My feet follow him into a lazy, rhythmic sway that feels less like dancing and more like floating.I’ve never dated a guy who dances.Even at concerts, most of them just stand there like confused giraffes.
‘Joke’s on Mum though,’ he continues.‘Dancing was way more expensive than soccer.’
We move around the tiny living room as if we do this all the time.My heart is doing suspicious things.My stomach is full of focaccia and also dread; I’m enjoying this too much.
‘Do you do this with all your Tinder dates?’I ask, trying to lighten the moment.
‘Only the ones who say they like climbing.’
Touché.
The music slows, and so do we.
He looks at me – really looks at me – and I know what’s coming.I’ve been here before.‘A Sunday Kind of Love’ starts playing as his hand slides to my neck, and before I can overthink it, he kisses me.
It’s soft.Steady.Sweet in a way that lingers.
Just for tonight, I let him believe that we could be perfect together.
I wake up and the first thing I register is the absence of Andrew.The second is a note, folded neatly and sitting where his chest had been.
Hey, last night was amazing.
So sorry to leave.Promised my boss I’d be on-site at 7.Call me?
– Andrew
I stare at the smiley face for a second too long before grinning like an idiot.Unicorns, apparently, do leave notes.I stretch lazily, content for a full three seconds – then look at my phone.
‘Shit.’
Leaping out of bed, I drag on a pair of bike shorts and whatever socks I can find.I’m still trying to shove my foot into my shoe when the doorbell rings.I stumble out of the elevator and yank open the building’s front door to find Abbey, who looks like a sports influencer.Neon crop top.Matching bike shorts.Speed-dealer sunnies.
‘Ready?’she asks, hands on hips.
‘Would it change anything if I said no?’
Her smile is a threat.‘No.’Then she turns and sets off in a casual run.
‘Fantastic.’I sigh, and start after her, lungs already regretting it.The first kilometre involves trying not to trip over labradoodles and prams.But eventually we hit the path that runs alongside the beach, and the air is salty and the view is pretty and I can almost pretend I’m not dying.
‘So,’ Abbey pants evenly, ‘how was it?’
I wheeze.‘What?’
‘Last night.You still have all your skin, so I’m guessing it went okay?’
I grin despite myself.‘He can dance.’
She shoots me a look.‘Did you get … closet vibes?’
‘What?No.Maybe?I don’t know.’We weave around a pack of retirees in matching sun hats before I add, ‘Honestly, I wouldn’t care either way.The guy can move.’
Abbey groans.‘Of course you’d fall for the one straight guy who can salsa.’
‘I’m not falling.I’m … appreciative.’
Abbey snorts.‘You know this isn’t joy, right?’
