Chapter Sixty-Five
We spent a happy thirty minutes hoovering up cappuccino and the stickiest ginger cake I’d ever tasted.
‘Mmm,’ I said, closing my eyes and sucking one sugary thumb.
‘Tasty?’ Milo deadpanned.
I instantly dropped the lascivious licking. What sort of signals was I sending out? Likely emulating dirty birdy Nigella Lawson. She wasn’t averse to slurping the life out of her syrupy fingers. Or talking about her slut red raspberries, the length of a vanilla pod, or – as the camera zoomed to stove – turning up the heat .
‘Delicious,’ I said, determined not to repeat the tasty word.
‘Good,’ said Milo, draining his cup. ‘In which case, are you fit?’
You certainly are , I privately thought.
‘Yes, ready,’ I trilled, grabbing my bag and standing up. ‘Lead the way.’
We went into several shops. Browsed the shirts. To me, every single one looked the same. The only obvious difference was the colour or fabric. I mean, the checked shirts hanging by the denims was visibly different to those plain jobbies by the men’s suits. But other than that, I was stumped.
Milo was now considering some shirts in an arty-farty arrangement on a glass table. Overhead spotlights flagged up those that were slim fit and… what? Fat fit? Wasn’t that a bit, you know, non-PC? And, dear Lord, since when did a shirt cost two hundred pounds? But then again, this store wasn’t the same as where I’d recently bought a work shirt. George at Asda.
A sharp-eyed assistant was tracking Milo. A tape measure was slung artfully around broad shoulders. The assistant’s physique screamed yes, I’m a gym bunny, and yes you can admire me. He was drop-dead gorgeous. However, the limp wrist informed any female admirer that her interest wouldn’t be reciprocated.
As Milo continued to study shirts, the assistant pounced.
‘Can I help you, sir?’
‘Maybe,’ said Milo, looking perplexed. ‘I’m going out tonight. I want to wear something smart, but casual. Fashionable, but classic. Something that can be worn socially, but also at work.’ He gave the assistant an apologetic look. ‘The truth is, I simply want to wear a nice shirt tonight.’
Milo looked at me as he said that last word. Tonight. I straightened up. Suddenly, my internal antenna was on red alert.
Tonight was… wowzer… Saturday night. And what did most couples do on a Saturday night? They went out, that’s what! I stifled a squeal. Omigod, was Milo going to ask me to go out with him tonight? Was he looking for a new shirt because he… yes!... he wanted to dress to impress!
Suddenly, I was very interested in his potential purchase. After all, if he was going to ramp up his style, then I might have to do likewise, and nip off to Zara.
The assistant clapped his hands together in delight. Evidently, he was thrilled that Milo needed help, and that he, style icon extraordinaire, would be the one to steer this customer into a whole new experience with shirts. He leant in. Plucked a shirt from the arty-farty pile. Fingered the fabric. Stroked the buttonholes.
‘This, sir, is an Oxford button-down shirt. It’s incredibly versatile. It can be used in both social and professional settings and will give a flawlessly put-together vibe.’
I blinked. Were we still talking English?
‘Now, traditionally, it comes in lighter blues and whites. But might I cautiously suggest, if you ever want to wear it to an office event, that you go a teensy bit darker.’ Suddenly his tape measure was around Milo’s neck. ‘As I thought. In which case’ – he grabbed another shirt – ‘consider this one. The weight and thickness of the fabric means it’s perfect for varying temperature changes. This affords both coolness and confidence all year long.’
‘Really?’ said Milo eagerly. He took the shirt and held it reverently. As well he might at that price. If I were him, I’d never wear it. It would be put on an altar and worshipped.
‘I think it’s very you, sir,’ said the assistant. ‘I can see you now’ – he closed his eyes and assumed a dreamy expression – ‘looking hip at a rooftop party. Obviously, you would have accessorised the shirt with some well-tailored trousers.’ He opened his eyes again. ‘The latter is an essential staple for every gent’s wardrobe. You’d be the star of the gathering, showing off your chest, looking all manly and sexy.’ He fluttered his eyelashes at Milo. ‘The modern man needs this shirt in his closet, whether going out or… coming out .’ He gave Milo a speculative look.
Milo looked momentarily startled.
‘Um, definitely going out.’ He nodded his head vigorously.
