A Million Meet Cutes

Chapter One

The bar isn’t busy – it’s midweek and the two-for-one cocktail hour has passed – but there are a few tables occupied towards the back, creating a low hum of chatter, punctuated by the occasional rumble of laughter.

I drop off baskets of sweet potato fries to one of the booths and head back to the bar, where a couple of my regulars are perched on high stools, their glasses drained.

‘Can I get you another?’ I reach for the glasses, and they nod their agreement.

I tilt my head as I look at the customer on my right, eyes narrowing slightly.

‘Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?

’ I pride myself on knowing my regulars well, and I’ve heard all about Eva’s pursuit of her coffee-shop crush.

Eva screws up her nose. ‘It didn’t go well. I made my excuses and ran.’

‘That sucks.’ The corners of my mouth pull down in sympathy. ‘Dating’s tough.’

Not that I know. I haven’t had that much experience of dating, to be honest. I met Alfie, my ex, at a bus stop when I was seventeen.

We got chatting, exchanged numbers, messaged back and forth for a bit and met up at the cinema at the weekend, where we spent most of the film snogging.

And that was that. We were boyfriend and girlfriend for the next five years, going through the motions of a relationship until we both admitted we’d come to the end of the road.

I place the drinks down on the bar and a card is produced and tapped on the reader.

Everything is getting easier these days – online shopping, buying drinks with a tap, takeaway apps – but dating seems to be getting harder.

I work in a bar: meeting men should be a doddle, but I haven’t had a sniff of interest since my break-up with Alfie, other than drunken (often offensive) advances that definitely don’t count.

‘Hey, Rhys.’

My colleague saunters out of the kitchen with a bowl of pasta in each hand, stopping off at the bar as I call out to him.

‘You date a lot. What’s your secret?’

Rhys shrugs, one corner of his mouth quirking. ‘There is no secret. When you look this good, women are simply drawn to you. I have to fight them off with a stick, mate.’

I roll my eyes and sigh. Why did I think I’d get any other answer from Rhys?

I love the bloke. He’s my best friend, the person I look forward to working with most at Rollerz, but he can be a big-headed prat.

Rhys is a good-looking lad, with styled dark blond hair and facial hair that is perfectly trimmed to be neither stubble nor full-on beard.

His lips are full without being fleshy, and his brown eyes are brooding beneath a strong brow. He’s attractive and he knows it.

‘Why?’ The other corner of Rhys’s mouth creeps up. ‘Are you finally ready to whip off the old chastity belt? Because it’s been a year, Christina. I don’t know how you’ve coped.’

‘I’ve coped just fine, thank you very much.’ I slip out from behind the bar and grab the bowls from Rhys. ‘Give me that pasta. It’s getting cold.’

I hurry across the room, placing the bowls down on the table in front of the customers, checking if they need anything else before moving on.

The door opens as I’m passing, and I frown when I see my flatmate stepping over the threshold, his shoulders slumped, his eyes downcast and his dark eyebrows pulled down low.

‘Jonah? What are you doing here? I thought you were out with Freddie tonight for your big six-month anniversary dinner?’ My frown deepens, because Jonah has been chattering non-stop about this dinner for weeks.

It’s made me a bit jealous, to be honest, like I’m missing out by being single.

I don’t miss Alfie, but I do miss being with someone.

‘I was.’ Jonah shuffles towards the bar and I follow, placing my hand on his back once he’s pushed himself up onto a stool. ‘We had the fight again.’

I tut as I make a soothing circular motion on Jonah’s back. ‘I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve that.’

Rhys leans his elbows on the other side of the bar. ‘What’s the fight?’

I widen my eyes at Rhys in what I hope is a look that says shut up and go away (but less politely) but he doesn’t move and Jonah answers the question.

‘Freddie thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to ogle other men in front of me, to the point that he was salivating into his soup over the waiter and musing about what they’d call their firstborn.’

