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I WAS NERVOUS ABOUT seeing Owen at the next salsa class after everything that had gone down over the weekend. It was silly. He was the one in the wrong, not me, but I wasn’t sure how he would react or how I would handle it. It was stupid. I was forty years old, for heaven’s sake. Not a teenager.
Fortunately, I needn’t have worried. Owen was perfectly pleasant, even flirtatious. It was as if the taxi incident had never happened.
“I’m glad you went out with us last Friday,” he said as we practiced dancing during the free-dance after class. “It was a lot of fun.”
“Yes, it was. Thanks for inviting me.” Neither of us mentioned the cab fiasco. Maybe he’d just had a little too much to drink. Some people weren’t very nice when they were drunk.
“Your friends are nice,” I said. “Poppy is quite a character.”
“Yes, she is. She’s a good friend. I think she has a thing for Tom.” He gave me a look.
Was he warning me off? He didn’t need to. I was well aware of the inappropriateness of any feelings I might have for Tom. Not that I had feelings for him. It was just hormones. Stupid, crazy, zingy hormones.
After class, Owen walked me to the Tube station. We were taking opposite Tubes, so when we reached the bottom of the escalators he leaned down. I thought he meant to kiss me, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, but he kissed my cheek instead. “Have a nice night,” he said and disappeared down the tunnel.
I stared after him, baffled. I had thought he liked me, but now suddenly I wasn’t so sure. Not that it mattered. Owen wasn’t the one I wanted kissing me.
# # #
SATURDAY I MET SARAH at the Castle for lunch and a good chin wag. I’d been at loose ends most of the week, uncertain how to move forward other than my new found love of salsa. I’d slipped out a couple times to take snapshots of the local area. Some of them had turned out quite nice, but that was it. I had no idea what to do next.
“You should start a blog,” Sara said, pouring extra gravy over her sausage and mash.
“A blog? What for?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. To showcase your photography, talk about your journey of self-discovery, that sort of thing. People are into that, you know. And it’s a good way to build up a following.”
“A following for what?”
“You know, to monetize your blog. Get people buying your photos. That sort of thing.”
I laughed. “No one is going to by my photos. They’re not professional.”
“They’re good, though. Maybe you need to invest in a better camera and a few lessons. Then you can start putting your photos on those stock photography sites. Make a little money.”
I mulled it over. It was an interesting idea, something I’d never contemplated before.
“Oh, and ask Kate if you can post her wedding reception photos. Set up a website for wedding photography.”
“Oh, please. Who’s going to hire an amateur to take their wedding photos?”
“Trust me. You will have a line around the block of people wanting the woman who photographed Adam Wentworth’s wedding reception to take snapshots of their own.”
“Even though I wasn’t the hired photographer?”
“I doubt they’re going to care about that, especially if Kate gives her blessing. You’re friends, and she loved those pictures. I can’t see her saying no.”
Excitement began to bubble inside. This could be fun. “Okay, I’ll do it.”
“Deb?”
I glanced up, startled to find Tom standing on the other side of the table. There were two women with him. Young, pretty, a little on the plump side. They eyed me, as if judging how much of a rival I’d be, then clearly dismissed me, walking off toward the bar.
“Tom. Fancy seeing you here.” I stood so he could kiss my cheek. I subtly inhaled his scent. A little musky, a little citrusy, with a hint of petrichor, which I loved.
“Small world,” he chuckled. There was a look in his eyes that warmed me to my toes.
“You remember my friend, Sarah?”
“Of course.” They exchanged pleasantries before he turned back to me. “It’s really nice to see you again, Deb.”
His voice stroked me in places I didn’t want to admit. I struggled to remind myself he was too young.
“You, too.” Something struck me. “You’re an estate agent, right?”
He nodded and placed his hand on the back of the chair opposite me. “May I?”
“What about your...friends?”
He glanced over at the two girls, who now had pints in their hands. One of them waved him over. He held up a finger and then sat down with us.
“Friends of mine. Well, really more friends of friends. I promised to show them around. So, what can I help you with?”
“I’m thinking about selling my house. You can do that, right?”
Was that a flash of disappointment in his eyes? “Sure. I can come out and give you a value, if you like. Talk about what do to next with regard to the sale and discuss finding you a new place.”
“That would be great.” He dug out his wallet and handed me a card. “Let me get your number, and I’ll ring to set up an appointment.”
I gave him my number, and he stood, albeit somewhat reluctantly. “It really was good to see you again, Deb,” he said finally. “Speak soon.”
“Yes.”
As he walked away toward the girls at the bar, Sarah leaned in toward me. “Girl, he is so into you.”
“What? Tom? No, it’s his friend, Owen, who is interested.” Or at least I’d thought so.
“Maybe this Owen guy is interested, but so is Tom. Like seriously interested.”
I glanced at where he stood laughing with the girls at the bar. “I don’t think so. He’s way too young for me. That’s the sort of woman he probably dates.”
Sarah snorted. “Maybe that’s what you think, but clearly Tom has other ideas. I can’t wait to see what happens with your ‘appointment.’” She practically snorted with laughter.
I shook my head. As much as I’d like to think Tom was interested, I knew it wasn’t the case. He was being polite. And kind. Wasn’t he?