We eat our meals on the red velvet sofa in front of old reruns ofMy Wife and Kids, and I finally have enough mental capacity to throw myself into the distraction of the bright lights and Junior’s slam poetry. That is, until I glance slightly over to the side and catch Noah staring my way instead of at the show. I expect him to drop his gaze once he’s caught, but instead he leans in. He looks further, eyes boring into me and rendering me still. His lips turn upwards, tentatively at first, but soon with enough confidence to beam at me firmly. I mirror it without trying. His eyes crease with pure, unabashed happiness and I feel my stomach flutter, then dip.
This is becoming a problem.
. . .a new plan
It appears that I have found myself at the precipice of two heartbreakingly true realisations.
1. I have budding, very real feelings for Noah.
2. I absolutely cannot have budding, very real feelings for Noah.
I knew exactly what this was when I agreed to it – I was the one who made the rules, for God’s sake! And somehow, I have let myself become enthralled by a man who wants – nay,needs– to be nothing more than a friend. I blame the close contact and the shared rooms and that perfect proposal kiss. I have Stockholm-syndromed myself into falling for him. And, yes, I’m aware that’s probably not the correct application of Stockholm syndrome.
I’m not prepared to leave him and to start toughing this journey out on my own. Misplaced feelings or not, he does make this whole thing significantly easier. So, there is only one thing to do – burn these feelings of mine to the ground. And the best way to do that is to throw myself into as many dates as possible. There’s no way I can still like Noah if I am busy committing myself to anyone and everyone else. I only have so much capacity for human affection and I need to divert it asap.
It’s probably for the best; I’m seven weeks in and only eleven dates down. There’s no way I’m making it to eighty at this rate, so it’s time to be more proactive and pick up the pace. I’ve alerted Analeise, I’ve told my sisters and I’m searching fornew avenues myself. You’d be surprised how many mixer events actually exist, especially for nomads and tourists.
After many hours of scouring I pencilled down a few and started to look into tickets to various book clubs and walking groups, but then Ana came in with a big ticket – an English-speaking speed dating, taking place on Saturday. I was reluctant at first... I don’t think I am the type of person who would fare particularly well with a speed-dating setup, but then Analeise told me each one could count as an individual date. Plus, I can’t think of a better way to speed-run Noah out of my life.
At least, I thought it would be until Noah heard about it and insisted he came along too. I tried to put up resistance – I need a break from him wherever I can – but he signed up before I could finish convincing him that it would be a terrible idea. Plus, what was I supposed to say? I said I’d help him find someone and recently all I’ve done is resent his dates from afar. Maybe I need full immersion therapy. Seeing him with eight other girls tonight should be enough to knock my feelings clean from my head.
I take a sip of my white wine and relish in the crisp and exceptionally cold mouthful. But even as it washes sweetly over my tongue, I can’t bring myself from fretting about the hour to come. The tables and chairs are all set up in the middle of the floor, each station ready for the pairs who will be sitting there in no time. It looks far more unsettling empty, threatening the horrors that await me later in the night. I swallow again. There is not enough wine in this glass to prepare me for this experience.
‘Smile!’
Noah points his phone at me, snapping pictures before I can truly register them.
‘Perfect,’ he says, flashing my startled face back at me. ‘Your followers are going to eat this up.’
Since I started posting more regularly, as per Noah’s advice, my socials have seen significant growth. People are finallystarting to believe that I may be more than just ‘the dating-app breakdown girl’ and have started to take my column more seriously as a result. Yes, there has been a fair share of weirdos, one of which I even went on a date with (thanks Timothy), but the majority of people have been lovely and supportive, and some of them even think I’m kind of cool.
‘I’ve been thinking about tonight . . .’ Noah says.
‘I know, you’ve talked about it incessantly.’ I roll my eyes.
He spent the afternoon counting down to it, making outfit suggestions and teasing me about what may be headed my way. At 6 p.m., he insisted we get a move on so we could arrive early enough to scout out the best prospects. Now here we are at the bar, thirty minutes early, only making the anticipation worse.
He doesn’t react to my snark, smiling on nonetheless as he leans in closer to impart his bright idea.
‘I thought we could make a wager.’ His lip curls.
‘A wager?’ I ask nervously.
‘First one to get an actual date out of this owes the other dinner.’
‘Absolutely not,’ I say instantly.
He looks to me for a reason and I scramble for something palatable to say. I can’t possibly reveal the truth – that I feel a pull in my gut at the thought of Noah getting a real date out of this.
‘It’s not a fair fight; you’re better at this than me,’ I eventually say.
He laughs in response and I breathe deeply, knowing it was believable.
‘It’s because you doubt yourself too much,’ he says. ‘You’re hot and personable enough to be great at this. Just go in bold and show them what you want. Like this...’
He rushes the last part as the bartender comes over, smile bright as she asks us if we want any more drinks. He smiles back at her just as widely, elbow on the counter as he responds.
‘We’ll take two tequila shots and I will take your number, if it’s going.’
