Chapter Four
Jonah was right; it was just a coincidence that I wished to meet-cute The One before stumbling into Morgan.
I know this for a fact because there’s no way my one true love would speak with his mouth full, but I’m being sprayed with mushed-up bits of pepperoni pizza as Morgan tells me more about himself.
Morgan is twenty-eight (surprising, since he’s acting like a toddler tonight), an addiction counsellor (even more surprising as I can’t picture him having such a serious job with massive responsibility for his clients) and he’s the youngest sibling out of four.
‘What about you?’
While in the beginning I surreptitiously dabbed at the soggy sprayed crumbs with my napkin, I’m openly – and angrily – swiping at them by now. I glare at Morgan as his question comes with a splat to the left cheek.
‘I’m an only child.’
‘Oh.’ Morgan places his slice of pizza down on his plate. ‘That must have been lonely growing up.’
I shrug. ‘Not really. I had friends, and I was pretty close to my cousins. One lived around the corner so we hung out a lot.’
Morgan nods and picks his pizza up. I recoil, anticipating the onslaught, but Morgan doesn’t get another observation in as the music blasting throughout the restaurant is cut off.
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan as the playlist is replaced with an over-egged pirate version of ‘Happy Birthday’ over the sound system.
Three pirates appear at the next table over, the one in the middle carrying a cake ablaze with candles, all three of them enthusiastically belting out ‘happy birthday to ye’ to a small child who is quite clearly distressed by the encounter.
But a few tears and a look of utter terror aren’t enough to dampen the pirates’ spirit, and they perform their hearts out with thigh-slaps and raised fists while the child buries his face in his mother’s armpit.
It’s the fourth birthday serenade since we were seated and it wouldn’t be so bad if there weren’t three verses added to the song: it’s your birthday, scrub the deck (bit mean making them grind on their special day), it’s your birthday, drink your rum (inappropriate task to assign to a five-year-old) and it’s your birthday, walk the plank (aka, it’s your birthday, now die in freezing, shark-infested waters).
Morgan bangs his hands together with animated glee once the song has finished and the birthday boy has blown out the candles.
It’s quite sweet how unabashed and innocent Morgan’s reactions to the birthday celebrations of strangers are.
Incredibly annoying and flaming-cheeked embarrassing, but sweet.
We finish our pizzas and I wipe my face for the final time, relief washing over me that I can go home and giggle about this disastrous date with Jonah.
He may have had a terrible time with his boyfriend last night during their anniversary dinner, but at least he didn’t end up with half of Freddie’s meal spattered on his face.
The waiter returns to our table and starts to gather up the plates. ‘Would ye scurvy dogs be wanting dessert this here evening?’
‘No.’ I yelp the answer and the waiter blinks in surprise. I flicker a smile on my face and soften my tone. ‘No, thank you.’
Morgan frowns. ‘You have to have a dessert.’
I place a hand on my stomach. ‘I’m stuffed.’ And desperate to get the hell out of here and go home.
‘I’m never too full for afters.’ Morgan turns to the waiter. ‘I’ll have a Shiver Me Timbers, please.’ He shifts his gaze to me. ‘It’s the best ice cream sundae in the world. Are you sure you don’t want one?’
‘I’m sure.’ I hold up my hand to halt the waiter as he starts to move away. ‘But I will have another glass of wine, please. Very large.’
I gulp down the wine while Morgan gobbles up his dessert, neither of us speaking, thank god, because I couldn’t take the rain of ice cream.
I attract the attention of the waiter as soon as Morgan’s last spoonful is in his mouth, and when the bill arrives, Morgan insists on paying since this is an apology dinner, and while I’d normally feel uncomfortable not paying my fair share, I let him.
Anything that gets us out of here as quickly as possible.
Morgan wriggles his wallet out of his trouser pocket and I’m equally unsurprised and unimpressed when I see that he owns a Simpsons wallet. Of course he does.
‘Do you fancy a game or two?’ Morgan juts his thumb towards the arcade area as we gather our jackets from the backs of our chairs. ‘There’s a Spider-Man plushie in the claw machine I need.’
There’s a Spider-Man plushie in the claw machine that he… needs? I’d question what on earth he’d need the toy for, but I really, really don’t want to know.
