Page 92 of Ride the Wave

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

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

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 ofGoldilocks and The Three Bearsat 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.’

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