Page 42

If all dates were this easy, I would take back my comment to Flora about choosing books over men. I know that’s a big thing to say, but that’s how good this date is.

The thoughtfulness of this surprise evening encouraged me to make an effort with my appearance; if this was going to be a proper first date, I needed to dress for it, like I would any other, even if it was taking place on my balcony.

It’s a warm evening, and it felt like a special one, so I slipped on one of my favourite outfits: a burgundy mini dress with a high neckline, contoured bodice and cap sleeves, gold embellishment on the pockets.

I had to sneak out in my robe to grab some pointed-toe stilettos from the shoe stand next to the door, scurrying back into my room before he could see the finished look.

With my hair swept up into a loose updo, tendrils framing my face, I added some statement gold earrings, a slick of mascara, bronzer and plum lipstick.

When I emerged out onto the balcony, he was in the middle of putting out the cutlery.

As he looked up, the forks he was holding slipped onto the table with a loud clatter. His eyes widened and his lips parted. I blushed furiously under his gaze. Men have looked at me before, and I’ve known what they’re thinking, but no one’s ever looked at me like that.

‘Wow,’ he breathed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. ‘You look beautiful.’

I smiled at him. The way he was looking at me made me feel beautiful.

So far, it’s been, hands down, the best first date I’ve ever had. There have been no awkward silences, no forced small talk – the whole evening, we’ve been chatting and laughing and learning about each other. We’re comfortable in each other’s company.

Digging into the delicious pasta he bought, I joke about his lack of cooking skills, and when I get ahead of myself trying to make plans for the extra week I now have here, he teases me about being a control freak.

I love that his sense of humour means we can take the piss out of each other already, and more than that, he’s good at making me laugh at myself.

‘Did you always know you wanted to be a writer?’ he asks once we’ve finished eating and he’s cleared away the plates, having refused to let me lift a finger all night.

‘Actually, there was a time when I was convinced I was going to be a ballet dancer,’ I inform him with a playful smile. ‘But I peaked in performance too early.’

‘How early are we talking?’

‘Around seven years old. I was in a widely-acclaimed production of Goldilocks and The Three Bears at my local dance studio.’

‘Impressive. Were you a lead role?’

‘In a manner of speaking. I played the part of Porridge Bowl A.’

He bursts out laughing. ‘ What? You’re making this up. That’s not a role.’

‘It is! There were the three porridge bowls that she comes upon in the house, so there were three of us wearing porridge-bowl costumes, and I was the tallest so I was Daddy Bear’s bowl. We had our own little dance and everything.’

‘That has to be the cutest thing I’ve ever heard.’

‘Even cuter when I tell you that I got stuck in the door coming off the stage because my bowl costume was so big and circular. I misjudged the space and forgot to go through at an angle. Porridge Bowl B had to shove me through it from behind.’

He cackles with laughter, head tipped back, his whole face lit up.

I love making you laugh like that , I think, watching him, sparks erupting in my belly.

‘Here I was thinking you were so sophisticated and glamorous,’ he says, shaking his head, still chuckling. ‘Porridge Bowl A. Any photos?’

‘Mum might have one or two at home.’

‘I’ll have to ask her to show me them,’ he says, without thinking.

His smile falters. A wave of panic flickers across his expression, before he reaches for his drink, taking a sip.

My heart sinks a little as we both silently acknowledge that he won’t be meeting any of my family or friends any time soon.

No matter how good this date is, all this can ever be is a fling, and a secret one at that.

‘She might have thrown them out by now,’ I say in an attempt to breeze over the hiccup. ‘She told me she’s done a big clear-out of the house before it goes on the market.’

He looks at me intently. ‘How are you feeling about it?’

‘The clear-out? Pretty good. I don’t like clutter.’

‘No kidding. I meant, how are you feeling about the house going on the market?’ he says, his tone soft and serious.

