Page 56 of The Love of Our Lives
I pause. ‘Do you want to come too?’
His eyes linger on mine. ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude.’
I feel myself heating up under his gaze because I’m the real intruder here. And I know I need to keep my distance, and I know nothing else can happen between us, but the fact is these were his friends first and I don’t like shutting him out of his own friendship group.
Plus, I miss him: his enthusiasm for everything and everyone, the way he makes even little moments seem big, his never-ending encouragement – being close to him.
Would it hurt to spend a little time with him?
‘You wouldn’t be intruding at all,’ I say firmly, ‘please come.’
‘All right,’ he says, ‘I’ll come then. We can take the van.’
I smile, happy, relieved.
‘Do you fancy,’ I start, before I can talk myself out of it, ‘I mean, do want to want to hang out this evening? Go get a bite to eat or something, just as friends I mean.’
He opens his mouth to reply, when a taxi pulls up alongside us and a man gets out – handsome, sandy swept-back hair, chiselled jaw. It takes a few moments for it to click.
Simon.
And suddenly it’s like my heart is exploding in my chest and I’m flooded with all these intense feelings: attraction, panic . . . hurt.
Oh god.
When he spots me, he stops, and I can see he’s just as good-looking as in the pictures. Like a different breed of human, in his expensive wool coat and navy cashmere scarf; tanned skin as though he’s been in the Maldives for weeks.
‘Emily,’ he says, stopping in front of me.
‘Simon,’ I say the name like I’m trying it on, and find it’s oddly familiar on the tongue.
And then he smiles an amazing smile at me.
I hear a scuffing noise and turn to see Adam looking between us, and my heart bleeds because I know how it must look, Simon being here like this.
But that’s not why I broke it off, I want to cry out.It’s not that.
Yet at the same time, something is definitely happening here with this man I’ve never met before. The connection is undeniable.
‘I’d better get going,’ Adam says to me softly and, with a nod at Simon, he heads back towards the building.
I’m about to call out to him, say something, anything, to explain all of this to him, when I feel a gentle hand on my arm.
‘Do you fancy a drink somewhere maybe?’ Simon says hopefully, and I turn back to him. ‘Or, do you need to get back to . . .’
‘Adam,’ I finish for him. As I hear the building door swing shut, frustration floods me. ‘His name is Adam.’
‘OK, I see. But do you think we could just . . . talk somewhere?’
And despite my annoyance at losing that opportunity to spend time with Adam, other feelings are bubbling away now in my chest and my heart softens at Simon’s words. He must have travelled all the way from London to see me, after all, and I could be wrong but I swear there are dark circles under his eyes, like he’s not been sleeping well.
‘I could do a coffee?’ I offer.
‘I’ll take it.’ Simon looks visibly relieved, and a moment later, we turn and head along the darkened pavement together. The Purple Pineapple should still be open for a while yet, and at least that’s a safe and familiar setting. Because the truth is, no matter what I’m feeling, I don’t know this guy at all.
We’re quiet as we walk the few metres along the twilight pavement, the general rush of Tollcross filling the void when I don’t know how to – cars zipping by, shops closing up and restaurants prepping. Walking into the warmth of the coffee shop, we take a small table at the back and Zoe looks over at us suspiciously as she settles up with a couple at the till. I told her about Adam, of course, and she was openly annoyed at me – said she had been planning to cater our wedding, which I could only laugh numbly at.
‘This place is nice,’ Simon says genuinely, shrugging off his expensive coat. But even I can see he’s a fish out of water here. He should be in some luxurious restaurant or hotel bar somewhere. Not a purple coffee shop in Tollcross.
