Page 4

We grab a coffee in a small cafe just off Deansgate, before heading southeast in search of food.

Now that there’s not really any pressure to impress him, I’m relaxed enough to keep up a steady conversation with him.

It’s nothing particularly profound, just family, siblings or the lack of them (I have none, Luke has a younger sister), work and the like.

The weather’s balmy enough that we shed our coats, and Luke pockets his tie and undoes the top button of his shirt, revealing an intriguing tuft of dark blond hair which I’m polite enough not to stare at. Much.

Luke’s background in architecture means that he’s able to offer new perspectives on the cityscape I’ve traversed for years, telling me bits and pieces about the buildings.

Just before we turn off Deansgate onto John Dalton Street: “You’ve really never been in the John Rylands Library just further down there?

It’s a real treat in there - the Reading Room ceiling is just breathtaking.

There’s a lovely story behind how it was built as well. Will you let me bring you sometime?”

And just as we cross onto Princess Street, with the Town Hall on our right: “I’d love to go in there someday.

It’s being restored right now, but I’ve seen so many pictures of the interior.

It’s meant to be just a perfect example of the Victorian Gothic revival movement.

” He pauses to sip his Americano. “Apparently a fair number of movies were filmed in there, because it looks so much like Westminster Palace.”

We wander into the fringes of Chinatown, and since he says he’s not particularly hungry I steer us into a small bakery instead of a proper sit-down place.

I think I do a fair job of disguising the fact that my stomach’s trying to digest itself, but the amused glance Luke gives me when I tuck into my pork floss bun suggests that he’s not completely fooled.

He’s polite enough not to comment though.

The conversation lulls while our mouths are busy - don’t - and yet, the initial awkwardness doesn’t seem to resurface. I guess being friendzoned isn’t so bad after all.

Just past Chinatown is Manchester’s Gay Village, Canal Street, which at 3pm on a Sunday feels completely different from the rare occasions I’ve convinced myself to visit at clubbing hour.

Rather than going into one of the pubs, we grab a seat on one of the benches in Sackville Garden, next to the Alan Turing memorial.

“It’s actually really peaceful here in the daytime,” I observe, squinting against the bright sunlight.

“It is,” Luke agrees. He folds the paper bag that formerly contained our lunch neatly, and pockets it. “Well, apart from during Pride.”

I laugh. “Yeah. Did you come last summer then?”

“I did. I was almost certain I was going to move here by then anyway, so I thought I’d give it a try. It was nice. Crowded, but I guess that’s Pride anywhere these days.”

I nod. “So we were both here, somewhere in the crowd, last August.”

He smiles down at me, and my heart skips a beat. “Yeah. That’s a shame. It would have been nice to have seen a familiar face.”

“Yep.” I don’t add that I’d found it really lonely, walking here alone past loads of couples holding hands, some with a kid or two in tow.

“So.” Luke picks at a crumb on his trousers, and I lift my gaze guiltily as he looks back up, so that he doesn’t realise I’ve been gawking at his thick thighs. “I’m pretty sure you were out of the closet in Cambridge. Was that when you first came out?”

“In sixth form. I actually told my mum way before I told anyone else though.”

There’s a wistful look on his face. “How was she with the news?”

“She didn’t even blink. She just waited for me to spit it out, and hugged me, and told me that she’d pretty much known for years. Apparently I’d been pretty obvious.” We share a chuckle. “You?”

“Just before graduation. It was after…” Luke pauses, and opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, before he seems to change his mind. An old sadness surfaces in his beautiful green eyes. “My parents didn’t take it brilliantly. It’s taken a while for them to get used to the idea.”

“I’m sorry.” I reach over tentatively to touch his forearm, not sure if he’d appreciate the gesture.

He gives me a small smile. “Don’t be. They took some time, but they’ve come round, and my sister was always there for me.

” He turns to look at the statue of Alan Turing.

“Besides, it’s worth remembering that there were others who followed the same path from Cambridge to Manchester, only seventy years ago, who weren’t so lucky. ”

We sit in contemplative silence for a few more moments. It’s broken by a small snicker from Luke. I look at him.

“Sorry. I was just thinking what a terrible line of conversation I’ve started for a first date.”

I grin at him. “Yep, that’s true. Absolutely dreadful.”

He inclines his head in mock-seriousness. “I humbly beg for your forgiveness.”

I consider this. “You are forgiven,” I tell him gravely.

He shoulder-bumps me, and we share another smile. Whether or not Turing approves of our frivolity, I suppose we will never know.

I expect Luke to make his excuses after that, but he doesn’t.

Instead, he suggests that we continue to wander around, and we locate a Thai restaurant for an early dinner.

It’s here that I discover Luke has a digestive tract lined with asbestos, and he discovers that my spice tolerance is fairly terrible, when I immediately start tearing up and sniffling after a single sip of his tom yum broth.