Rhys slaps Jonah on the shoulder. ‘You need a drink. On me. Not a proposition, by the way. The drink won’t actually be on me.’ He winks at Jonah. ‘What can I get you?’

‘Just a pint, thanks.’ Jonah leans his head on my shoulder when Rhys turns to grab a glass. ‘Why are relationships so hard?’

‘At least you’ve got a relationship. I haven’t even kissed anyone in a year.’

Jonah straightens and tilts his head as he looks at me. ‘I thought you weren’t ready to date yet.’

I shrug. ‘Maybe I am now.’

‘Hey, if you’re ready to get back out there, I’ll take you out and show you a real good time.’ Rhys grins at me from along the bar, where he’s pouring Jonah’s pint.

‘As if, mate.’ I roll my eyes. I seem to do that a lot when I’m around Rhys. ‘My idea of a good time isn’t Netflix and Chill on your parents’ sofa.’

Rhys’s eyebrows press down. ‘We don’t do it on the sofa. I have some class.’

I snigger. Rhys O’Brien has class? Since when? I’ve worked with Rhys at Rollerz for five years and I’ve yet to see the evidence of such a claim.

‘I took that bird on a picnic last summer, didn’t I?’

I snigger again, louder. ‘A six-pack and a tube of Pringles isn’t a picnic.’

Rhys spreads his free arm out. ‘We ate the Pringles outside, didn’t we? In the park. On the grass. I even put my jacket down like a gentleman. It ended up covered in grass stains.’

Jonah dips his face into my shoulder to mutter, ‘Not for the first time.’ I bark out a laugh, smothering it with my hand too late. We have been well-educated on Rhys’s al fresco escapades.

‘Laugh all you want.’ Rhys dumps the pint in front of Jonah. ‘At least I’m not living the nun life.’

I roll my eyes. (See? They never stop rolling while Rhys is around.) ‘There’s more to a relationship than sex.’

Rhys snorts. ‘Like what? Arguing over the washing up? Getting pecked at for forgetting anniversaries.’ He winces and pats Jonah on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, mate, but you get what I mean.’

Jonah shakes his head. ‘I’m with Christina on this one. Yes, sex is great, but that’s not what relationships are about.’

Rhys’s eyebrows lift. ‘They’re not?’

I want to roll my eyes so hard, but I resist. They’re already starting to ache. ‘No, you plank. They’re about connection. Companionship. Support. Respect.’

‘And romance.’ Jonah leans his head on my shoulder again with a sigh. ‘Don’t forget the romance.’

I heave in a breath and release it dreamily.

‘No, we can’t forget the romance.’ Jonah and I are romance aficionados; it’s what we bonded over when I moved into his flat and clocked his colossal collection of romcom DVDs lining the shelves in the living room.

‘I dream of a happily ever after. Of meeting the man of my dreams and falling head-over-heels in love. And meet-cutes! Oh, I wish I could have a meet-cute and find The One.’

‘You wish you could what?’ Rhys leans his elbows on the bar, resting his cheek on his upturned hand.

‘Have a proper meet-cute and find The One. I know it’s an alien concept to you, but most people want to settle down with their one true love.’

‘No, no, I get all that The One bullcrap. What was that other thing you said?’

‘Meet-cute?’ My eyes bulge, almost painfully so. ‘Please tell me you’re kidding. You know what a meet-cute is, surely.’

Rhys, his cheek still resting on his hand, shakes his head slowly. ‘No idea what you’re banging on about, mate.’

Jonah and I share a look. He doesn’t know what a meet-cute is?

‘A meet-cute…’ I take Rhys’s hands in mine across the bar, my voice low but firm as I pass on this profound information, ‘Is the first encounter – usually sweet or charming – between a soon-to-be couple. Like in the films. She trips up, he catches her, they fall in love.’

Rhys shrugs. ‘I’ve never heard of it.’

‘Then you need educating, my friend.’ I squeeze Rhys’s hand as the perfect idea pops into my head. ‘You should join us for our next romcomathon.’