My eyes drop to my hands in my lap. I have the stock answer at the ready for this: fine .

Everything is always fine. And when things aren’t that fine, I laugh them off or fake it.

That’s how I work. That’s how I’ve always worked.

It’s not that I don’t have the emotional intelligence to acknowledge when things are bad – I appreciate I’m not a robot. I just prefer to handle it myself.

The truth is, I don’t want anyone to think I can’t.

But Leo will see right through me. I think I’ve known that about him from the beginning; the way he looks at me as though he’s determined to see past the shield I’m wielding.

He’s been slowly trying to figure me out on the sly, while I’ve been publicly hammering away at his own defences.

There doesn’t seem to be any point in pretending with him. And I don’t want to.

‘Sad,’ I admit hoarsely. ‘I’m feeling really sad about it.’

He exhales through his nose, his expression darkening. He almost looks pained. ‘I’m so sorry, Iris.’

‘Me too. I know it’s for the best, but,’ I furrow my brow, ‘I’ll miss it.’

He nods in understanding.

I take a sip of my water before continuing.

‘You know, sometimes I worry that I’m remembering things wrong.

Making up happy family memories, all the love and security of this…

idyllic family unit I could have sworn I felt, wondering if I was na?ve to what was really happening around me.

I usually pride myself on being so observant.

’ I chew on my lip, my voice wavering. ‘How could I have missed that my own family wasn’t what I thought it was?

When I let myself really think about it, I end up feeling so stupid. ’

He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting until I bring my eyes up to meet his before speaking, and when he does, his voice is so earnest and sincere, it makes my chest ache and my eyes well up with hot tears.

‘Iris, what’s happening now doesn’t take away from what happened before.

The childhood you had, the happy family memories – all of that still exists.

You didn’t make it up. It happened. All of that is part of who you are.

Things may be different for you and your parents going forwards, but nothing can take away from that. ’

As his dark eyes search mine, I expel a shaky breath. I’m so entranced by his gaze, I forget to respond to what he’s saying. Finally, I nod, tearing my eyes from his, collecting myself. He leans back in his chair, still watching me, heaving a heavy sigh.

‘I discovered that it really sucks when we get that bit older and find out that our parents are humans who make mistakes, too,’ he notes.

‘Yeah. It does. How dare they live their own lives?’

‘Despicably selfish.’

I give a small laugh. ‘Thanks Leo, for being so nice about it.’

‘You can talk to me any time, London.’

‘I did mean what I said at the party when we spoke about this before, though – I do hope the house sale helps Mum to move on. I really do.’

‘And your dad?’

‘He seems okay,’ I tell him with a sigh. ‘He’s quite difficult to read.’

‘Yeah?’ Leo’s lips twitch. ‘Reminds me of someone I know.’

I give him a pointed look. ‘Trust me, my dad is much more stoic than I am.’

‘I’m picturing the reserved English type.’

‘Doesn’t talk much, works all the time, keeps everyone at a comfortable distance.’ I shift in my seat, unnerved by my own description. ‘I know he loves me, but he wouldn’t be someone I’d rush to with a problem. He’s the reason I do what I do, though.’

‘He got you into writing?’

‘He got me into sport,’ I correct, shooting him an eager smile. ‘And Mum encouraged books and creative writing. Put two and two together…’

‘And you get England’s leading sports journalist.’

I snort. ‘Hardly. But I love it.’

He tilts his head. ‘What do you love about it?’

‘The people,’ I say, without having to think about it. ‘I get to meet and spend time with the most amazing, inspirational athletes in the world, and…’ I hesitate, looking over at his smug smile. ‘Ah. Forgot who I was talking to there.’

‘Please, please carry on,’ he encourages. ‘You were saying?’

Oh fucking hell, he looks so outrageously pleased with himself it’s annoying. Almost annoying. Okay, it would be annoying if he wasn’t so gorgeous.

Still, I play along, narrowing my eyes at him.

