“Thanks. Now, this next one is an IPA—the one nominated for the Swills, so brace yourself. It’s probably going to be—”
“I ended things properly with Matthew,” I blurt out.
His hand holding the glass is poised in midair. He blinks at me. One of his colleagues was standing just behind him as I spoke and, her eyes widening, she nonchalantly shuffles away from the bar to give us some privacy.
“Sorry,” I say hurriedly, shaking my head, flushing once again. “I just… I thought you should… know.”
“Oh.” He puts the glass down. “I… uh… I’m sorry that you… I hope you’re okay.”
“Yes! It’s a good thing,” I say, flustered. “Technically we were over already, anyway, as you know. But we had a sort of… final talk, if you like. And it was my decision this time. As well as his. It was mutual. It’s completely over.Finito.He’s out of my life. See ya later, Matthew, you’re gone!Au revoir! Hola! Arrivederci!”
“Actually, ‘hola’ means ‘hello.’”
“I realized that as soon as I said it.”
There’s an awkward pause.
I grimace. “Sorry, Jamie. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“No! No, don’t say sorry, it’s fine,” he says, looking a bit panicked. “It’s good news. As in, I’m… you know… happy for you. If you’re happy.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it’s good.”
“Good.”
We fall into silence. He stands awkwardly. I sit tensely. He slowly slides the glass across the bar to me. He clears his throat.
“So, here’s the IPA. It’s… hoppy.”
“Right.” I take a sip. “Yes. Nice and… hoppy.”
Oh my god. This is more awkward than the time my ex-fiancé called when Jamie was in the middle of kissing me after I’d run about naked in front of him!
I’ve clearly made an error of judgment here. I’ve told him that I’m officially single and he’s responded with a comment about the hoppiness of a beer. I made a stupid assumption about the stupid spark between us and now I’ve put us both in a really uncomfortable situation.
“I should be getting back home,” I say firmly, tapping the side of the IPA glass. “That’s really good. I’m officially impressed. You are very clever.”
You are very clever?!
Sure, Freya, that’s the sort of chat that will make him want to rip your clothes off.
Up your game, woman.
“Thanks so much for the tasting session,” I continue, sliding off the barstool. “And it was nice seeing you again.”
“Freya,” he begins, frowning, “wait, you don’t have to go. I—”
“No, no, I want to go! I mean, not that I want to go. I just have to go, because I havesomuch to do. Ruby’s hen do, you know, there’s a lot to organize. Food, games, penis hats—”
Why have you mentioned the penis hats?
“—you know how it is. Anyway, good luck with”—I gesture to the bar as I walk backward—“this stuff—”
“Freya…”
“Delicious stuff! It was delicious. Thank you. Okay, bye then.”
I turn on my heel and get out of there as fast as I can before he can stop me, his stunned expression as I backed away from him burned into my brain for me to agonize over all the way home. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have brought up Matthew. Up until that moment, we were having a very nicetime. For goodness’ sake, Freya, he probably has a girlfriend! Or maybe he thinks we had our moment, I screwed it up, and life has moved on. I have a lot of baggage, too. And that kissing, we were in a different country and we’d had a lot to drink and we’d been at a wedding, so it was all romantic and…
