Twenty Six
Kissing the Idea of Moving On
MIA
“I JUST CHECKED ETHAN out on Facebook,” Charlotte announces breathlessly over the phone. “You have to see this!”
I took the plunge and accepted his offer of a date tonight.
I told myself it was time to move on, and to stop wallowing in memories of a relationship that was always destined to fail.
I asked Charlotte to stalk his socials so I didn’t have to.
He has two pictures on his Tinder and they aren’t enough to work him out.
“Oh God.” I grown. “He’s married isn’t he?”
“Nope.”
“Girlfriend? Oh god, does he take cringy shirtless gym selfies?”
“No, listen,” she says excitedly. “Mia, he is gorgeous. I mean drop your knickers gorgeous.
“Really?” I ask incredulously.
“Yes! Listen, I’m going to send you his photos so you can be prepared for his beauty!”
“Is he really that hot?”
“He is so hot, you need to do some serious prep for this date and I am not talking about a simple leg shaving.”
“Fine, send them over.”
I hang up and within seconds, my phone pings. I tap on the pictures and study them.
Wow. This guy really is hot.
I’m going to need a new dress. I’ll have to leave work early and nip to the shops.
If Austin Conall thinks I’m going to sit around pining after him, he has another thing coming.
A few hours later, I have self-administered every beauty treatment known to man. If it could be plucked, waxed, threaded, tweezed, or bleached, it’s been dealt with. My skin is toned, cleansed, moisturised and exfoliated. My skin is as smooth as a baby’s bottom.
I have spritzed myself with the most expensive perfume I own, which means I currently smell like a freaking department store perfume counter.
I’m wearing a fitted nude colour dress that I spent a fortune on, but worth every penny. It gives the illusion of nakedness and screams pure, unfiltered sex. Think of the dress that Carrie Bradshaw wore on her first date with Big. Yeah, that dress.
I have lined my lips with liner to maximize my natural full lips, and my eyes are dark and smoldering. My brown hair is loosely curled and cascades down my back. The naked dress clings to my curves in all the right places, particularly my breasts, which are currently defying gravity.
I take one last look in the mirror and smirk.
Damn. I look hot. I’d flirt with me.
I WALK INTO BLUEBIRD, a modern European restaurant in Chelsea. I googled it before I left and apparently Kate, The Princess of Wales has been snapped here on several occasions. If it’s good enough for here, then I’m sure it’s amazing.
I walk into the restaurant feeling more confident than I have in days. It seems to be a hotspot for men in suits and influences. Stepping in here feels like walking into a world where old-school glamour and modern sophistication swirl together.
The hostess smiles at me as I walk toward her/
“Good evening,” she smiles. “The name that your reservation is under please?”
I smile back. “Ethan.”
She looks down at her list and nods. “Ah, yes. Table for two. He is already here.”
Thank God. I am running fashionably late, so I would be mortified if he wasn’t already here.
I follow her, striding across the bar. My heels click as I walk, and I do a mental high five as some of the men’s heads turn as I pass. The hostess leads me into an atrium adorned with lush foliage. A dark-haired, muscular guy is seated at a table and I inhale sharply.
His photo wasn’t lying. The guy is gorgeous.
His eyes widen and he looks me up and down. “Hi,”he beams, jumping up and giving me an awkward hug.
“Hi,” I return. My mouth immediately goes dry.
Ethan stands up to pull out my chair. He towers above me and I smile shyly as I take my seat.
“You look incredible,” Ethan grins. “I couldn’t believe my luck when the girl that all the guys were staring at walked over to my table. Felt like I hit the jackpot.”
I laugh awkwardly. “You know how to make a girl feel special, don't you?”
Ethan leans in so that our arms are touching. “Well, it’s the truth.”
“Is that an Australian accent I hear?”
“Yeah, I came over here for medical school and then never went back.”
I administer my most dazzling smile. “Yes, I read on your profile that you work at the King’s College Hospital. What do you do?”
“I’m a pediatrician.”
Check.
“Oh wow, that’s amazing. Fixing people’s kids must keep you pretty busy.” I say trying to hide my pathetic swooning.
“Yeah, it does. But I manage to find time to play in my band.”
Double check.
“What instrument do you play?”
“Electric guitar.”
Ding, ding, ding, jackpot.
“And vocals.”
Just take me now.
I can’t stop smiling at his beautiful face. He’s about the same build as Austin and just as handsome with one obvious difference, he is here. I know what you are thinking: Mia, you drove him away. I know I did. But falling in love with him so deeply made me realise I had so much to lose. And I did.
“What about you, Mia? What is it that you do?”
“I own and run my own beauty salon.” I reply in a husky voice, trying to make cutting hair and waxing peoples bikini lines sexy.
“Maybe I should get my hair cut by you from now on.” He smiles.
