Page 72 of So, I Met This Guy . . .

For a split second Maggie faltered as Sander threw back the question, not wanting to reveal her situation, to explain why she was there, before suddenly realizing she didn’t have to. She could be anyone here. She didn’t have to be Maggie, the woman who lost everything, the fool who fell for a man who told her he loved her, the penniless loser living in a caravan. She could rewrite her life. Escape from her reality, at least for a little while. After all, she was never going to see him again.

‘I’ve taken the summer off to come to Europe and study art history.’

It just came out.

‘A sabbatical?’ Sander’s eyes widened and he looked at her, his expression one of genuine interest.

‘Yeah, sort of.’

A sabbatical. She liked that idea. She was taking a sabbatical from her life.

‘And what do you do?’

‘I’m an artist. Painter. Mixed media. Oils mostly.’

‘Fascinating.’

Fascinating. For so long she had been anything but that. But now in this warm evening breeze on the Amalfi Coast she was chatting to a handsome Dutchman who found her fascinating. It felt intoxicating.

‘I was in tech, but recently I needed a change so I sold my company. Now I have a bicycle shop and do guided tours.’

‘Wow, that’s so interesting.’

‘No, really, it’s not as interesting as what you’re doing.’

She felt a stab of guilt. He was being so nice.

‘Do you ride a bike?’

‘Yes, back in England, not here.’ Maggie gestured to the steep stone steps and he laughed.

‘Well, if you ever find yourself in Lisbon, you must come rent a bike from me. I’m by the seafront. Look for the yellow sign with the windmill.’ He smiled. ‘I’m joking about the windmill.’

‘Lisbon?’

‘I moved to Portugal. I needed a change.’ He didn’t go into details and she knew there was something more he wasn’t telling her, but she didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know. For a few moments she wanted to enjoy being in this make-believe bubble.

‘Do you want me to take your picture? It’s a good one.’ Changing the subject, he pointed to the view behind her.

‘Oh, no, I don’t think so, I look a mess.’

She gestured to her outfit, but he ignored her and, putting down his backpack, took out his phone.

‘No, seriously, I have a good eye. The sky is very pretty.’

Feeling self-conscious, she smoothed down her hair and leaned against the railing, trying not to think about her crumpled sundress and scruffy trainers. She felt slightly ridiculous as she smiled for the camera.

‘What’s your number? I’ll WhatsApp it to you.’

‘You could just AirDrop it.’

‘I could, but then I wouldn’t have your number.’

And now Sander was the one smiling and looking self-conscious.

‘It’s not just the sky. You look very pretty too.’

‘Sorry, I don’t give my number to strangers.’