“You’re incredibly high maintenance.”
I pout. “I’m not… I just…” Meh. It’s too early to argue and he’s clearly in a worse than usual grump. I start packing up all our stuff into the bags, taking the tent down and offering him a protein bar. He takes it, still refusing to sit down, walking a little further towards the lake to glare out at the scenery, doing his Austen hero stance.
It’s nothing personal, Fliss. Sometimes people get grumpy, and it isn’t you who caused it. You aren’t responsible for other people’s feelings.
James peers over his shoulder and catches me watching him. I blush, warmth pooling through me. Why am I embarrassed? Was I checking him out? Was he checking me out? Am I officially losing my mind? I kneel on the ground to cram the tent into its packaging. Shrugging my own bag onto my shoulders, I pick up James’ to meet him down by the lake. I take one last look across the place we camped to check nothing has been left behind.
It’s as if we were never there.
“Here,” I say. “Do you think you’ll be able to carry it?”
“Yeah. Sorry I called you high maintenance just now. I didn’t mean it. You’re not. And you didn’t have to pack everything up on your own.”
“Well, it’s done now.”
James nods, giving me a look. His gaze catches on mine. I take a deep breath as his eyes flit down the length of me then away back to the river so fast I almost can’t trust it even happened. He’s definitely checking me out. I know he was. He must be suffering from “last two people” syndrome as well. Poor soul. Let’s hope our horny arses can make it to the castle without doing anything we’ll regret.
“Better get going,” I say, striding off in the direction we think we should be heading in. At this point, who even knows. We don’t have a compass. Our map skills are so wanting we’re essentially having to guess and hope for the best. Our generation have been spoiled with Google Maps and Citymapper. We don’t have the same navigation skills as our parents. I remember watching from the back seat of our car as a map the size of the windscreen would be held up, twisted and argued over as they worked out which road to take next. I haven’t had to do that in forever.
James stumbles along behind me, dragging his feet. Every now and again, his foot catches on a stone or a lump of grass, and he trips or sends something flying.
“So,” James says out of nowhere. “What was your worst date?” I wonder if he’s now trying to fill the silence for a reason, or if he is considering my need to fill the silence. Maybe he feels bad for snapping at me this morning.
I don’t look back at him as I respond. “Mini golf. Two years ago. Guy got so angry with his lack of skills, he threw his putter through a window.”
“Jeez.” I’m pleased when I hear James snort a laugh.
“You?”
“Few months ago, I went out for a nice dinner with this girl on a dating site. Was all going really smoothly. She was alright. Funny, pretty, had some decent banter. Then she started telling me about her boyfriend.”
“What?!” I laugh.
“Yeah. It was like her kink or something.”
“What!?”
“I don’t know. Clearly, I got caught up in something. She wanted me to go back with them. I’m up for some shit but that’s too much even for me.”
I’m gawping at the path ahead. His story doesn’t surprise me. There were several dates I had myself where it was pretty obvious the guy was fielding calls from other women. Sad part is, they were usually the ones most keen to meet up again. Lowers your opinion of people in general.
“I hate dating. I hardly do it these days. It’s far too stressful,” I say.
“Stressful?”
“Very. You just never know where you stand, or what the other person’s expectations are. Some dates would be going great then I’d suggest splitting the bill and the conversation would nosedive. The whole vibe would change. I really thought our generation was better than that.”
“Fragile masculinity.”
“It is. But it’s more than that, it symbolises, to them, that the date isn’t going to be simply transactional. I’m worth more than a meal.”
“You are.”
A warm swell surrounds my heart, squeezing it. I bite the inside of my cheek. “I know. That’s why I’ve given up. Also, I swear none of these guys know what they want or even what they like. They can barely talk about themselves or their lives. It’s all very superficial and boring.”
James is laughing. Without turning I can almost hear his head shaking, and his eyes rolling. “I know where you’re coming from.” He pauses. “Whatdoyou want then?”
“I’m not telling you.”
