. . . a perfect sandwich
I spot Sam instantly when he arrives. It’s hard not to, given his height.
He’s got to be six foot five at least – almost a whole foot taller than me.
He towers over Eléa as he hugs her, the two of them embracing tightly for longer than conventionally permissible.
I can’t help but note the soft smile on his face as they hold each other.
It’s the same one Noah had when the two of them met.
She clearly brings something questionable out of the men she meets.
‘First impressions?’ Noah asks.
I sigh with relief as he hands me a glass of wine. This bar only gave beer for free too, but Noah stayed true to his word and bought me a red anyway. The two of us sip silently as we stare across the bar, watching the pair of them deep in their embrace.
‘He’s very tall,’ I say.
‘Don’t girls like that?’ he asks.
‘Let’s not generalise,’ I say warningly.
‘But they do. Come on, don’t you?’
‘I mean . . . it’s nice?’
Noah nods. ‘That’s why I pride myself on being six three.’
He straightens up. He thinks he’s subtle, but it’s clear as day. In fact, I’d say he’s two drinks too far gone to attempt subtlety.
‘You’re six one at best.’
‘So, you’ve already taken account of my height,’ he says. ‘Any particular reason?’
I roll my eyes at his smug little face. ‘We spend a lot of time together; it’s hard not to notice.’
‘Don’t lie. You’ve definitely imagined how it would affect the height of our kids at least three or four ti . . . Ouch!’
I interrupt his teasing with a swift elbow to his biceps.
Then I bring my attention back to my actual prospect for the night.
He’s got a nice face. Or a nice left profile at least. That’s all I can see while he continues to hug Eléa.
They’re whispering in each other’s ears.
It looks incredibly tender from afar, so I can only imagine how intimate it feels closer up.
‘He’s really excited to meet you,’ Noah says before swigging his beer. ‘And he thinks your column sounds really cool.’
My heart stops, blood ice-cold.
‘He knows about my column?’ I ask.
‘El sent him the link! Although I doubt he’s read it.’
I panic. ‘Noah!’
‘Okay, he might have, I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt.’
‘Why’d you let El tell him about it?’
The words leave my mouth in a loud, high-pitched squeak, but I’m too lost in my own thoughts to care.
Not only am I about to go on a date with an Adonis of a man, but he knows I’m going to blast the whole thing online.
What if he thinks he’s my muse? I’ll throw up.
This is all Noah’s fault for telling El in the first place.
‘Why wouldn’t she? You’re doing a really cool thing,’ Noah says.
‘For you, maybe. But for most guys it’s got to be a walking red flag.’
I bite down onto my bottom lip so hard I almost draw blood as I imagine him scrolling through my dating tirades. Why would he willingly subject himself to that? Noah brings me back into the room with a quick hand to my arm.
‘He showed up, so he clearly didn’t see any red. Plus, who wouldn’t want to date a romance columnist?’ he says. ‘That’s like an ultimate life hack, no? Dating an expert in dating?’
My heart restarts, this time quickened. This is worse than the outcomes I imagined.
He probably thinks I’m a highly skilled serial dater.
Who else would commit to eighty dates? What if he expects me to flirt masterfully or know serious things in the bedroom, and put my thousands of dates to the test?
I can only disappoint – I barely know how to do this.
I’ve only just started finding a rhythm and it’s still very slow.
And now there’s pressure. Pressure to be the fun, flirty girl from the column who, quite frankly, exists through a keyboard alone. This can only end badly.
‘You’ll be fine,’ Noah says. ‘Just laugh at his jokes and try not to puke your red wine on his shoes this time.’
I grunt. ‘Not funny.’
‘It is a little, though.’ He chuckles. ‘If you need an out at any point, just itch your nose.’
He demonstrates the gesture.
I start fretting. ‘But what if my nose is actually itchy?’
‘Good point. Make it clear that it’s a fake itch.’
‘How do I do that?’ I ask.
‘I don’t know . . .’ He ponders. ‘Make it super aggressive?’
‘An aggressive nose itch? He’ll think I’m a weirdo!’
‘The perfect out – problem solved!’ he says.
We cut our conversation short as they start to come over. I get a proper look at his face. This man is gorgeous. Strong features that still remain soft, a mesmerising smile and dark, glowing skin. I understand Eléa’s hug. If I had their closeness, I’m unsure I would have ever let go.