He does let me have a sip of his ice coffee though, which helps, after my fizzy drink just sets my mouth on fire once again.

And manages not to laugh at me all that much.

He also finally lets me go half on dinner, after having insisted on paying for everything beforehand because of ‘first date rules’.

We then saunter back towards Piccadilly Gardens because it turns out we’ve both parked around there, and loiter about the statue of Queen Victoria with yet another coffee each.

I’m buzzing a little, and I’m not sure if it’s the caffeine or the company.

We talk about everything and nothing. And at no point do I feel as if he’s getting sick of me.

In the end, I’m the one who reluctantly tells him I’ve got to be heading off, because it’s approaching 8pm and I’m hopeless at work through the week without enough rest the night before.

Luke walks me to my car, apparently because it’s a ‘first date sort of thing to do’.

I pause when we reach it, wishing we’d had a few more hours in the day, and turn to thank him for how great it’s been.

My words get caught in my throat when I catch his gaze. He steps just a tiny bit closer.

“Charlie,” he says, and he sounds the tiniest bit breathless. “May I kiss you?”

I can’t answer for a long second, my voice held prisoner by the overwhelming sense of joy that has overtaken my senses. It seems that, subconsciously, I’d still been hoping for a little more than just friendship after all.

He’s still staring at me, so I nod and whisper, “Yes.” One hesitant step closes the distance between us.

I rise onto my tiptoes. He bows his head. I wonder if he can hear the pounding of my heartbeat. It fills my eardrums with a staccato beat.

The tip of his aquiline nose brushes against my cheek as he dips closer. The stubble of his five o’clock shadow, which had appeared some time during our afternoon’s odyssey, raises goosebumps as it brushes over my smooth skin.

Our lips meet gently for only the briefest of moments, strangers in a chance meeting, before parting ways again.

I have two seconds to feel disappointment before Luke dips his head down again, pressing his mouth to mine just a little more firmly.

There’s the faintest scent of cologne on his skin, persisting despite our day in the city - a woodsy scent.

I rise towards him eagerly this time, sufficiently encouraged by our second joining as to dare rest my hands gently against his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin material of his shirt.

This time when he draws back, his large hands rise to cup the angles of my jaw ever so lightly, and he stares at me for a long moment before our lips meet a third time.

This time, lips part and tongues are granted permission to explore, and I well and truly lose track of how long we stand there, leaning against my battered grey Ford Focus, in a cosy little space where everything begins and ends with the two of us.

When it ends I’m glad that I’m leaning heavily against my car, because it feels like my knees might give way at the sight of Luke, green eyes hungry, lips looking ravished.

We’re both breathing deeply. “I suppose,” he says slowly, “I suppose we should probably wind this down for tonight.” He smiles crookedly. “First date rules and all.”

“First date rules can fuck right off,” I say with feeling, and he chuckles.

“I know. But, and maybe this doesn’t make full sense to you, but it’s important to me that I do this right by you.

” He leans in to kiss me on the cheek this time, and oddly, this is the kiss that makes me blush the most with its sheer sweetness.

“If you’re willing, everything in its own time.

” He opens then shuts my car door for me, and stands back and smiles as I drive off in a daze.

When I get home I ring Will first. He picks up, sounding a little sleepy. “Oh hey Charlie. How did it go, old boy?”

“He kissed me,” is the first thing I think to say. “I think that means it went well?”

“Excuse me for just a moment,” Will says calmly.

I assume he must want to put the call on mute, but he evidently doesn’t manage, because I hear him whisper in the background in a wondering tone, “Priya, I think I may be a genius at gay matchmaking.” There’s some quiet whispering and he clears his throat.

“Sorry old chap. Yeah, it does sound like it went really well! Have you got plans to meet Luke again?”

“Not yet.” I hug myself as the familiar feeling of self-doubt looms again. “He didn’t ask. Maybe he doesn’t want to?”

“Charlie.” Will’s voice takes on that bloody scolding tone again. “You just told me the man kissed you. I think you should take that as a strong hint that he might want to see you again.”

But now the doubt is there, I can’t shake it off quite that easily. Unwanted memories surface of times when I’d thought things had gone well, only for there to be no response to my follow-up texts asking for a second meeting. “You can’t know that, Will,” I sigh.

“Take the chance, Charlie,” Will says patiently.

I breathe in. I breathe out. “Okay.”

We say a quick goodnight, and I text Luke. I had a great time today. Dinner on me next time?

And thank every deity that might be out there, a response comes before I have time to freak out. I had a wonderful time too, Charlie. And yes, let’s do dinner. When are you free?

I do have to pause to do a small victory dance before I send my response. There’s a grin on my face that stays there all the way till I drift off to sleep that night.