laugh at the unbelievable coincidence.
‘Same. I lived with Matt during third year.’
He laughs. ‘That’s weird.’
For a moment, I can’t help but examine my new friend. He must be about my age, if he went to uni with Kat.
Pete is not a bad-looking man. He has blond hair that I don’t think is too long, but he has it pulled into a man bun on the back of his head. It’s a man bun and not a topknot – the two are most definitely very different looks. On a topknot’s Instagram he’ll be posing for photos with sedated tigers on holiday, and capturing his latest Nando’s acquisition before he wolfs it down. A man bun though, he’s the kind of guy to have pictures of him wearing cardigans, snuggled up to golden retriever puppies.
Pete has chiselled good looks, like maybe Michelangelo carved him after he practised on David. But while his features may be almost razor sharp, he’s got this warmth about him. A real kindness in his cool blue eyes.
‘It will be nice to have an ally here,’ he says, rubbing his stubbly chin sheepishly. ‘Everyone I know here has come as a couple.’
‘Same,’ I reply, baffled by yet another coincidence.
Starting to relax a little, I take my first bite of cake. Rich, chocolatey sponge smothered in sweet, cream cheese frosting. It’s everything I hoped it would be and more – I still don’t think I could’ve eaten the entire slice though.
‘So, what do you do?’ Pete asks.
‘Me?’ Though I’m not sure who else he could be talking to, we’re the only ones here.
‘Yes, you,’ he laughs.
It’s been so long since a good-looking, charming guy showed a genuine interest in me, I thought I’d better make sure it was actually me he was interested in.
‘I work in the PR department at ABO – Anything But Ordinary,’ I reply.
‘The clothing company,’ Pete says.
I nod.
‘I bet that keeps you busy,’ he says, with a knowing look.
‘You heard about that,’ I needlessly point out. ‘Yep, still reeling from that one.’
Pete is referring to events a few months ago, when the company CEO was recorded saying she didn’t want ‘fat girls’ modelling her clothes in ad campaigns.
‘I’m actively looking for a new job,’ I tell him. ‘Something more worthwhile, something that makes me feel like I’m doing something important. What do you do?’
‘I am a global programme manager for an environmental charity.’
‘Now that’s a worthwhile job,’ I reply, feeling slightly jealous.
‘Sometimes we have PR crises,’ he says.
‘Oh really?’
‘The pinta tortoise became extinct in 2012 – on our watch. Where were we?!’
‘Are you allowed to make jokes about extinct animals?’ I ask, before I dare laugh at his comment that I’m sure was solely intended just to put me at ease about my crap job.
‘They never kick off about it,’ he replies. ‘Not like angry anti-fur activists.’
Oh, that’s what he was referring to a moment ago. The fact that, last year, ABO was caught up in the big scandal where it was revealed many high-street and online retailers were selling items made from real fur, that were labelled faux fur.
‘Where are you from?’ he asks.
‘I grew up outside Manchester,’ I tell him. ‘But I live in Manchester now. You?’
‘London. Lived there all my life too.’
‘You just don’t see that kind of loyalty to hometowns anymore, do you?’ I joke.
‘You don’t,’ he replies. ‘It’s almost everything that’s wrong with the world. Well, that and your company selling mittens made of racoon dog fur.’
‘We hate fat people too, don’t forget that,’ I joke.
‘And yet you probably love fat animals,’ he replies. ‘Because they have the most fur.’
‘I’ll be sure to tell our CEO. Her inexplicable, blind dislike of anyone bigger than a size ten might have prevented her from realising that.’
It’s so nice, sitting here with Pete, having a drink, eating cake, and making jokes with one another. If there is any way tomorrow can just be more of the same, it might not be so bad after all. Before I know it, nearly an hour has gone by.
‘We made short work of the cake,’ he says, nodding towards our empty plate.
‘We did,’ I reply. ‘Teamwork makes the dream work.’
‘It does,’ he laughs. ‘Just think what damage we can do to the wedding cake tomorrow.’
We smile at each other for a second, until we’re interrupted by the bar man.
‘Bar’s closing,’ he says. As soon as he realises he’s interrupting something, he quickly adds, ‘In five minutes.’
‘Well, I’d better get to bed,’ I say. ‘Don’t want to be late in the morning.’
‘Same,’ he says. ‘But … I’d love to spend more time with you tomorrow.’
‘I’d like that a lot.’ I feel a big, dumb smile spread across my face.
Pete’s gaze quickly moves from my eyes to my lips.
‘Is that cake frosting?’ he asks with a laugh.
Mortified, I quickly raise my hand to wipe my face.
‘I’ll get it,’ he says, leaning forward to lightly plant his lips on mine.
I don’t know if there actually was any frosting on my face, or if this was just a smooth move to kiss me – you never know, he might have just really loved the cake – but I feel like I’m floating on air right now. I cannot stress enough that this sort of thing just does not happen to me. Maybe it wouldn’t be happening to me at all, if we weren’t a little tipsy.
But then it hits me, all at once, the grave mistake I think I’ve made. The red car, the one that overtook me, the one that arrived just before me – didn’t Pete say he’d just arrived too? Now, this type of stuff absolutely does happen to me – scaring off potential love interests by leaving them passive aggressive notes.
I quickly pull away.
‘Sorry,’ he blurts. ‘I shouldn’t have …’
‘No, it’s not that,’ I say. ‘Did you drive here?’