Noah whispers. ‘Breathe. And unclench your shoulders. You look like you’re holding in a massive shit.’
I have no time to retort because before I know it he’s here, towering over me, looking the way he does. We hurry through gleeful intros and only semi-awkward hugs, and El gushes over him before ushering him closer to me.
‘Shall we all sit? Let’s all sit!’ She rushes ahead, already on her way to a table.
I can’t help but notice the four seats . . . One for every single one of us. I risk a quick glance at Noah and see that he’s just as perplexed. He touches Eléa’s arm as she goes to pull out a stool.
‘Another drink?’ he asks.
She softens, grin stretching wide before snapping shut.
‘But the table! We’ll—’
‘Leave it. They’ll be fine on their own.’
His voice grows more hushed towards the end as he lightly pulls her away, throwing a quick wink over his shoulder as they head to the bar. Sam catches it before I do, chuckling gently. His laugh is low and warm, thick like honey as it soothes my nerves.
‘I’m guessing he’s your friend?’ he asks.
I nod.
‘Good man,’ he says, before pulling out a stool for me at a smaller table for two.
I sit and he tucks me in, his fingers accidentally brushing my thigh.
I hold my breath as a cascade of warmth ripples through me, quickly brought to a halt as I look ahead of me.
My new seat has a clear-cut view of El and Noah at the bar.
Her hand suggestively strokes his forearm as he looks deep into her eyes. That can’t be good.
‘How’ve you found the crawl?’ Sam asks, breaking me from my snooping. ‘I did this same one last week. It’s where I met El, actually.’
‘It’s been fun!’ I say.
It’s far too enthusiastic. His eyebrow arches animatedly, prompting a redo.
‘It’s been fine, honestly. Just a lot of beer.’
He nods in approval this time. ‘Not a beer girl?’
El’s leaning forward, practically tiptoeing on the soles of her boots. Her chest pushes out as she does so, with Noah holding her hand for stability. I try to peer closer, but my view cuts as Sam’s face comes into view and I remember where I am.
‘Absolutely not,’ I say, with a little too much conviction.
He laughs at my disgust. ‘Wow, so you’ve really been suffering,’ he says jokingly.
‘Nothing I’m not used to.’ I shrug.
‘Oh, yeah, you’re from England, right? That’s all pints and pubs, innit?’
Sam recites the second sentence in one of the most terrible attempts at a British accent that I’ve ever heard.
It’s so bad, in fact, that a squawk of a laugh leaves my mouth, so brash and unrestrained that my hand rushes to clamp it in.
His smile widens at the noise, a fondness in his eyes that instantly quells my remaining giggles.
I keep my hand in its place, though. I can’t let him see the new awestruck, goofy grin that lies underneath it.
‘Was my accent that good?’ he asks, biting back a smirk.
‘Impeccable,’ I say as he chuckles back.
‘I spent two weeks there last month – absolutely loved it. Pretty place and even prettier girls.’
He props his chin in his hand as he leans further forward, staring deeply into my eyes, but my ears prick as I hear El’s laugh bounce across the room. It’s a loud laugh, a shrill laugh, a – dare I say it – flirty laugh. Noah’s funny, but there’s no reason she should be laughing that loud.
‘Yeah, I suppose the girls are pretty,’ I say, distracted.
‘Sorry, was I not clear enough? I’m talking about you,’ he says. ‘I’m a little out of practice. The last time I was single I . . . well, I was still in high school, actually.’
‘That’s a long relationship,’ I say, trying to make out Noah’s words.
‘Yeah. Honestly, it was a little too long. Turns out, convenience isn’t the same as love.’
The room stops. I stare back at him, my eyes widening as I hear my own words parroted back to me.
Is he serious?
I mentally flick through my articles so far – I haven’t spoken about Tom online.
As painless as it was, I haven’t shared that part of me with the wider world.
Even when I mentioned him in my viral video, I never got into the complexities of why our relationship ended.
There’s no way he could have taken those words from me in an attempt to manipulate this.
Those came from him. He reached into his heart and sounded just like me.
And here I am, distracted by Noah and El while this poor man sits here and proves that we just might be a match.
Enough’s enough.
I take a sip of my wine, gathering liquid courage before slamming the glass down on the table and looking him dead in the eye. His gaze clouds with intrigue as my tone shifts, which only spurs me on further.
