Jazz’s boyfriend… privately I called him Dinosaur Dave – except he’d be one of those cute herbivore species that wouldn’t harm anyone intentionally.
I chewed another mouthful of pie and swallowed, enjoying the sensation of vanilla ice cream drizzling across my tongue. ‘Look, angel-face–’
‘Don’t call me that.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Okay. Dave. Do you know how many wedding fairs me and Jazz have visited over the last couple of months?’
His brow furrowed. ‘But that’s only because she’s going to be bridesmaid at her sister’s wedding next year.’
‘Think again. She’s hoarded a whole bundle of bridal catalogues recently. You don’t do that unless you’re fantasizing about your own special day.’
Dave rubbed his chin and said nothing.
‘So didn’t she accept? What’s the ring like? Bet she loved it.’
Well done moi, managing to suppress a doubtful tone. Dave’s presents hadn’t always hit the spot. Take the sexy underwear he bought her for Christmas. Executive human resources manager Jazz is one classy lady. A clichéd black and red lacy set was never going to cut it. Not that she let on. Up until now she’d found Dave’s clumsy attempts at romance endearing. Like the pair of knitted ducks he’d found on a market stall. Not the prettiest ornaments but adorable due to their sentiment that ducks mate for life. So last night he really must have blown it big time.
‘There was no ring.’ Cue a sheepish look. ‘I hadn’t planned anything. It was spontaneous.’
‘Uh huh… well, spontaneous is good. You could have both gone shopping for diamonds together, this weekend.’ I said, aware that this was one of the longest conversations we’d ever had. You see – Dave and me, as you’ll soon come to understand, have never really… gelled. He kept his distance. I’d given up trying to figure out the reason why.
Dave’s mouth drooped at the corners and I longed to lean over and give him the tightest of hugs. Yet I didn’t. Over the months I’d learnt to respect his personal space. Dave wasn’t touchy feely – not with me, anyway. I’d linked arms with him once and he’d jumped away as if I’d scalded him. I tried to get to know him better, but the sentiment had never been reciprocated.
He coughed and stared at his colourful, donut-themed placemat. ‘Spontaneous may be good – but not if you’re absolutely plastered.’
I put down my cup. ‘You were drunk?’
‘Bladdered. Hadn’t prepared a word. The urge to propose just came to me. I can’t hold down champagne at the best of times and seconds afterwards I had to run to the toilets to throw up.’
I stared at him. ‘How exactly did you word this proposal?’
His cheeks flushed. ‘Hard to remember. I just blurted out that neither of us were getting any younger and that we should get hitched. Think I mentioned something about a registry office and not making a fuss.’
I opened my mouth but no words came out.
‘Like I said, she’s always shied away from talking about us settling down. I didn’t want to scare her off with fanciful ideas,’ he muttered, rambling now as he ran a hand through those unruly curls.
My jaw stayed open.
‘When I got back to the table, she pointed out that I had vomit down my shirt.’
I squirmed. Ew. I’d have been compelled to immediately demand he strip off so that I could take it to the bathroom for a damn good wash.
‘Then she got up, said I could pay the bill and left me to it. She hasn’t answered my texts all morning.’ Dave sniffed. ‘Not even when I suggested we meet for cocktails after work.’
I couldn’t help smiling. Dave, prepared to drink cocktails? He couldn’t stand their sickly sweet flavours, cute umbrellas or brightly coloured straws.
‘Glad you find it funny, Mikey. Go on, call me a jerk. Over the last year or so you’ve made it obvious you don’t like me much. Bet you’re well pleased.’
Huh? ‘Now hold on a minute, that’s not–’
With a clatter, Dave let his teaspoon drop onto the saucer. ‘So rub my nose in it. I don’t blame you. Tell me how gym-buffed you would have planned a special proposal weeks ahead, with violins playing, homemade quiche for breakfast the next day, her favourite chick flick waiting to watch when you got home from dinner.’
‘Yeah, spot on Dave,’ I said dryly. ‘All those stereotypes so apply to me.’
His cheeks flushed. ‘Well, you have got a six-pack. And you make quiche – from scratch.’
‘I also play Call of Duty till the early hours and my favourite all-time film is The Bourne Ultimatum.’ I pulled a face. ‘Although I draw the line at watching that TV channel named after you – giant go karts or extreme-sized fish really don’t do it for me.’
‘Whatever.’ Dave scraped back his chair and started to get to his feet. ‘I’d better go. The office will be wondering where I am.’ Yet he stalled before fully standing up and shot me a weird expression. My heart squeezed. Vulnerability wrapped up in a bristly exterior – I could see why that killer combination drew in Jazz.
My brow furrowed. ‘Hold up. You don’t owe work anything. As Jazz says, if they can’t value their top accountant then it’s no wonder you’re looking for another job.’
He grimaced. ‘True. No promised bonus for three years has finally pushed me to put together a new CV.’
‘So you can spare ten more minutes. Sit back and tell me – why did you come here today?’
Lips pursed into a firm line, he slouched into his seat. ‘I’m not begging. See it as a favour to Jasmine but… if anyone can help me salvage something from this, and propose again in the right manner, then it’s you.’
I snorted. ‘Dave. I’m the last person you should ask. I haven’t had a proper relationship for months now and what do I know about asking for someone’s hand in marriage?’
My heads spun for a few seconds. What a dilemma. Me, help the person who disliked me most in the world become a permanent fixture in the life of the person who liked me the most.
‘You know Jasmine,’ he said, in a tight voice. ‘Whenever it’s her birthday, your presents always outshine mine.’
‘I don’t do it on purpose,’ I said, in a measured voice.
‘I get it. It’s a gay thing.’
‘Dave, just for one second try not to talk in clichés. Perhaps I’m simply a more thoughtful human being, had that every crossed your mind? Take John, our head chef. For his last wedding anniversary, he had a bespoke music box made for his wife – when you lifted the lid it played their wedding dance song. You don’t get more thoughtful or romantic than that.’
Dave let out a sigh. ‘Look – will you help me or not?’
Wounded
