Page 60 of One Night With You

Okay fine. I’m just looking for an excuse to keep you texting me,I type.Call it a crush.

I’ll call it infatuation, I think,she retorts.Sounds more grown up.

Mild infatuation,I send her.For my ego.

That’s settled then,she says.Mild infatuation.

And then:You know I’m never going to live up to the Ruby you’ve got in your head, don’t you?

How horribly self-depreciating,I say.

I’m not as wonderful as you imagine,she replies.

Only because my imagination isn’t that good.

Touché,she replies.And yes, I’ll be sure to dress warm.

I can’t wait,I type.For the record.

For the record,she messages back,neither can I xxxx

27

Ruby

Nic spends twenty-four hours sending hints about what he’s got in store, but is refusing to fully divulge what we’re doing. It’s driving me mad. I’d like to be prepared, and look nice, and generally just treat this as the occasion that it is. I’m not anxious or anything, more just … it’s important to me. It took me a second to get here, and now I am I want to revel in it. I’m proud of myself for taking a chance, taking a leap of romantic faith. JP has rubbed off on me. This deserves to have attention paid.

Also: I’m not going to shout this fact from the rooftops, but I’ve never actually been on a proper date. I found myself in the same place at the same time with lads at school, and at uni it was mostly about getting drunk and snogging somebody at the student union so frequently that eventually it was a given that you were ‘together’, for however long that lasted until it all started again. And then when I moved to London, there were some one-night stands, a few things withguys from work or whatever, and then Abe. Abe always just came over to my house, or occasionally he’d tell me he’d booked a mid-level hotel for a Sunday night, if we were seeing each other again after another break. I’ve seen it in films: getting dressed up, being picked up at the front door by a smiling paramour bearing flowers, something special all planned out and ending the evening with a kiss. I’ve just never experienced it. I text him:

Nic, dear boy, I hope you know

That for this date I don’t need a big show,

Drinks and dinner for me is just fine,

Some flirty chatting and decent wine.

I suppose my biggest issue, if I’m going to be clear,

Is *exactly* what to wear, if you’d be so dear,

To at least tell me that so I can prepare,

And if you don’t: YOU’LL HAVE TO BEWARE!

I follow it up with the knife emoji, as if I’m threatening his life. I just want to know if I should be in heels or flats, jumper or strappy top. I don’t know what ‘layers’ means.

‘You nervous?’ asks Harry, nodding at my phone where he can see Nic’s name at the top. We’re waiting for a ‘perspectives’ class to start, and are both sat with the reading in front of us, various Post-it Notes sticking out, thick binders that carry reference notes that might prove relevant wedged beside us in our chairs. Our laptops are balanced on the tiny individual tables in front of us.

‘Nervous?’ I ponder. ‘No, actually. Not really. Obviously I want it to be nice and go well, but I’m notnervous.It’s not like an internet date, or a blind date, or that awkward follow-up meeting where you have to greet somebody hello who you were balls-deep in last time you saw them. It’s Nic. After the weekend, especially on the train, I just feel …’

‘Yeah, it’s written all over your face.’ Harry laughs.

I grimace. ‘What is?’ I exclaim, defensively.

He fixes me with a look that is the equivalent of smacking me upside the head and saying,I’m not an idiot, pal.

‘You’re in lurrrrrrve,’ he teases me, rolling the ‘r’ to be especially dramatic.

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