‘Your what?’

‘Our romcomathon.’ Jonah takes a sip of his pint. ‘A marathon of romcoms. We’re in our classic Julia Roberts phase. Next up is Notting Hill, My Best Friend’s Wedding and Runaway Bride.’

I squeeze Rhys’s fingers again as I gasp. ‘There’s a classic meet-cute in Notting Hill. You should definitely watch it with us.’

Rhys untangles his fingers from mine. ‘No thanks. I’d rather boil my own testicles in a vat of treacle.’

I ignore Rhys and sigh dreamily as I press my cheek against Jonah’s chest. ‘I really do wish I could meet-cute and find The One myself, just like in the films. We’d meet in some super-sweet, super-quirky way and we’d live happily ever after, growing old together but not noticing the wrinkles and the grey hair. ’

I feel Jonah’s chin rub against my hair as he nods. ‘Yeah, I want that too.’

‘You two are corny as.’ Rhys mimes puking over the bar with far too realistic sound effects for a bar that serves food.

‘And you are a stone-hearted turd who will never know the joy of being in love.’ I reluctantly peel myself away from the comfort of my flatmate as a woman approaches the bar.

I take her order before sending her back to her table while I make her cocktails.

I don’t see the man standing up as I’m making my way over to her table with the drinks loaded onto a tray.

Don’t see him backing out from his booth right in front of me.

And he clearly doesn’t see me as we collide, the tray upturning and spilling the brightly-coloured cocktails over my chest. I gasp at the impact and at the coldness seeping through my T-shirt, which both seem to happen all at once.

‘Shit. God. I am so sorry.’

‘No, no, it’s fine.’ I right the tray, trying to ensure the toppled glasses don’t tip over the edge and smash on the ground.

‘Look what I’ve done.’ The man reaches for my T-shirt but changes his mind and snatches his hand away from my boob area.

‘It’s fine. Honestly.’ Holding the tray in one hand, I stand the glasses up. ‘Hazard of the job.’ I push a smile onto my face, to show that it really is okay, that it’s nothing more severe than a soaked T-shirt, but he’s shaking his head.

‘No, you have to let me make it up to you.’ He looks around wildly for inspiration before clapping his hands together. ‘Dinner! Let me buy you dinner. To say sorry.’

‘There’s really no need. It was an accident.’

His eyes are wide and pleading and I can tell he truly is sorry for bumping into me. He presses his hands together, the tips of his fingers almost touching his chin. ‘Please?’

I did say I was maybe ready to start dating again, and dinner with a sort-of-cute guy who is clearly kind and considerate could be the perfect way to dip my toe into the scary world of dating.

I nod. ‘Okay.’

‘Great!’ His shoulders drop and he looks more relaxed. I give him my number before heading back to the bar to pat down my T-shirt with a towel and redo the cocktails.

‘I think I’ve just accepted my first date in a year.’ I glance back to the table, where Rhys is mopping up the spilled drinks. Most of the cocktails splattered my T-shirt but there’s a small puddle on the floor.

‘With the guy who knocked the drinks into you?’ Jonah holds his hands out and splutters. ‘Christina Jelly, are you kidding me?’

I frown. ‘I shouldn’t have said yes?’

Jonah’s mouth gapes. ‘No, you clown! Of course you should have said yes. But don’t you realise you’ve just been Julia-Roberts-in-Notting-Hill-ed?’ He points at my T-shirt as I dab at the kaleidoscope of cocktails spread across it with the towel. ‘You’ve just had a real-life meet-cute!’

I look down at my T-shirt. I think about the fact I’ve just been asked out for dinner to apologise for the mishap.

‘Oh my goat.’ I dump the damp towel on the bar and grab Jonah’s hands, squeezing hard. ‘I’ve just had a real-life meet-cute!’ I squeal as I release Jonah and cover my cheeks with my hands. ‘What if my wish has come true and he’s The One?’