Nine
Greg was in a kind of trance. Or possibly a dream. Or maybe a bit of both. It had been a very long time since he had felt like this, and although he wasn’t quite sure what ‘this’ was, he was sure that it felt good.
But he had to be careful. Jemma was only here for a month, and not only that, she was a famous, and no doubt very wealthy, author.
She had told him during their walk along the beach, that she didn’t have a boyfriend and she rarely went out on dates. She had also said that making friends was something she found difficult. Yet the two of them had hit it off today without even trying.
Was she a workaholic, like him? Or were there other reasons why she didn’t go out that often? Was she as settled in her ways as he was?
And what would happen if things went further between them? He was undeniably attracted to her. From the moment he’d bumped into her in fact. But long-distance relationships didn’twork in his experience. Added to which, his heart had been broken once, five years ago. He was in no hurry to risk it again.
But did he have a choice?
He did, of course. Except it wasn’t a choice he relished. He could keep his distance from Jemma, and put up a metaphorical wall between them.
That wouldn’t work. There was an actual wall between them, and he was already wishing it wasn’t there.
Was he overthinking this? They’d only met today. He might feel as though they had known one another forever, but the cold hard truth was, they hadn’t. And Jemma might not even be attracted to him. He could be living in cloud cuckoo land for all he knew.
Why had he suggested lunch at The Royal Oak? He should’ve taken her to Folkestone. There were several upmarket restaurants there.
He could’ve taken her to The Harbour Arm and to The Lighthouse Champagne Bar at the very end, where, on a day like today they could have sat outside beneath clear blue skies, and people watched, bathed in warm summer sunshine. Although he would’ve spent his time watching Jemma.
The Lighthouse Champagne Bar was situated in the renovated lighthouse which still functioned to this day, and that was definitely part of its charm. The vista from there was superb. The White Cliffs stretched along the coast, and there were views of the fishing harbour, the beach, and the Market. You could see Locke Isle in the English Channel, and as far as the coast of France on days like this.
That would’ve been so romantic. Listening to soft music drifting on the breeze, while breathing in the fresh sea air, and drinking champagne.
Instead, like the idiot he was where women were concerned, he was taking her to his local pub, The Royal Oak.
But there was always another day. And going to the pub might be a better way to start. After all, he didn’t want to begin with a bang – figuratively speaking of course – and go out with a whimper. He could build up to a romantic afternoon, or better yet, a sultry summer evening, at The Lighthouse Champagne Bar on The Harbour Arm.
And now, thanks to his daydreaming, if he didn’t put a spurt on, he’d be late. He said he’d be at Oak View Cottage at noon on the dot. That meant he had exactly one minute to get from his bedroom to Jemma’s front door.
He scanned the room for his phone and spotted it on top of the chest of drawers. He checked the back pocket of his chinos for his wallet. Damn. Where had he put that? Asking Jemma to pay for lunch because he couldn’t find his wallet would be a brilliant start. Not! Perhaps he had left it downstairs with his keys.
Had he forgotten anything else? He spun around so fast it almost made him dizzy. Or perhaps that was due to the excitement building in his head. And not just his head. His chest felt tight and his heart was acting strangely. And so were his legs. They felt a little like jelly.
Was he coming down with something? Knowing his luck of late, he’d probably caught pneumonia due to his soaking in yesterday’s downpour.
He took a few deep breaths, glanced at his watch again, let out a strangled gasp, and ran downstairs like lightning. Then he raced along the hall, and turned back again remembering where he’d left his wallet; it was in the kitchen. He ran and grabbed it, and then he grabbed his keys, finally dashing back to the front door. Unfortunately, he tripped over the mat and banged his head against the door.
‘Oww! That hurt.’ He rubbed his forehead with his fingers. ‘Don’t be such a wimp, Greg,’ he reprimanded himself. ‘And act your age for God’s sake. You’re thirty-five, not fifteen.’
He took a deep breath to compose himself before opening the door and stepping outside, just as the clock on St Gabriel’s Church struck twelve. Luckily for him it was a mere five strides of his long legs from his front door to Jemma’s.
‘Sorry I’m late, but I couldn’t find my wallet,’ he said, smiling nervously when Jemma came to the door. ‘Wow. You look … breathtaking.’
Her face flushed crimson and her smile lit up her stunning, green eyes. His heart hit his chest harder than his forehead had hit his front door.
She had looked good earlier, but now she was wearing some make up. Nothing heavy, thank goodness; he hated that so called ‘perfect’ look several women aimed for. It made them resemble porcelain dolls, in his eyes. And who wanted to date a doll? The mascara, hint of eyeshadow, and subtly glistening vermillion lips almost the same colour as her fiery red hair, but softer, simply enhanced her natural beauty. Although she had tried to cover some of her freckles, which was a pity, in his opinion. She had also changed her dress. The one she had worn earlier had been a sleeveless, turquoise, cotton. This one was strapless, emerald green, like her beautiful eyes, and although not clingy, fitted her like a glove.
‘Thank you,’ she said, sounding almost as breathless as he felt. ‘You look pretty good yourself. That blue polo shirt matches your eyes.’
He gave her a playful frown. ‘Shouldn’t that be my line?’
Her laughter sent rivers of delight rushing through him. ‘I believe in equality for women.’
‘Excellent. Does that mean you’re paying for lunch? Sorry. That was a joke but as soon as I’d said it, I knew it wasn’t a good one.’
