“I don’t know how I’m supposed to face him again. It was such a lovely afternoon, we saw puffins and seals and then...” My throat closes. “Then everything went wrong, and he couldn’t get rid of me fast enough.”
Fee bites her lip, studying me. “Look,” she says gently, “I guarantee Patrick’s not sitting in his cottage upset. You move on, put yourself out there, and you finish that list like we talked about.”
A brittle laugh bursts out of me. “No, he’s definitely not crying into his whisky about kissing the IT girl.”
“The thing is...” Fee winces. “I see him sometimes with women. Different ones. Getting into his Land Rover, on the beach. He’s discreet, but...” She squeezes my arm. “You’re too soft for someone like that.”
“Thanks,” I say, my voice flat with hurt sarcasm.
“Shit, no!” She grabs both my arms. “That came out wrong. I meant you’re too good for him. I just don’t want you to get hurt worse than you already are. You’re far too gentle and sweet for someone like him; that’s all.”
The thing is, I already know this. It’s not like I harbored a ridiculous fantasy that Patrick would suddenly decide the awkward IT girl was his soulmate. I’m not that delusional. He’s got women far more attractive and accomplished than me throwing themselves at him.
“You’re probably right anyway. I’m hardly his type, am I?”
Fee doesn’t argue. Doesn’t sayof course you are. Just bites her lip and changes tack. “Can we at least cross off ‘see puffins and whales’ from the list?”
“No,” I say quietly. “We didn’t see the whales.”
She winces, clearly regretting she brought it up. “Sorry. So... the bikini worked though, didn’t it?”
I stare at her, watery-eyed, recoiling.
That bikini wasn’t meant towork. It wasn’t bait. It wasn’t some strategic deployment of sex appeal. It was me trying to fake a little confidence, to look like a woman who belonged on a boat next to him instead of the anxious IT gremlin I usually am.
Now, her saying it worked is like a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. What message did I send? That I was trying to seduce him?
NINETEEN
The back office
Georgie
Sometimes my obsession withcoding edges into unhealthy territory, but it’s my safe space. It’s the one place where I get to be creative, daring, and wildly impressive.
It’s been three days since The Great Nautical Cock-Up. I’ve basically barricaded myself in the back office ever since, hiding inside lines of code, where everything makes sense and nothing can reject me.
I put myselfout thereon that boat.
And it blew up in my face.
I haven’t seen much of Patrick since. The few times we’ve crossed paths in the hotel, he’s given me a pained look. Like he’s remembering the moment he temporarily lost grip on reality and kissed the office nerd.
Maybe my inexperience was obvious. Fumbling around like I’d never encountered male anatomy before—which, to be fair, it had been a while. It certainly wasn’t the sultry confidence of a woman who knows her way around a penis.
Or maybe I’m just not pretty enough. Too mousy. Some fatal flaw that sends men sprinting after kissing me.
Maybe he’s genuinely concerned about what Jake would think. Though honestly, Jake would sooner believe Patrick had joined a cult than that he’d made out with his socially awkward sister on a boat.
But here’s the scarier thought: if I let this stop me, I’ll retreat further until I’ve disappeared altogether. I’ll end up as that woman who only emerges to refill her bird feeder.
I’m going to put myself out there. I know there are decent guys, not just the Steves and Craigs of the world, or the Patricks with the power to break me into tiny pieces.
I deserve passion. I deserve good dick. Even if it’s just island magic that disappears when I return to London.
Fee, saint that she is, has already lined up a date for me—her yoga friend’s brother. He has a kind smile in his photos. He’s not my boss. These feel like reasonable starting criteria.
So no, I’m not giving up. Not on men, not on life, not on myself. Not yet. And that includes facing my fears of talking in public.