‘I was saying that athletes tend to be arrogant arseholes—’

‘That’s not what you were saying.’

‘—who act as though they’re God’s gift—’

‘You were saying something very different.’

‘—and I’m going to shut up now.’

He grins at me as I take a sip of my drink. ‘On behalf of all amazingly talented athletes, I would like to say: you’re welcome. Happy to be a perk of your job.’

I roll my eyes. ‘ Please .’

But I can’t fake my disdain for long and soon I’m giggling with him.

‘I’m actually up for a new job,’ I blurt out. I have no idea why. I would blame wine for my loosened tongue but I haven’t had any. He didn’t even ask me a question that led to this topic. Apparently, I’m spilling my life to him now.

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Yeah?’

‘Sports editorial director across the European titles of Studio .’

‘Whoa. Sounds fancy.’

‘It is. It’s a big role. It would be… amazing. A dream job. I don’t know the full details yet, but if I were to get it, I’d have the opportunity to put some incredible and deserving people in the spotlight, making big decisions on the content, managing a team and…’

I trail off, reading his reaction. The whole time I’ve been speaking about this job opportunity, he’s been looking at me strangely.

‘Okay, what is it?’ I ask nervously. ‘What, you think there’s no way I’ll get it? Am I embarrassing myself by even entertaining the idea?’

He balks at my suggestion. ‘No! That’s not… I think you have every chance of getting that role. You’re passionate and knowledgeable and talented. The people at Studio would be stupid not to give you that job.’

‘You looked… confused when I was talking.’

‘No, it’s only that I know a little bit about the media world thanks to, well, you know—’

‘Your mum owning a sizeable chunk of it?’

He smirks. ‘Yeah, that might have something to do with it. Anyway, the position you’re describing, it sounds like a management role. Like an editor, right?’

‘Sort of.’

I have no idea where he’s going with this, but he’s looking at me expectantly as though I should have got it from what he’s already said.

‘Iris, you said you loved your job and when I asked you why, you said…’

‘The people.’

‘Right.’ He nods. ‘You get to meet these talented, inspirational and devastatingly handsome athletes,’ he winks at me, earning himself a scowl, ‘and you write about them beautifully, something I know you love to do and you’re obviously brilliant at it.’

‘Thanks.’ I pause. ‘So?’

‘So, if you were the sports editorial director, you wouldn’t get to do either of those things,’ he says simply.

‘Sure, it may be this really important role and a dream job, but is it your dream job? You should do something that gives you that… spark. Surfing is that for me. And for you, I think it’s…

’ he gestures between me and him ‘…this.’

I’m a little taken aback by his answer – largely because… he’s kind of talking sense. I hadn’t really stopped to think about it that way.

I can feel his eyes boring into me.

‘Hey, if that job is what you want, then I have no doubt that you would be the best sports editorial director anyone has ever known,’ he emphasises, his brow furrowed.

‘All I’m saying is that you’re fucking good at what you do.

And, I don’t know… maybe it’s because I’ve been that person before, the one so focused on winning the next big accolade that I haven’t stopped to think about what actually makes me happy. ’

‘Interesting.’ I turn to look at him. ‘And what does make you happy, Leo Silva?’

He breaks into a relieved, wide grin, his eyes twinkling with humour. ‘Always at the ready to get a good quote.’

‘You can’t blame a girl for trying,’ I say with a mischievous smile.

‘I’m still on the hunt for the perfect ending to your story.

I have a feeling it will depend on what happens at Bells Beach, but a back-up quote is always helpful.

So, come on Leo, what is it that makes you really happy?

The laid-back surfing lifestyle? The thrill of riding the wave? ’

His gaze locks on mine, making my heart pound so hard, it rings in my ears and sends pulses of warmth shimmering out from my chest to every corner of my body.

‘All of the above,’ he says, a knowing smile creeping across his lips, ‘and nights like these.’