I pitch up at the empty bar, like some kind of downbeat film noir detective.
When a barman appears, I order a slice of red velvet cake and a Disaronno and coke, with all the enthusiasm and cheer of a death row inmate ordering their last meal.
‘Cheer up,’ he says brightly. ‘It might never happen.’
Half the problem is that it never happened – nothing has ever happened, and it feels like nothing will ever happen. I’m not the sort of girl things happen to, and, at 31 years of age, I’m not even sure I qualify as a girl anymore.
I mentally pinch myself, and tick myself off for being so melodramatic. My life is not that bad, it just seems it when I compare it to my friends’ lives. Well, it’s not that it seems bad … it’s just … uneventful.
‘This might put a smile on your face,’ the barman says, setting down an extra-large slice of cake in front of me. ‘This is all that was left. It wasn’t enough to cut into two slices, and we only would’ve thrown the smaller bit away.’
‘Wow,’ I blurt. It is huge. ‘Thanks.’
I laugh to myself as I rotate the plate, viewing the giant slice from all angles. There’s no way I’ll eat this – I’d be ashamed of myself if I could – but I’ll certainly give it my best shot.
‘Jack and coke please,’ I hear a man say next to me. The fact that someone else is in the bar gifts me a little comfort. Drinking here alone, I was dangerously close to becoming a cliché. ‘And a slice of red velvet cake, please. Just saw the ad for it at reception.’
‘Sorry, sir. This lady just bought the last piece,’ the bar man replies, pointing towards me.
I look up, to see whose day I’ve ruined.
The man looks down at my giant slice of cake, and back up at me. Suddenly, I feel like a pig. Not just because he’s a handsome guy, but because I look like I’m about to take down this huge slice all on my own.
‘Do you want to share it?’ I ask him. ‘This is way more than I can eat.’
‘Really?’ he replies with a smile.
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘Can I get you another drink, to say thanks?’ he asks me.
‘That would be great, thanks.’
‘Top my new friend up too,’ the man replies, handing over his card. ‘And another fork please.’
‘Thanks,’ I say again, quickly straightening my back, smoothing out my outfit, and subtly tszujing my hair.
‘You’re welcome,’ he replies. ‘I’m Pete.’
‘I’m Luca,’ I say, shaking the hand he’s offering me. ‘It’s nice to have some company.’
‘You here alone?’ he asks, eagerly plunging his fork into the cake.
‘I am,’ I reply. ‘My friends are getting married tomorrow.’
‘Same.’
‘You’re here alone or you’re here for a wedding?’ I ask.
‘Both,’ he says. ‘Matt and Kat?’
‘Yes,’ I squeak excitedly. ‘You know them?’
‘I do, I lived with Kat at uni, actually. We shared a house.’
I 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?’
‘I did,’ he replies, confused as to why this is at all relevant to why I wouldn’t want to kiss him.
Crap.
‘What do you drive?’ I ask.
‘A Nissan Leaf – a blue one. It’s an electric car … why?’ he laughs.
Double crap. It wasn’t even him. Now I just seem like I really care about cars.
‘Sorry. It’s just that, when I arrived, I nearly had an accident with another car, and when I saw it in the car park, I left an angry note. I was worried it might have been your car.’
Pete laughs.
‘It sounds like you have a very eventful life, Luca.’
‘I really don’t.’
‘Well, maybe we can try this again tomorrow?’ he suggests.
‘That would be great.’
‘It will be nice to have someone to spend the day with, seeing as though we’re the sad, single friends.’
I playfully wince.
‘Too soon to make jokes like that?’ he asks.
‘Too real,’ I reply with a smile.
‘Sweet dreams, Luca,’ he says, leaving me alone in the bar.
I sigh. Wow. When I repeatedly turned down Matt and Kat’s offer of a plus one (not because I didn’t want one, but because I had no one to ask) I felt certain I’d be alone at this wedding and, look at me now, I’ve got a date.
I knock back the last of my drink before heading to my room.
They’ve given me a twin room – which I suspect is because they knew I’d be coming alone – but it’s a lovely big room with a stunning view of the hotel gardens. Even though it’s dark, I can see the marquee across the lawn, where I imagine the wedding reception will be held tomorrow.
Suddenly I don’t care about anything. I don’t care that I’m here alone, I don’t care that I’ve got a twin room because I’m oh-so very single, I don’t even care that I am single, or that I have a morally iffy job. All I can think about is Pete, and that kiss … and now I can’t wait until morning.