Yes, Milo. You tell ’im! “Back off, gym bunny. My heart belongs to the woman by my side. And we’re going out ! On Saturday night . The two of us!”
I wanted to rub my hands together and cackle with glee. This weekend was going from strength to strength. Getting better and better. I wondered where Milo would take me. Somewhere with lots of candlelight. Ambience. Staff that served wine – no champagne! – in hushed tones with lots of bowing and scraping. Bring it on!
‘Ah, sir wants to impress a girl, eh?’ said the assistant, unoffended by Milo’s gentle rebuff. He gave a meaningful look in my direction. ‘You want to impress a lady, yes?’
‘I do,’ Milo confirmed.
I knew it! The anticipation of what lay ahead was sending my breathing haywire. I could see us both now. Full of champagne bubbles. And boldness. My lungs did a chuggy gasp as I visualised Milo boldly going where no man had gone before. Well, not for a while, anyway. I stifled a snort of anticipation. Careful, Tilly. Patience. You don’t want to start whinnying and pawing the ground.
‘In which case’ – said the assistant – ‘the blue shirt is the one for you. Can I also suggest, sir, that in addition to the tailored trousers, you also consider some shoes. It’s important to get the right footwear to complete the overall look.’
‘Okay,’ Milo agreed. ‘That’s the shirt sorted. Now for the trousers and shoes.’
The assistant steered Milo into a changing room. He wiggled back and forth with various trousers. Several pairs of shoes followed. By the time Milo was finished, over an hour had passed. By this point I was anxious about having enough time to buy something for me. No matter. I could always dress up my existing outfit. Change the costume jewellery. Swap the boots for high heels.
‘Thank you so much for your help,’ said Milo, as the assistant bagged everything up at the till.
‘Yes, thank you,’ I gushed. ‘He’s going to look amazing for his date.’
Milo gave me a sheepish grin. I returned it with a megawatt smile of my own. Forget all the earlier embarrassment. The horror over the tasty word. It had been worth it. We were now back on track with each other. Easy going. Friendly. Flirty even. Bring on some more zingers!
As we left the shop together, I felt so fizzy, I nearly grabbed hold of Milo’s hand.
No, Tilly. Stop. Let Milo be the one to take your hand.
We paused for a moment, while Milo popped the receipt into the folds of his wallet. Seconds later it had been tucked inside a pocket. He looked at me.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply.
‘I’m so… happy,’ I said shyly.
‘Impressed?’ he asked.
‘Definitely,’ I nodded.
‘Good.’ He heaved a sigh of relief. ‘I hope Sarah will be too.’
I froze.Who?
The sounds within the mall – shoppers talking, children crying – suddenly became a roar. The noise rose up, rushed into my ears, then screamed through my brain like a highspeed train.
‘S-Sarah?’ I stuttered.
‘I haven’t actually met her,’ Milo confided. ‘But she matched with me.’ He noticed my look of confusion. ‘On the dating app,’ he explained. ‘I wasn’t going to bother with it anymore,’ he shrugged. ‘You see, I recently met someone and thought she was available. But it then transpired that she wasn’t.’ He shrugged again. ‘So, I ended up making a last-minute arrangement for this evening.’
‘With Sarah,’ I muttered.
‘With Sarah,’ he confirmed.
Omigod. How could I have got it so wrong? Been so na?ve? Sarah was one of the swipe right ladies. Personally, I’d like to grab Milo’s phone and send Sarah a private message. One that invited her to sod off.
My shoulders drooped. Oh, forget it, Tilly. Even if Milo wasn’t going out on a date with Sarah, even if there never had been a dating app, you still wouldn’t feature on his romantic radar. After all, he’s just told you that he was interested in someone else. Someone he’d thought available, but apparently wasn’t, but – who knew – might become available in the future. Talk about getting the wrong end of the stick.
‘Did you want to do any shopping?’ asked Milo.
‘Um, no,’ I shook my head.
‘Sure?’
‘A hundred per cent,’ I said, forcing myself to act normally. To speak fluidly. Currently my words sounded jerky. Robotic. Unexpectedly, I felt on the verge of tears.
‘In which case’ – he said – ‘shall we go?’
I kept my head down. Did some rapid blinking.
‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘Let’s go home.’
We moved off, heading towards the exit point that lead to the carpark. As I walked alongside Milo, I thanked the universe for one small blessing. That I’d not grabbed Milo’s hand as we’d left that shop.