‘Did you . . . maybe want to get out of here?’ I ask.
The second we left the bar, I felt the wobble in my knees and realised why you don’t skip dinner before a bar crawl.
My stomach lurched and I braced myself for a repeat of Rotterdam, but Sam pulled a bottle of water from his bag and found a bench for us to perch on.
Ten minutes later, the water and the cold were more than enough to still my stomach.
It wasn’t enough for Sam, though. He was horrified at my lack of food and whisked me off to his allegedly perfect sandwich spot.
Sam links his arm through mine tightly as we wander through the empty streets, the smell of his cologne wafting silkily under my nose.
‘Are we close yet?’ I ask, mirroring his long-legged stride.
He laughs again. ‘You’re impatient.’
I stare him down. ‘No, I’m hungry. And you promised me the perfect sandwich.’
‘We’re almost there,’ he says.
He pulls me under his arm, rubbing me warm as we stroll down the dimly lit street.
He tightens his grip as we move, biceps clenching against me.
It lights a flame inside me I haven’t felt burn that strongly since Brussels.
I reach for his hand and squeeze it, stroking my thumb across the skin, and swear I hear a tiny growl seep from his lips.
As I glance up, I catch him already staring down at me.
His eyes have darkened, hard to make out against the night sky.
‘You know,’ he says, his voice hoarse. ‘I also have bread and stuff at my place.’
‘Bread and stuff?’ I repeat, smirking.
‘Meats, cheese, pickles . . . the works,’ he says. ‘It may not be the perfect sandwich, but it’s . . . Well. It’s at my place, so . . .’
We both awkwardly giggle.
‘Can you tell I’m new to this?’ he asks.
He looks endearingly bashful as he shrugs into his jacket. I can’t help but smile at his shyness. I didn’t expect him to cower like this. It’s so much softness from a man who resembles a Greek statue.
‘Me, too,’ I say.
‘Surely not any more, though, with your column.’ His eyes bore into mine.
‘Have you read it?’ I ask brashly.
It’s been circling through my mind all night and I intended to leave it there. But I admire the way he’s so willing to wear his heart on his sleeve. There’s not a single guard; he tells everything exactly as it is. It’s so inspiring and pushes me to give him a bit more too.
He shakes his head. ‘I was tempted after El sent it, but I didn’t think it was fair to you. I wanted to give you a proper chance on a neutral, internet-free playing ground.’
My chest unfurls at the thought. ‘I really appreciate that.’
He halts his stride and turns to face me. ‘I wanted to judge you off your vibe alone. Well, that and your pretty face.’
He reaches his hand to my cheek, slowly stroking it down to my skin. His fingers skate across my flesh and tilt my head towards him. I take a deep breath.
‘And what’s the verdict?’ I ask, my voice trembling.
He brings our faces closer and the next thing I know his mouth is firmly on mine.
He begins tenderly – clearly nervous as his lips carefully explore a new, undiscovered person.
But as they learn more he grows firmer, the pressure deepening as he wraps his arm around my waist and presses me as close to him as he can.
I lose myself in his touch, gripping his coat as my tongue slides its way hungrily between his teeth.
He growls, hands roaming underneath my jacket, gripping flesh, leaving marks, and making my whole body ache with a pulsating need.
He’s certainly not nervous any more. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.
So much so, I don’t know how much longer I can resist. I need this.
I need him – the perfect, gorgeous distraction to remind me that I can be sexy, void of interruption.
I’m so wrapped up in our movements that it takes me by complete shock when I feel his body pull away from mine. I freeze, thinking of Brussels, the last time this happened to me, and feel my chest seize up at the thought of it happening again.
‘Everything okay?’ I ask.
I hate how my voice trembles. One minute ago I was making him moan and now I’m standing here, a scared little girl.
He clocks the shake instantly and steps closer again, tenderly cupping my chin as we come face to face.
‘Everything’s fine. Great, even. It’s just . . .’ He looks around at the street. ‘We’re in public. And the way we just kissed . . . I’d love to do some very private things to you. Would you wanna come back to mine, by any chance?’
I catch a breath at his directness and feel an injection of warmth shoot straight into my core.
It may have been a while, and the thought does make me nervous, but all dry streaks should come to an end.
I look up at him; at his gorgeous face sculpted even deeper by the low lamplight. It’s time. I’m ready.
‘Please lead the way,’ I say slowly.