it happenedonce,’ I grant, ‘but that is one more time than anybody should have to put their shoes on and find them full of honey.’

‘It really is,’ Lloyd agrees, his face gravely serious as he nods.

I cut him a look, not sure if he’s teasing or not, but it’s me who cracks into a smile first. I knock my shoulder into his and mutter to him, ‘Shut up,’ but I hope he knows I don’t mean it. The last thing I want is for him to shut up right now.

He doesn’t feel like such a stranger anymore. Nothing about this feels strange, actually. It feels …nice. Right. Like this is exactly where I’m supposed to be right now, and this is exactly how my night was supposed to go. Maybe he was on to something, believing in fate …

We emerge onto the riverside, the pathways wide. The street lights bounce amber ripples on the ink-dark water; a small boat cuts through, gleaming white in the dark. Up ahead, the lights of the London Eye are glinting, replacing the stars on a cloudless summer night in the city.

My arm bumps into Lloyd’s again as we walk andeat our chips and tell each other all sorts of true things about ourselves. Inconsequential, miscellaneous things like what kind of movies we like watching or the last thing we listened to on Spotify. Big secrets, like how he’s on a gap year from a Law and Economics degree right now and isn’t sure he wants to go back to it at the end of the summer, and how I hate that my mum got back in touch with me again three years ago, acting like she never left when I was little and like everything was fine, never stopping to consider ifIwanted a relationship with her again. Lloyd tells me how his dad used to smile when his mum was still alive.

‘You mean, used to smile more?’

The look on Lloyd’s face is so lost, so sad, it’s heartbreaking.

‘No,’ he says. ‘I mean, he never smiles anymore at all. I miss that, almost as much as I miss her.’

We talk about our star signs because he believes in horoscopes. I confess how glad I am to have a break from the catty people I’ve lived with at uni and that next year I’ll be living with more like-minded people from my course instead. He bemoans the Japanese classes his dad made him take, but is more upbeat when he tells me he speaks a little Hindi; his mum taught him what she could remember.

I laugh when I hear he writes poetry, because of course he does, this boy with his quick heart and kiss-me lips, and he tells me he’s sorry that my ex-boyfriend and I couldn’t manage to make things work after we went away to different universities, and broke up over Christmas break.

‘It can’t have been easy,’ he tells me, full of sympathy. ‘I had a rough breakup at the end of last summer, so I get it. It sucks when someone breaks your heart.’

‘Iwas the one who broke up with him,’ I point out, but then find myself admitting, ‘The hard part was when he said he shouldn’t have been so surprised, and it was no wonder I didn’t have many friends at school, because I’m cold and unlikeable.’

‘Jeez. He said that?’

I bite my lip, feeling like I’ve gone too far. I’ve never told anybody he said that.

I’m too scared if I do, people will only tell me it’s true.

With our chippy takeaways now long-since finished and the wrapping discarded, Lloyd’s hand slips into mine.

‘I don’t think you’re cold or unlikeable, for the record. And that’s something true.’

Somehow I can believe it, coming from him.

We talk, and talk, and the city doesn’t sleep and neither do we.

Sometime way past midnight, we lean against the wall by the river, watching another boat go by, and people walking along the opposite bank, all of us wrapped up in our own little worlds.

It’s nice. Comfortable, and steady.

And none of it is real. Not really, not in any way that matters, because once I get home, I won’t see Lloyd again after tonight. He’s beautiful. He’s charming, a romantic at heart, with an easy smile and ready laugh. He’s a dream guy, but that’s all he is: a dream.

Still. It’s nice to enjoy it, for a little while. To pretend it is real.

I know that it could be. That I could ask for his number, say I want to see him again, suggest we go on a real date – but that’s not what I’m in the city for, and not what this summer is about. All that matters for the next twelve weeks is my internship at Arrowmile. I have to give it my all. Iwantto give it my all. I don’t need some silly summer fling to distract me.

But still.

It’s nice to pretend for just one night.

So when the conversation trails off, and I feel Lloyd shift closer, hear him murmur my name in a soft, heady voice, and his hand comes up to ghost along my cheek, I don’t stop him. I twist to face him and let my eyelids flutter shut, enjoying the sensation of his fingertipsalong my skin, and then brushing back the loose hair around my face. I tilt my face towards his, relishing the way his lips feel against mine.

He tastes of beer and chips, like summers at the seaside with my friends.

This isn’t the sloppy, drunken kiss of a random boy on a night out. This is firm; confident. Grown-up and sobered up, a tongue teasing at my lower lip and a shiver running down my spine.

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