I laugh loudly even though it’s not remotely funny. “I’d one hundred percent give you a discount.” I say, flicking my long hair over my shoulders.
Ethan responds to my shamelessly amateur flirting, his eyes flickering to my lips as I speak. Every so often, he gently bumps my arm or brushes his knee against mine—just enough to make my skin tingle and my brain short-circuit.
As we are served our main course, I catch an instagram notification flash up on my screen.
Austin has one new post.
My heart lurches into my throat.
Maybe it’s another picture of him and that woman.That blonde, beautiful woman.
My stomach twists at the thought.
There is no way I can sneak a look either, it would be rude. Maybe I can pop to the loo and have a look.
No, Mia. Don’t be that woman.
Get over him.
You walked away.
Eat your dinner and get a grip.
I SHOULD BE ENJOYING this. I mean, I was enjoying it.
Ethan is attractive in that effortless, clean-cut way. Sharp shirt, easy smile, eyes that crinkle when he laughs. He orders my drink before I even have to ask, and actually listens when I talk. Not just nodding along, but proper eye-contact, interested-tilt-of-the-head listening.
He’s the kind of guy who probably sends good morning texts and remembers anniversaries before I do.
And yet, I’ve spent the last hour battling the urge to check my phone, to see what someone, who is currently one hundred and seventy four miles away and most definitely not thinking about me, has posted on Instagram.
Ethan says something, and I realise I’ve been nodding without actually absorbing a single word.
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask, picking up my wine glass and taking a slightly too-big sip. The merlot is rich and velvety, and I’m on my second—or is it third—glass. Drunk me will definitely regret this tomorrow.
Maybe this is the beginning of my inevitable descent into alcoholism. Merlot never judges, never ghosts me, and is always there at the end of a long, soul-draining day at the salon.
Maybe Merlot is my one true love.
He smiles, amused but not put off. “I asked if you wanted dessert.”
Right. Dessert. Normal date things. “Oh. Sure.”
The waiter appears with the dessert menu, and I skim it without really reading. My mind is stuck on Instagram, on that stupid flat listing, on the fact that Austin isn’t in London anymore, and I have no right to be bothered by that, and yet—
“You ok?” Ethan’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts, warm with concern.
I plaster on a smile. “Yeah, just tired.”
The rest of dinner is . . . nice. Ethan is charming, funny.
The kind of guy my mum would swoon over.
He tells a story about a disaster one of his colleagues had at work, and it has me actually laughing—real, stomach-clenching laughter that I haven’t felt in a long time. And for a second, it feels good.
Like maybe this could be something.
Before long, the bill is paid, and we’re outside. The air is cool against my flushed skin. We linger by the taxi rank, a moment stretching between us, and I know what’s coming before it happens.
Oh god. He’s going to kiss me.
Ethan steps closer, his eyes flickering to my mouth. “I had a great time tonight,” he murmurs.
“Me too,” I say, and I almost mean it.
And then he kisses me.
It’s nice. Soft, deliberate, just enough pressure to make my breath hitch. His hands are warm against my waist, steady and sure. He’s doing everything right. And yet—
It’s wrong.
So wrong.
Because his hands don’t make my skin tingle. His lips don’t taste like whiskey and bad decisions. His presence doesn’t make my heart stutter in my chest like a faulty engine.
He isn’t Austin.
The thought slams into me like a freight train, and before I can stop myself, my throat tightens, my chest squeezes, and hot, stupid, traitorous tears spill over my cheeks mid-kiss.
Ethan pulls back immediately, brows knitting together. “Mia?”
I shake my head, humiliated, swiping at my face. “Oh my God, I am so sorry. I don’t— I didn’t mean—”
He exhales, running a hand through his hair, and to his credit, he doesn’t look angry. Just . . . understanding. Which somehow makes it all the worse.
“Still getting over someone?” he guesses, voice gentle.
I let out a wet laugh. “Apparently, so.”
He nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “I had a feeling.”
I groan. “Was I that obvious?”
He grins. “Only when you glared at your phone like it personally offended you.”
I laugh, despite my sad pathetic self. “God, I’m such a mess.”
“Nah,” Ethan says, shaking his head. “You’re just not ready.”
The words settle in my chest like a stone. He’s right. I’m not ready. Maybe I never will be.
I wipe at my face again, sniffling. “I really am sorry.”
“It’s ok.” He smiles, warm and reassuring. “For what it’s worth, if you ever do feel ready . . . I’d love a second date.”
I blink up at him, surprised. “Seriously?”
“Seriously.” He smirks. “Just . . . maybe less crying next time?”
I laugh, watery but real. “I’ll do my best.”
He hails me the passing cab, and as I slide into the backseat, I realise something.
I should be relieved that he was so understanding. I should feel hopeful that maybe, one day, I could actually move on.
But all I feel now is hollow.
Because Ethan might be kind, and attractive, and everything a person should want.
But he still isn’t Austin.