An hour passed, and she was in the middle of finishing up some paperwork when Russell’s voice broke her focus.
“Daisy,” he said, walking into her office with his usual calm. “One of the soldiers would like to see you.”
He must have noticed her confusion because he added, “His name is Callan. Apparently, you two know each other.”
She walked out into the waiting room, feeling that strange combination of nervousness and curiosity, and there he was—his uniform crisp, hair neatly combed, and face freshly shaved.
He looked up, his eyes locking onto hers, and a smile stretched across his face. “Daisy Jenkins,” he said, his voice easy, as though no time had passed at all. “How are you?”
She stood there for a moment, unsure of what to do with herself. She was caught between wanting to greet him and not quite knowing how. “I’m…good,” she said finally, the words feeling foreign in her mouth. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, funny story,” he started, his eyes doing a brief scan of the room. “I just realised you worked here, and I lost your number…” He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips as he surveyed the space. “And if memory serves me correctly, you forgot something.”
“I did?”
“Yes, you did,” he said, taking a few steps closer, his voice lowering as he whispered in her ear. “Our date.”
She blinked, her breath catching as she processed his words. Then, without thinking, she grabbed his arm and led him to her office, acutely aware of the gazes following them.
Once they were safely behind closed doors, she couldn’t help it; she laughed, covering her mouth to stifle the sound. “I thought you weren’t interested,” she said, the laugh still bubbling in her chest.
“Why would you think that?”
“You never messaged.”
“I lost your number.”
She pulled a face. “Really?”
“Don’t wound me. If I ask someone out for a drink and their number, it’s not because I’m trying to be nice.”
She raised an eyebrow. “What would you have done if I’d pretended I didn’t know you?”
He shrugged, unfazed. “Funnily enough, somehow I knew you wouldn’t.”
“That’s presumptuous of you.”
“It is,” he admitted with a grin. “But since you didn’t, I was right, wasn’t I?”
Her gaze flickered to the door, catching Edie’s curious stare through the glass wall. Daisy knew exactly what Edie would be doing once Callan left—dragging her into a debrief session, no doubt.
“So, this date,” he continued, eyeing the framed articles in the room. “Tonight good?”
“It’s a Tuesday,” she replied, trying to ignore the surge of nerves spreading through her veins.
“And?” he pressed, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “What’s wrong with that?”
She faltered, her mind scrambling for an explanation. Her limited history meant she’d always assumed dates were reserved for weekends in case it ran into the early hours.
“Oh, erm…I guess…tonight works,” she said, almost unsure of herself.
His smile widened, and before she could say anything else, he pulled out his phone, offering it to her. “Can you put your number in here so I can fetch your address? I’ll pick you up at seven.”
She nodded and punched her number in, and then he left, waving to everyone as he did.
Callan was intelligent. Daisy knew that much was evident within minutes of meeting him. As time passed, she noticed he would spend hours with his head buried in books, convinced that the loss of imagination was the greatest threat to humanity, and just as much time translating his thoughts into song lyrics.
They would spend hours together debating the ways of the world. She fell hard and fast—it was hard not to. Callan, it seemed, was perfect. After years spent unlucky in love, she’d found it, she thought.The One.