‘Sorry.’ I tilt my head and turn the corners of my lips down in faux disappointment. ‘I’m opening the bar tomorrow, so I’ve got an early start.’
‘No worries.’ Morgan pushes his arms into his jacket’s sleeves. ‘Wish me luck with Spider-Man.’ He mimes a claw reaching down and clasping the plushie and then he’s off, winding his way through the tables and disappearing into the Treasure Chest.
‘Oh my goat. That didn’t just happen.’ I’m muttering to myself as I make my way across the restaurant, grabbing my phone so I can message Jonah and Rhys about the date from hell I’ve just endured.
I am more than willing to hold my hands up and admit that Jonah was right about the wish not coming true.
I know he’ll shower me with sympathy, while Rhys will take the absolute piss about my infantile date and cheer me right up.
It’s the perfect post-disastrous-date combo.
I shake my head as I create a group message.
What had I been thinking? Of course the wish hadn’t come true.
What an idiot! I send the message and then switch over to the taxi app on my phone.
The restaurant is only a short walk away, but I want to get home to Jonah as quickly as possible, plus I’m a bit unsteady on my feet after chugging the mojito and wine so quickly.
The taxi is five minutes away, so I nip to the loo and I want to throw my hands in the air and thank the gods when I see it waiting outside the restaurant once I’ve freshened up.
‘You have no idea how happy I am to see you.’ I pull the door open and throw my arse down on the seat. ‘Take me home as quick as you can, please.’
‘Um, sorry, but this is my taxi.’
My legs are mid-swing from the pavement to the car when the voice pipes up behind me. I twist and see a man sitting on the opposite side of the backseat.
‘Oh.’ My eyes widen. ‘Are you sure?’ I scrabble for my phone, my stomach lurching when I spot my taxi on the little map, still two minutes away. I squeeze my eyes shut and groan as I drop my face against the headrest of the seat in front of me. As though this hasn’t been the date from Hell already!
‘You look like you need a drink.’
I tilt my head and peep out of one eye at the true passenger of the taxi. He has no idea.
‘This place is Hell and I just want to go home.’
‘Come on, this place isn’t that bad. It’s just a bit of fun.’ He grins at me and I scowl back.
‘Who are you here with?’
‘It’s my niece’s birthday.’ He points past me, back towards the restaurant where a little girl with a Bluey-shaped balloon is exiting on the shoulders of a man.
So his family was responsible for one of those irritating birthday songs that I’ll be humming for the rest of the night.
‘Well, I was here on a date. A date that was not fun.’
The guy’s eyes widen. ‘No.’ He covers his mouth with his hand but not before a laugh hiccups out.
‘I wish I was kidding.’ I twist in my seat and plant my feet on the ground before hefting myself out of the taxi.
‘Then you definitely need a drink. Wait here a moment…’ The door on the other side of the taxi opens and he jumps out, half-jogging to join the little girl and the man who’s carrying her. I check my phone; my taxi is turning into the retail park. I could weep with relief.
‘So, how about that drink?’ The guy from the taxi is standing next to me, rubbing his hands against the slight chill in the air.
His family have climbed into his taxi and it’s pulling away without him.
But I don’t want a drink with this guy. I just want to go home, pull on my pyjamas and sink into the sofa.
But before I form any words, another thought occurs to me.
Was this another meet-cute? There is definitely a trope around fighting over a taxi – I’ve seen it loads of times in romcoms. It’s usually a plucky heroine hailing a yellow cab at the same time as the dashing hero on a bustling Manhattan street, but perhaps this is my not-quite-as-glamorous UK Uber version?
Could this guy be the meet-cute who is The One? Maybe the universe sent me on this horrific date with Morgan so that I could meet this guy by climbing into the wrong taxi…
My phone pings with a new message. It’s a reply from Jonah.
Are you on your way home? I’ll get Isn’t It Romantic ready to watch
on Netflix. That always cheers you up.
Isn’t It Romantic does always cheer me up; it leans right into the romcom genre and it has a cracking soundtrack.
But maybe I won’t need cheering up this evening after all.
My taxi pulls up as I’m tapping out a quick response, and Taxi Mix-Up Guy opens the door for me before hurrying around the other side to climb in himself.
Instead of heading home to Jonah and my pyjamas, I change the destination – and maybe even my life.