at Liberty’s party, wearing a too-short, black-and-white-striped dress of Dee’s that had me yanking the almost-pointless hem down over my bottom every two minutes. I made suitable murmurs of appreciation at the magnums of Moët nestling in ice in the marble bath, and I dutifully agreed that the rather shouty live band Liberty had hired would be fantastic at Dee’s brother’s wedding in the autumn.
Sitting outside clutching a glass of champagne, even though I would have preferred a gin and slimline or one of Dee’s Salt ‘n’ Peppa Vodkas, I nudged her. Liberty was heading over with a brown-haired man wearing slouchy Levi’s and a Foo Fighters T-shirt. Whoever he was, he wasn’t Dan Sheppard. I sighed. I was terrible at small talk.
‘This is Luke Harte,’ Liberty announced, pushing him forward like some sort of trophy wife. ‘He’s funny, charming and ridiculously clever, so I knew you’d both want to meet him.’
Luke Harte pulled a face. ‘Holy shit. I’ll never live up to that introduction. I’m not even remotely funny, for starters.’ He grinned, Dee laughed and Liberty melted away, job done.
Luke Harte had managed to commandeer a beer, despite everyone else being forced to drink champagne, I noted rather sourly. He looked unabashed. ‘Sorry about that. Liberty always says such embarrassing things. Hey, do you really think she’s called Liberty?’
Dee eyed him approvingly and straightened the bold, off-the-shoulder floral dress she was wearing. ‘I’m Dee. Delilah, actually,’ she said. She held her hand out.
Amused, he took it, giving it a firm, non-flirtatious shake. ‘You’re shitting me. Parents Tom Jones fans?’
‘Something like that.’
‘You must get fed up with people chorusing ‘Why, why, why’ at you when they’re drunk. A bit like being called Eileen when “Come On, Eileen” comes on. Nightmare.’
Dee was eying Luke appraisingly, almost as though she was wondering if he might be a better option than the elusive Dan Sheppard.
Luke’s eyes drifted to me. ‘What about you? Are you named after a song as well?’
I shook my head. ‘Sorry, no. Nothing nearly as exciting.’
I didn’t offer up my name at this juncture; what was the point? You know – we all know – when you’ve met someone who is out of your league.
Luke Harte was good looking. A nice chin, lovely eyes. I couldn’t see the colour; it was too dark outside, but they looked friendly, sexy. He wouldn’t be interested in me. Or was that my low self-esteem talking? My last boyfriend hadn’t been a nice chap, as it turns out. Controlling and arrogant, I had recently struggled to work out why I had been attracted to him in the first place. I hadn’t expected him to cheat on me twice, or for him to finish with me citing my ‘anal retentiveness’ as the reason.
That said, I possessed enough self-awareness to know that I was pretty enough. But I wasn’t dazzling. And Luke Harte was one of life’s dazzlers. It wasn’t really about his looks – he exuded good humour and his wide smile and chatty style suggested he was used to being the life and soul of the party. Judging by the way he was leaning against the wooden post of the gazebo with a wide, chilled out smile, Luke Harte was totally at ease in social situations and, if not arrogant, then he was confident in the extreme.
Luke looked genuinely disappointed though. ‘That’s a shame,’ he responded lightly. Well, if you won’t tell me your name, I’ll just have to give you one. I hereby name you … Stripes.’ He made the announcement rather grandly and gestured to my absurd dress.
I looked down, feeling self-conscious. ‘This? It’s too short and it’s not even …’
‘It’s gorgeous,’ Dee interrupted, getting to her feet. ‘Doesn’t it suit her? I told her it shows off all her best assets.’
‘It certainly does.’ Luke’s eyes didn’t leave my face.
I felt like a fraud. The dress wasn’t even mine. Liberty had been right about Luke. He was certainly charming.
‘Oooh, there’s Dan.’ Dee adjusted her dress. ‘I’ll go and say hi and grab us some more drinks.’ She teetered away in the high heels that always gave her crippling blisters and we heard her loudly introducing herself.
‘Right. That’s my cue to leave.’ I put my now-warm glass of champagne on the table and mustered up a polite smile.
‘You’re not serious, Stripes.’ Luke straightened and placed his beer can on the table next to my champagne flute. The two drinks looked curiously intimate together.
‘We’ve only just met,’ Luke added. ‘Stay. Talk to me.’ He sounded almost flirtatious.
I wasn’t equal to the task. ‘I’m afraid I’m not very good company tonight.’
‘Really?’ He regarded me, seemingly concerned. ‘What’s up?’
I shrugged. I was sure Luke Harte didn’t want to hear about my relationship issues. ‘Oh, you know. Men.’
He smiled and rubbed his chin gravely. ‘Ah, men. I’m familiar with this topic. I have a younger sister, Nell. She’s told me some horrific tales about these beings.’
I couldn’t help smiling back. ‘Yes, well. I’m sure there are some nice ones out there, but my last boyfriend wasn’t one of them.’ To my surprise, I found myself giving Luke a quick run through of key events, culminating in the humiliating confession-of-cheating-but-you’re-dumped-anyway saga.
Luke frowned. ‘What an idiot your ex is. I can only apologise on behalf of my species. We’re not all like that, I promise.’
‘I’m sure you’re right.’ I glanced over my shoulder to check on Dee and found her sitting on Dan’s lap. She was fine, job done.
‘I can prove it if you like,’ Luke offered, his eyes creasing at the edges.
‘Prove what?’
‘That we’re not all like him. Like your idiot of an ex-boyfriend.’
Was he asking me out? Surely not. I felt panicked. I wasn’t ready for another relationship … or even a date. And with Luke Harte? I stared at him, realising he was younger than me, perhaps by five years or so. Dee would think it was brilliant if I dated a younger man, but I really wasn’t sure I was up to it.
The romantic in me gave me an inner nudge. Was this one of those moments? One of life’s opportunities that shouldn’t be missed? I just didn’t want to get hurt again.
‘Come out with me,’ Luke said, meeting my eyes. ‘For a drink. Dinner. The cinema. Bowling, if you’re feeling competitive. I’m a master bowler.’
‘I’m … I’m not very good at bowling.’ It was lame, but I didn’t know what else to say. I had a feeling I was blushing madly and wished I could duck out of the bright light that hung above us.
‘Dinner then,’ he said lightly. ‘Surely you’re good at eating dinner?’
He was mocking me, but only gently. I bit my lip. ‘We’d have absolutely nothing in common,’ I blurted out. I was mortified.
